Maricopa County Sheriff's Office deputies gave at least three citations, maybe more, to golf car drivers for, what one driver confirmed, was driving along the shoulder of the road. I saw three of them myself within one hour on Boswell Boulevard between 4 and 5 in the afternoon. It was the first time in the six years I've been regularly traveling Sun City streets I had seen even one golf car pulled over, let alone three within an hour.

That set off a stream of complaints and concerns from residents. One man who called the office said as soon as he read the story about the citations and golf car regulations in the Independent, he went out on the road and drove in the traffic lane, as is required by law. He said within blocks he had a man in a truck behind him honking his horn, swearing and giving him the 1-finger wave. The caller said this was a common occurance for golf car drivers and it was disconcerting.

But that abuse by other drivers is not directed only to golf car drivers. Numerous times I've been traveling at or slightly below the speed limit only to have someone come up behind me, show some or several expressions of impatience then zoom past me at the first opportunity. ONe time going down Boswell toward Sundial Recreation Center I was going a bit slower than the limit hoping to spot a group of golfers on the course for a photo. This Smart Car moves in behind me, honks a few times (even after a sped up) and, when we got to the stop sign at Prairie View, he pulls into the left turn lane and, as he makes the turn without stopping, flips me the bird. I just smiled and waved (full hand wave) back at him, hoping he recognized the sarcasm.

It is not just a question of automobile drivers impatient with golf car drivers, it's just impatient drivers in general. There are also some impatient golf car drivers, so everyone can share the blame.

There is no reason to get so teed off with other drivers to let it escalate to rude and aggressive behavior. If you feel like you're rushed in your journey, that's your fault for not planning better. If you are frustrated with golf cars on the road in the Sun Cities, you need to get over it and get used to it. It is unlikely they will be going away any time soon. I do agree, however, there needs to be more education throughout the Valley (because not all Sun City drivers live there) about golf cars on the roadways.

Why can't we all just get along?

A Sun City resident may have to add another piece to his memorial. You can see it when you drive north on Del Webb Boulevard as you approach White Mountain Road. It was a line of crosses representing the branches of the U.S. military; the 9-11 terrorist attacks in New York, Washington and Pennsyvalia; and those who have fallen in service of the country.

My first trip up Del Webb Boulevard after returniong from vacation in Oregon in early-March revealed an addition. It may have been there before, I just had not been on this route in a while. But as I drove back to the office from a meeting that day in March, the large American flag to the right of the crosses certainly caught my eye. It made my heart swell with pride, and it still does each time I go by.

A few years ago, there were some residents complaining about the memorial. They wanted it taken down because, in their minds, it was ugly and too garish for their quaint little retirement community. I've heard from a few people that there are still those who want the memorial gone. When I drive the streets of Sun City, I am pleased and proud to see the flags in people's yards. I am glad there are still people who are proud of their country and not afraid to show it.

This gentleman on Del Webb and White Mountain is certainly not bashful about his prode in the country and those who have served her. I, for one, am looking forward to an addition tot he little memorial for those who lost much and those who served during the deadly and cowardly attack in Boston last week.

Every day we lose as many as 100 of our World War II veterans. I never tire of meeting them, talking with them and thanking them for their service. The legacy they leave is something we should continue to remember and honor.

While the men and women who brought us through those difficult times before many of us were born will eventually be gone, some of the material they used will still be around as reminders. Some of that material will be on disp[lay at the Glendale Airport April 17-19 as the Collings Foundation brings two heavy bombers, a B-17 and a B-24, and two fighter aircraft that opposed each other, the American P-51 and the German ME 262, to the West Valley. This is a sight few should miss.

