Thursday, 1:40 P.M. Snowing hard. Half asleep and bone tired from the Christmas thrash. Lazying in my chair, listening to an after Christmas bonus. Granddaughter, Kerri Driscoll is finger-picking on my guitar, and to say I'm impressed would be a gross understatement. She plays Classical style, and her finger speed and accuracy is amazing, especially since she's only fifteen and hasn't lived long enough to be able to perform like this.. She lives in Hilton Head, South Carolina, so I was totally unaware that she was so adept on the strings.. (I have tried for years to play banjo and guitar three-finger style, but finally realized I was flogging a dead horse.) I manage to play Dobro three finger, so how do you figure Duh!! Anyway, Kerri plays piano real well too ,and works partime as a D-J, a much sought after one at that. So, I was blessed by the expertise of her playing as it relaxed my Holiday ravaged body. She's also cuter than any new snow tires or chainsaw you've ever seen.. She goes home tomorrow, and I'm gonna miss her. Turn the page please. Some of you have indicated that you'd like some "old time" adventures and escapades revealed. Since I suspect that Editor John Gereau may have heavy Newcomb genes in his bloodstream, I'll enclose a quick episode involving Newcombites. Fall, circa 1960. Friend, Bud West (brother of Skip), and I were enroute to visit George Fennessy and crew at the Wayside Bar, or maybe Bubby Steuben's. Was wheeling my '58 Impala with a 348 and three dueces. (carbuerators, for you uninformed), built by Don DeZalia of Schroon Lake. She would really "haul the mail" as all his vehicles were known to do. Passed the road to Tahawus at a comfortable speed of only 80 or so, whereupon Bud says: "There he is, and he's coming", meaning State Trooper Michaels who had been parked a bit back on the road to Tahawus , waiting for speeders such as myself. ( Point of interest: Trooper Michaels had stopped me in Long Lake, and Tupper Lake previously, and told me that next time was it!!) Panic and fear aside, I geared the beast down and frantically tried to think of a place to disappear.. Got far enough ahead and around the corner, where, all prayers answered, Billy Norton's garage door was up, and the bay was empty. Slid into the garage at Mach five, as Bud jumped out before we were stopped, and slammed the door down. Can remember praying for the dust to settle before the Troop car came around the corner, which it did, whereupon Trooper Michaels went by at close to lift-off speed. Headed back to "the Krick" leaving Fennessy, Jimmy Stringer, Dan and John Havern, Tom Dillon, and others to fend for themselves. Another normal escape and adventure in our younger years, when our brains were developed to the status of maybe an adolescent rock-pile. ( Never did get over the love of big blocks and power, as most of the local grumps I hang out with will attest to.) Shuffle along please. Was reminiscing past Christmas years. It seems that Christmas Eve was always quiet, and as we walked to Midnight Mass, the snow was silently falling and the world as we knew it was serene and so lovely , you didn't know whether to be happy or sad. It's still wonderful, but a lot of the innocense seems gone as we get older. It think it's because we didn't know what a mess the world really was, as were were sheltered from it. At any rate, I enjoyed the service at the Baptist Church with family of that faith, especially Laura King on her cello playing Christmas Hymns. She's really gifted, and the lovely sounds of the cello always have made me delve into reminiscent thoughts of yesteryear. So, with Laura on Christmas Eve, and Denise Conti and choir at St. James Christmas Day, you couldn't ask for a better celebration of the birth of Jesus. Gotta' go. Will get back to more "old stuff" next time. Gonna' get the Dobro out and warm it up for Saturday's thrash at the Deli. Take a break; c'mon down and "let-off" for awhile.. Happy New Year, and we'll see you out there.