Good friend Bob and his SO Mary Jo walk ahead on number 2 at Papago on a cool, crisp December day near the tail end of 2007.

Number 2 is a modest 360-yard, uphill, dogleg left par 4. The large, sloping, rolling green is 25 yards long and 20 yards wide. Hitting the green in regulation isn't the trick; getting your ball close to the pin and on the right side of the slope is easier said than done. My drive today was in the middle of the fairway but farther back than I would have liked. I tried to scootch my second shot under the boughs of the tree that guards the outer flank of the dogleg and caught a branch flush. As luck would have it my ball came straight down into some dormant bermuda that was minding its own business on a small, awkward slope. Downhill, sidehill lies aren't my favorite, and dormant bermuda only complicates matters, but I managed to get some good clubface on the ball and left myself pin high a few feet from the green,30 feet from the pin--the yellow grass on the left-hand side of the fairway is the spongy dormant stuff. An overcooked chip went beyond the hole and left me with a downhill, twisting five-footer. I waited my turn to putt and, with more luck than skill, my ball found the bottom of the cup for a hard-earned bogey. The same type of mini-dramas, small victories, and farces revealed themselves through rest of the day.

Bob, Mary Jo, and I were teamed up with a good kid named Rich, who is a roadie/tech dude with the traveling version of Blue Man group. Rich drove up to the first tee in a plaid Ben Hogan style hat, a couple of tee shirts, cargo pants, no socks, and a pair of Birkenstocks. One look told us he was from out of town. PHX residents may wear shorts year round, but no socks on a 50-degree day? No way.

Pappy is a daily rate muni nestled in the gorgeous red rocks in East Central Phoenix. For my cash there's no better golfing in the all of the Phoenix area. You can pay more to play in Phoenix than at Papago, but you won't find 18 contiguous holes that are better laid out or more challenging. Plus, they let you walk, which allows a player to enjoy the view and the golf one step at a time.

Happy Holidays to all.

Nephew Mike and siter Celeste are hamming it up at our first holiday gathering at Manuel's, our favorite local Mexican joint. AZ is a smoke-free restaurant state, so Uncle Sam found a large table in the bar area, his favorite spot. Please excuse the cell phone photo effects, they weren't intentional.

Phil and Martha's progeny, soon to be three generations deep, will be together this year. We'll raise a glass to all.

Make 2008 your best year ever!

Requim en Pace--Sister Mary Emily

Don't ask why I scan the Detroit News obits. Simple reason is: I don't know. Part of my curiosity is that they publish the obits of nuns who served various Catholic diosceses of MI. My expiernce with nuns is, most likely, similar to those of others. I took my share of banishments, face slaps, ruler to the knuckles, etc., as an other kid who had a propensity for consistently being in their crosshairs. I still get mileage out of my Sister Leo and Sister Ralph stories--they were tough ladies!

Sister Mary Emily treated us as if we where the cherubim and seraphim who assisted the Virgin as she was assumed into heaven. She called our class Angel City. She taught me how to print my name. I began reading with her. She gave me all "A"s--my academic career went south immediately thereafter.

One lasting memory of first grade: I began feeling sick during the after-lunch recitation of the Apostle's Creed. I raised my hand to ask for restroom relief. Sister Mary Emily mouthed a stern no to me. Moments later I projected of wide arc of cafteria food vomit across the classroom. Incensed, Sister Mary Emily went and pulled my sister out of class and made her help in the clean-up.

Click on the headline for link to Sister Mary Emily's obit.