The Foundation was in Scottsdale last weekend and I, along with my girlfriend, Diana, were on the tarmac not only to tour the two bombers but to watch the two fighters fly. It was an awesome experience. No matter how many times I go to one of these shows, I always come away amazed at the accomplishments of our servicemen but thrilled to have been able to actually touch a part of history. The capper to last weekend was spending about 15 minutes talking with an 88-year-old former B-24 radio operator and top turret gunner. He flew 35 mission in the European theater of operations, and the stories he told in those 15 minutes were fascinating.

I suggest it would be well worth your time to visit the Glendale Airport April 17-19 and touch a piece of history.

With 81 first pitches every season, the special ceremony at the beginning of Arizona Diamondback games could get routine. Last week there was one that was not.

Sun City resident Bob Adams was on the field when the D-Backs faced the Pittsburgh Pirates April 8. Bob, 92, was there to throw the first pitch - eight years ahead of schedule. You see, he and his wife, Ruth, have worked at the Diamondbacks stadium (first called Bank One Ballpark and now Chase Field, But it's always the Bob to me) since the team's first season in 1998. An off-hand remark about throwing out the first pitch when he turns 100 was not forgotten. When a medical issue arose, the team moved it up.

It was a special ceremony with several of Bob's family and friends in attendance. He also had several D-Back officials there. Actually, there was quite a crowd near Home plate for the event, including his son who flew in from Oregon for his dad's special moment (I was there, too. I love this job!).

That was quite a difference from the D-Backs' game with the Dodgers April 13 (I was there, too, but in the stands this time). The first pitch guy came out (I don't even recall his name or circumstances), threw his picth and walked off. One or two people were at the plate and it almost went unnoticed.

Some things are just special.

You know the drill. You pull into a fast food drive-thru and place your order at the talking box below the menu. The disconnected voice asks you if the order is correct on the screen. When you answer in the affirmative, the voice fromn nowhere gives you further instructions. "That will be $6.27 at the window."

Completing the second leg of a "good neighbor" trip to the Mesa-Gateway airport recently, I stopped to get something to drink for my neighbor and her driver. Being nearly midnight, drive-thru was the only option. All ent well until it came time for those final instructions. "That will be somewhere in the $4 range," was what came rattling from the box. Angie and I looked at each other and said, nearly simultaneously, "I've never heard it put quite that way before." It put me to mind of a similar exchange. "How much will it cost?" to which is replied, "How much you got?"

It sure was nice to have something to chuckle about on the long drive back tothe West Valley.

The technological revolution is upon us -- big time. But do not give up on some old fashioned ways just yet.

As technology began to evolve faster and faster, I have always been slow to climb on the bandwagon. When we first started to digitally paginate our newspapers at the Valley Herald in Oregon, I was skeptical. Now, more than a few years later, I cannot imagine going back to the cut and paste days. But it could happen. When cellular phones became popular, I did not think I needed one. Until, that it, it was suggested it might come in handy on those 300-mile weekend round trips to see my children. Even thought the deep canyons I travesed on those trips made reception impossible, here I am today without a land line and feeling naked if I leave the cell behind. But that could change.

I have not jumped on the bandwagon for smart phones, Iphones, Ipads, Ipods, and I still have my desktop computer. But that could change, too.

All this came rushing to mind today while in a budget presentation at the city of Peoria. We were discussing the wonders of technology, but I still took with me a printout of the PowerPoint presentation.

The digital marvels we have are great tools, but they are just that -- tools. Even a stick in the mud like me can find the convenience, and even enjoyment, in these tools. But I believe there are still things in our lives that cannot be done digitally, only one of which is illustrated by this video. Thank you, Emma, for letting me know I'm not alone.

http://vimeo.com/61275290

When I moved to Arizona and went looking for auto insurance, I was told by my agent that insurance rates were about 17 percent higher in the state than anywhere else in the country. In the nearly nine years I've lived here, I've gotten numerous reminders why. I got another one today.

Driving north on 99th Avenue in the left lane, I stopped for the red light at Grand Avenue. As my car came to a stop behind the third car in line, I noticed to my right a white vehicle just starting to pull out of the small strip mall on the southeast corner of the intersection. I watched as this vehicle, driven by a woman (draw your own conclusions), start to head south on 99th Avenue in the lane right beside me -- on my right. I thought she was going to continue the wrong way, but she turned behind me and got into the left turn lane, having to staop and back up a bit. She then yelled through her window at me, "Thanks a lot!"

First, there was no way of knowing until she pulled out whether she wanted to go to the closest lane, my lane or the turn lane. Second, she would have had to pull the same reverse motion to get in the turn lane whether I was there or not. Third, all she had to do was wait five seconds for the intersection to clear to have a straight shot at the turn lane.

But since she was in such a hurry to get wherever she was going that five seconds made all the difference, she had to blame me.

That kind of impatience in two-ton and heavier vehicles is just a part of why I'm paying at least 17 percent more for my auto insurance than I would be in Oregon. Thanks a lot, lady!

Heros of all kinds were honored by the West Valley Pops Band during its first concert outside of Sun City since dechartering as a club within that community. From the Olympic ballad written for the 1984 Los Angeles games to Batman, Superman, Star Trek and Star Wars, and several other favorites, the tones of the band graced the ears of a packed house at the Sunflower RV Resort in Surprise.

Yeah, many of my "heros" were represented. The concert even encouraged me to put "The Magnificent Seven" on my Netflix disc list. It was also emotional during the salute to the services when those who have served stood as their branch theme was played.

But adding to that hero list, for me, were those people in front of the audience creating those musical salutes. I played in the high school band a couple of years and was in the chorus one year. I wanted to play the drums, but Mom said no way, so I got a horn. But I was more prolific at clearing the siliva through the spit valve than producing even a bad Louis Armstrong impersonation. Chorus? Well, that was basically a goofoff class my senior year. When I sing, dogs howl. And while I've written a few passable sentences in my time, I've never quite been able to get a song on paper.

Those people who have musical talent, whether performing or writing, are counted within the list of my heros. To quote a line from an ABBA song, "Thank you for the music."

OK, here's the thing, I knew I'd have to answer questions about my attire. But I was alking for my brother, Bobby Lewis, who died five years ago of congestive heart failure. So I had to wear the shirt.

You see, Bobby was a die hard Raiders fan. That phrase is kind of ironic, considering the reason for wearing the shirt. But my brother would cut himself to show you he bled silver and black. So, to honor him the funeral was a Raider theme. Word was passed around town to wear something Raiders to the service. My guess is about 75 percent complied. Like others, I owned no Raiders stuff, so Mom ordered and rush shipped T-shirts for those few in the family who were without.

So, the shirt I wore to the Phoenix Heart Walk was the shirt I wore that day, with the addition of Bobby's football number and nickname on the back. With thousands of people there, I figured I'd be telling the story all day. In fact, only two people praised my choice of clothing, with one couple waiting to hear the story when I replied I could not stand the Raiders.

I have no problem explaining the shirt. It's my way of continuing to honor my brother. Another was walking the three miles in the March 23 Heart Walk. I was not the only one honoring someone they'l lost to heart disease. On many shirts I saw people had photos of their departed loved ones. At the end of the event, a wrote Bobby's name on a ribbon and tied it to a memorial tree. There was barely room. Leading up to the w3alk, I helped raise funds for the American Cancer Society. I thank all those who helped me reach my goal of $200. For next year's walk, I'm going to set the bar a little higher. The team I walked with, Midstate Mechanical, nearly doubled it's goal of $5,000.

This was a fun and worhwhile event. It would be great to see more teams and people involved in the future. But remember, you can give to causes like these year-round.

What's in a name? Apparently a lot for those who affiliate themselves with political parties these days. There has been quite a flurry of letters to the editor and Facebook posts debating whether it is the Democratic Party or Democrat Party, all stemming from a headline on a brief story in the March 6 editions of the Sun City and Peoria Independent newspapers. Promoting an upcoming meeting of the Sun City Democratic Club, the headline read, "Bezozo featured speaker for Democrat club."

Keep in mind the story was not about the polotical party itself, it was about a club of residents who are affiliated with the party. Individual members of the Democratic Party are called Democrats, and when you mark your party affiliation on voter registration, it is Democrat -- not Democratic. Since the headline did not capitalize the word "club" there was no use of the groupo's official name in the headline. While you can grammatically nit pick it to death, there was no faux pas there.

Geez, aren't there more important things upon which to focus our attention?

Throughout my life I've dealt with people confusing names. I coached a team called the Thunderbolts, and we were called various things, including Thunderbirds, Thunderclaps, Lightning Bolts and others. It irritated my players, but I told them that people would certainly know our correct name when we beat their butts on the football field.

I've also been called by various names over the years, including Randy, Rueben, Dusty, Steve and even Gary -- and some things I'm not allowed to share here. But my philosophy has always been, call me anything but late to dinner.

Why can't we take that approach to our political names?

Today is the day to give. Well, every day is a good day to give. But for the first time, Arizona is calling attention to giving with Arizona Gives Day.

Nonprofit organizations all over the state provide needed services to a wide variety of people and needs. There are community services clubs, food banks, charitable foundations, national disease groups, domestic violence shelters -- there are so many to choose from.

Arizona Gives Day came about through a partnerhsip between Alliance of Arizona Nonprofits, Arizona Grantmakers Forum and a team of statewide leaders. It is patterned after a movement initiated in Minnesota. Arizona Gives Day allows residents to go online at www.AZGives.com to support a nonprofit in your area, or any of many others statewide..

When friends and relatives visit and I show them where I work, they are amazed to see the golf cars putting around on the streets of Sun City. It is a sight so foreign to them that it ends up being a highlight of the visit. Kind of like going to Disneyland and seeing all the cartoon characters roaming the park.

It is even more amazing to them when I point out that golf cars are licensed vehicles whose drivers are required to operate their golf car just like any regular automobile. If my visitors only knew the truth of it.

Traveling south on Boswell Boulevard recently, I followed a golf car. Driving close to the curb, instead of itn the travel lane as the law requires, this driver made the stop at the intersection with Burns Drive, then zigged over to drive within the marked pedestrian crosswalk before zagging back to hug the curb. Remember, this is a licensed motor vehicle, not a pedestrian.

This trip triggered the memory of another trip south on Boswell Boulevard behind a golf car. This particular driver was smart enough to obey the traffic signal at Bell Road, but then blew through the stop signs at Hutton Drive, Burns Drive and Prairie Hills. He also zig-zagged throuygh the pedestrain crosswalk at Burns Drive. This driver then made a right turn at 103rd Avenue on a red light without even hesitating or looking to his left for traffic (luckily, there was none). I shuddered to think what he might do as we approached Thunderbird Boulevard then Grand Avenue. Fortunately, when he got to each the lights were green.

On these occasions, I share the amazement of my visiting friends and relatives.

The semi-trailer accident on I-10 this morning, with all the spilled coffee creamer, put to mind an old television commercial, which resurfaced in real life last week. While driving home from a Peoria Unified School District Governing Board meeting, I was headed west on Thunderbird Road. During a momentary stop for a red light, I heard a man's voice from the car next to me, just intelligible above the sound of my radio. "Pardon me, sir. Would you happen to have some Grey Poupon?" It took a second or two for it to sink in. But once it did, I laughed all the way home. It was kind of a nice change from the sometimes hostile environment of the daily life on Valley roadways.

A friend and I were talking politics the other day. That in itself is rare, because politics is not my favorite subject. There are just too many things wrong with politics, especially these days, and it just raises my blood pressure. Who needs that?

But my friend and I decided that getting elected is not, and may never have been, about who is the best person to fill the position. It's about who has the most money. Yeah, I know, big shocker. It is no stunning revelation. That's been known by anyone with even the minimalist exposure to the real world. And some people have been trying to find a way to fix that for a long, long time.

In our conversation, I suggested placing a limit on how much money a candidate could receive from sources other than his own savings. But my friend saw some problems with that. First, how could you really track how much a candidate had coming in. Second, how would this limit be established for different political races. Obviously, he argued, a city council candidate would need less funds to campaign than, say, a U.S. presidential candidate. Setting it too low would hurt the presidential candidate and setting it too high would defeat the purpose for the council candidate. If a monetary limit were placed, there would have to be different levels for different positions.

Then my friend made his own suggestion. Money donated to a candidate could come only from people or organizations that lived or worked in the district they represented.

Not a bad suggestion and, I admit, better than my own. But I still see a problem with tracking, and how do you define living or working in a specific district? Those familiar with the Sun City environment know people have multiple homes in multiple states.

Yes, each idea has some bugs to work out. But I am wondering if a combination of the two might prove interesting.

One way or another, politics will never change until money is either taken completely out of the equation, or made a minimal influence.

While attending a meeting today in the line of duty, I was approached by two people who know me well and have seen me at many functions in Sun City. They both expressed their sorrow that I had left the newspaper. They said it wouldn't be the same without me.

That was a bit of a jolt to hear, since as far as I knew I was still gainfully employed. I guess that's what happens when you take vacation. Out of sight for a week and they think you're gone for good. It also proves what my grandmother said about gossip. Her analogy, which cannot be shared here without heavy censoring, was particularly aimed at my Wyoming hometown, but is true of all gossip.

Speaking of the old hometown, that is exactly where I was when the rumor was flying around that I had turned away from the Independent. It was time for the annual all-school reunion, so I packed my carry-on and flew to Dubois, Wyoming. Not only did I get to see former school mates and meet some new friends, I got to visit family. They all still live there.

While in town I partook of some long-standing traditions. I concumed more buffalo meat at the annual barbecue and took in my first ever chariot races. They've been run for years, but I never was interested enough to climb the hill and check them out. Now I see why. I also played tourist for a few minutes and rode the giant jackalope at the Country Store. I've been on the critter's back before. But it's something that just draws me back. In a lot of ways, it was just anouther friend to visit. That animal has been there since I was in school. And, no, the jackalope is not our school mascot, although many get the same impression since it is such a draw.

In case you are wondering, Alf went along on this trip, too.

Now I have returned to tell you that the tales of my departure have been greatly exaggerated. You still have me to kick around, and if I have anything to say about it that will be the case for quite some time. Hope you're up to it!

After seeing a number of vague references to Chick-fil-A in the last few days, with none offering clear details, curiosity got the best of me this morning and I asked a collegue. The TV at home is rarely on, and most times just for background noise, so the word got to me late about the backlash from the gay community about the Chick-fil-A owner's thoughts on gay marriage. That backlash clearly had the opposite affect intended after today's show of support by customers.

I drove down to 83rd Avenue and snapped a few shots of the overflow traffic at that location, and I saw e-mails from other locations int he Valley talking of Chick-fil-A locations being overwhelmed by paying customers as a show of support. Whether they were all showing support for the owner's sentiment or his right to operate a business without his personal views causing him problems is known only by those who showed up.

I didn't buy anything during that trip today to Chick-fil-A. I had just came back from a large bowl of homemade split pea soup, so there was no room at the inn for more food. If I had purchased anything, it would have been to show support for a business owner rather than his personal or political views. I believe a person's personal and political views and their business are separate issues. I have refused to return to a business if their customer service or product is not up to par. But that's a choice I make, not any form of protest.

Today's lines at Chick-fil-A gave me cause for frustration, but not over the gay marriage debate. Seeing those long lines made me even more disappointed in the apathy in this country. There are so many other more important issues at hand, but this is what draws people out? Instead of lining up at food joints, maybe we should be lining up at our state and national capitols calling on our elected representatives to govern and spend our tax dollars responsibily. Perhaps we should be lining up to insist they stop pandering to lobbyists and those who throw money at their election campaigns.

Better yet, perhaps we should be lining up at the ballot box during open elections. Voter turnout has become a joke in this country that was founded on government by the people. I'll get more excited when I see these Chick-fil-A lines reopeated at the ballot box, or the mailbox to send in that early ballot.

The more things change, the more they really do change.

I can attest to that in terms of time and location. This became crystal clear to me while writing up a story about Peoria Unified School District's new fee schedule. Back in the days when I was in high school I do not recall any of these fees being applied. Yes, you might be saying I wouldn't have noticed them because my parents took care of it. But that was only true through my sophomore year. In my junior and senior years I was on my own, making my own way and, while I did have places to live rent free and a small portion of my nutritional needs taken care of at no cost, coming up with the funds for educational, extracurricular and recreational needs. So that came out of my pocket.

In those last two years if I was under the PUSD schedule and considering all that I was involved in, I would have had to come up with $919 each year. Back then, that would have been an astronomical figure. And, yes, costs were lower then, but so were wages, especially for someone under 18. So the sacrifice and choice would have been the same - either work 40 hours a week, attend school, participate in sports and extracurricular activities (leaving little time for sleep), or cut back - way back - on those activities. And not all of those activities were extracirricular, many were academic.

If I were putting my children through school now, they would be forced to miss out on a lot. With two children the out-of-pocket based on the PUSD schedule would be $1,838, at least. Knowing my children, they would be involved in even more than I was - and I was involved in a lot - so that figure would be even higher.

School districts claim they are handcuffed because the state does not give them enough money, the state claims it doesn't have enough to give. I won't argue with either position. However, both school district officials and state leaders must realize that each can do a little more to make sure students get the opportunities they deserve. It's not about working against each other, competing for bucks. It is about working together for what's best for students.

Vacations are supposed to be fun. Anyone who tells you different needs to re-evaluate.

When I was leaving the office recently for a trip to Colorado to visit my best friend of 43 years, I had my camera, briefcase, Seahawk mug and Alf. Yes, that's Alf, the furry little alien from the old television show. He sits on my desk - except when I go on vacation. A few years ago he stayed behind and my rascally co-workers kidnapped him. I came back to work to find a photo as the background on my computer desktop showing Alf tied to a chair with a ransom note.

Since then, he always goes home when I start vacation. This one was a road trip, though, and as I left the office, one of my co-workers asked if I was going to take pictures of Alf on the road. What an interesting idea, thought I.

It turned out to be more fun than I imagined it would be. Plenty were taken on the road up and back, and my friend got into the spirit of the thing and it made our visit that much more fun. When I got home, the fun just kept coming as I put together a PowerPoint of Alf's trip to share with the staff and others.

So, on your next vacation, try something creative to add to the fun.

Over the years you learn in journalism that you can never please everyone – and most times you don’t please anyone. My junior college newspaper advisor told us that if everyone is mad at you, you’ve done your job as a journalist.

A page 1 photo in this week’s (June 13, 2012) Sun City Independent got a few people upset. It was in conjunction with a story about club donations being handled different by Recreation centers of Sun City. I went to the Fairway Recreation Center’s wood shop where I knew I could always find people working on projects. The photo I took showed a quest of a member (he was apparently camera shy) lining up some work on a lathe. The machine was not running at the time.

I got letters and phone calls chastising me for shooting a photo showing someone “working” at a power tool without eye protection and having something dangling about her neck. One woman caller told me, “Don’t ever do that again!” I promptly went and stood in the corner for an hour with the office dunce cap on.

I took wood shop in high school and worked for nearly a year at a modular home building factory and another two years at an electric supply store. I have experience with power tools. I know from that experience about safety with power tools. The scar on my left thumb attests to that (tragic band saw accident – while breaking in a new employee, wouldn’t you know it).

OK, I slipped up by not making sure she had her eye protection for the photo, even though the machine was not running.

A few weeks ago I talked about urban wildlife, and related two incidents with birds. One of those was a nesting at my home. Here is the latest.

What started out as a nest with a single egg grew to have two eggs. The mother bird sat on those eggs very regularly. In the beginning, she was so skittish that any time I went out on the balcony she flew off. Most times she had found a safer way that bashing against the windows. But after a week, I could go out there without her taking off. She got so familiar that there were times when I needed tools from my tool chest, just one shelf below the nest, she did not budge.

Oh, sure, she kept her eyes on me the whole time.

I had been keeping a friend up-to-date on my "roommates," and she expressed hope the birds would have hathced by the time she came to visit over Memorial Day weekend. During the first two days of her visit, nothing happened. But on the morning of the day she left, there were two fresh hatchlings. What a treat to see, and share with a friend.

In the weeks since, the young birds have grown by leaps and bounds. The fuzz is gone and feathers have taken its place. Flight can only be days away.

Here is a photo, taken today at lunch, of my roomies.

With the Memorial Day weekend just getting started, many people are putting the finishing touches on their barbecue plans to tuning up the boatd for a trip to the lake, or some other such plans.

Over the years the holiday has taken on a growing meaning to me as I learned more about why we pause to honor the fallen. Their sacrifices have made this country what it is today, and those same sacrifices have helped preserve the freedoms we enjoy - and, unfortunately, sometimes take for granted. But it is during these special holidays geared toward our veterans that we should take time to be thankful for the sacrifices they have made for us.

Through the years, I have also come to be thankful for something else - those I know who served but did not make that ultimate sacrifice. Yes, I know there's another holiday for that in the fall. But I still take some time each Memorial Day to be thankful for those who survived.

Many of those I have met right here in the West Valley as I cover various events. But at the same time, there are those even closer to me that I have enjoyed their company even after they put themselves in harm's way. There are my two great-uncles who came ashore at Normandy, another great-uncle who served elsewhere in Europe, my good friend Jimmy right here in Sun City who was in Korea, several friends in Oregon who were in Grenada and Desert Storm, and a number of school classmates who survived Vietnam.

And most recently, there is my nephew, who survived the so-called Highway to Hell in Desert Storm. I spent many anxiety-filled days with his mother and brothers waiting to hear his fate. Happily, he returned, and just weeks ago I got to spend some time with him at D-Backs games. Proud of you, Jay!

So, in addition to those moments this weekend when you are thanking those who made that ultimate sacrifice, be thankful for those who put their lives in harm's way and still came home. And do it again in November.

Shortly after moving to Arizona eight years ago, it came to light that vehicle insurance premium rates in this state was, at that time, 17 percent higher than other states. It was not long before I discovered why. Little has changed since then.

While coming home Thursday from installing blinds for someone in Phoenix, a care went streaking by me in the car pool lane westbound on Loop 101. I was five miles over the speed limit, so this driver had to be doing at least 85 or 90. While driving northbound on Loop 101 Saturday coming home from the movie, a car weaved between lanes, passing cars right and left, cutting in front of them with barely inches to spare like the driver was running an obstacle course.

During a shopping trip Sunday I was eastboud on Palmeras in Sun City headed for the left turn lane onto 99th Avenue. An older Ford pickup in the eastbound lane, with the traffic light red, hesitated only one or two seconds at the crosswalk then continued across 99th Avenue at a liesurely speed with the light still red.

And then there are the golf cars. Traveling north on 107th Avenue Friday close to the left curb with a golf car on the right curb slightly ahead of me. As we approached Fry's, the golf car suddenly darted in front of me, across the lane into the left turn lane and continued on across to Oakmont, with nary a turn signal. Some time back a followed a golf car on Boswell Boulevard and 103rd Avenue from Bell Road to Thunderbird. This driver ran two stops signs and the trafic lights, which were red, at both 103rd Avenue and Thunderbird Boulevard. This driver not only stayed within the painted shoulder the whole way, she also zig-zaged to drive through the painted crosswalk at the Burns Drive intersection.

What is it going to take to get people to driver safer?

Growing up in a small town near Yellowstone Park, it was common to see wildlife in or near town. One summer at the height of the tourist season, a bear walked the length of Main Street, as if he were just another tourist checking out the sights.

When I moved to the Valley, those kinds of sightings, I believed, would never come again in a metro area. That has proven to be a very incorrect assumtion. Seeing the havalinas wandering through a school campus in Cave Creek was only mildly interesting, since up there it is still kind of rural. But when I started working for Independent from the Sun City office, coming to work in the early morning and seeing a pack of coyotes in the parking lot got my attention.

Now, from time to time, I can hear the coyotes howling at night in the open space between my home and the exterior walls of Sun City. So wildlife mixing with humans in this metro area is not so surprising any more.

But in recent weeks I have been intrigued by two incidents with birds. In a palm tree at the employee entrance of our Sun City office building, a bird built a nest. This nest is less than five feet from the stairway, which sees heavy traffic daily. Last Friday it was discovered the eggs the mother bird was sitting on had hatched and the babies were resting comfortably.

If that was not enough of a reminder of the wildlife and human mix, the same day we discovered the hatching at the office I settled in on my small balcony to enjoy dinner after a day's work. After finishing the meal I got up to go inside and a bird went wild in the enclosed balcony, smacking the sliding door until it found its way out. As I turned to watch it fly away, I caught sight of something on the shelves opposite my patio table. It was a nest with a single egg. Despite its fright Friday, the mother bird came back and over the weekend laid another egg.

So it looks like I will have some roommates for a while.

Tattoos and body piercings have always been a source of amazement, and at the same time puzzlement.

When I was younger – much younger – my perspective was that tattoos were limited to sailors, or other members of the military. Body piercings were only on women’s ears for those dangly things they like to wear. As I grew older and saw a bit more of the world than my small Wyoming hometown offered, carnival workers and circus attractions came into the picture.

Now it seems like everyone and their dog has to disfigure their body

I have always wondered, what is the point? Standing in line at a local grocery store last week brought that question up again. The cashier and the courtesy clerk (they were called checker and bag boy in my youth), two fairly attractive young women, were discussing their tattoos while I waited patiently. They talked about body art they already had and ones they planned to get.

The cashier told of a new addition she was going to get on her upper body. She told her friend she was having it placed above the sleeve level so it would not show at her “professional” job.

So, once again I ask, what is the point? If it is so wonderful to adorn your body with garish tattoos, why is it necessary to cover them up? Who gets to see them besides yourself? Perhaps because we grew up in such a conventional environment, none of my siblings went in for these kinds of fads – at least until almost four years ago. Shortly after my brother’s death, my eldest sister got her first tattoo. Because Bobby loved the Oakland Raiders with a passion, she got the Raider logo with his nickname, Bobalew, inked on her upper right back above the shoulder. Her goal was to pay tribute to Bob. To show it to me, she had to pull her shirt down.

If it important enough for you to mark up your body, why must it be hidden?

Of course, there are those who have no problem showing their markings. I have seen some people, both men and women, so covered in tattoos only a full-length Alaskan parka would keep them out of sight.

Body piercers are a lot less bashful. While I say to each their own, I do wish there would be a line drawn somewhere. Nothing makes me lose my appetite more than going to a restaurant, grocery store or any other food handling establishment and being waited on by someone with orbs, spikes and danglers proudly displayed from lips, tongues, noses, cheeks, eyebrows and who knows where else.