Every once in awhile I have this problem of looking at a blank piece of paper that appears to be blankly staring back at me. For me that is doubly difficult. My guru tells me that he never knows whether I start at the middle or the end of something. I have explained to him that my native tongue starts at the end and works toward the front and I just haven't been able to overcome that handicap. Consequently I don't know if I'm staring at the middle or at the end of that blank paper. Grandmama finds that very amusing. I know she is hanging around my office again, looking at the pictures I've printed up from old black and white negative. Mr. Balzer was responsible for introducing me to that art. Subtly hinting, if you need help with the scanner, Gerry Balzer is the expert in that field.

"Interesting; Verry interesting!" Grandmama communicates to my humble mind. I am aware that she isn't exactly through communicating. In that respect, she is a lot like my computer. When the computer thinks, the green light vis-à-vis the power button beams a steady, reassuring green. When the computer pontificates and it does pontificate on its own occasionally, the little yellow light vis-à-vis the reset button blinks a little and than a lot and then it's like a volcanic eruption and it just pours forth in pretty bright yellow. My Guru informs me that these are not red and yellow lights. These things have names, names that escape me at the moment. Some day I shall surprise my guru by placing the proper name with the proper function in the proper order. Grandmama is more like myself. Her thoughts and ideas sometimes erupt starting at the end and heading toward the beginning.

"Whatever happened to that pontificating mouse?" she inquires.

And now I know why I am using that word at the present time. I have no idea what pontificating mouse she is talking about.

"That pontificating mouse sitting on a mushroom, smoking a cigarette!"

Now we're making progress. But I have a feeling that she isn't finished. The volcano hasn't erupted yet. I keep my silence. With Grandmama it is well to be patient, courteous and above all, respectful. I don't want all of my pictures coming off the wall. Grandmama could do that.

"Whatever happened to Tole painting?" she finally inquires.

That was the volcano. Tole painting came somewhere between sewing and writing, between the Smith-Corona and the Pfaff sewing machine. That was the direct result of daughter Barbara selling Tole paints and Tole-painting classes. I always believed in supporting the ideas of my children, a little success insurance that couldn't hurt. Most of the people in that class painted on little squares of wood and did those mundane things like peaches and pears and stuff. For me that would have been a waste of time. I took a cabinet door off the hinges and brought it to class with me, along with a cute picture of a mouse, enthroned on a mushroom, smoking a cigarette and pontificating my kind of philosophy. The caption was: Being is important Being important is unimportant! I dedicated that mouse to my friend Mabel, who loved it. It was the first of the cabinet doors, followed by every one of them and each one of them holding a tat of folksy wisdom.

"Oh yes, you mean Mabel? That lovely cigarette puffing-toadstool sitting mouse! It's under Barb's painting. Now I have oceans and ships and sunsets in the kitchen. Understand Grandmama when your children are artistically inclined you wind up with lots and lots of eye candy."

There was considerable silence from the other side. The problem with passing time is that often enough people pass as well. Mabel the pontificating mouse is under the Saeki suggested to Grandmama that she could possibly peruse what's on the other side. Mabel along with her husband Joe is on the other side. Mabel was a wonderful friend and so was Joe. I was glad that Grandmama brought that to mind.

"You could go looking for her," I said. T

here was another one of those stimulating silences. Then she responded.

"Guess who I ran into?"

That idea brought a smile to my lips. It also made me wonder. What about all those friends and what about those not so friendly people from the past? You don't suppose they all could be out there somewhere, beyond time pontificating about those who were still on this side of the fence.

"What makes you think you're sufficiently significant?"

The Grand Dame was right of course. My guru pointed that out to me when he told me that Symantec had no reason to send me a message. I was not significant enough. The guru is always right. I guess I just have problems learning humility. Maybe it is time to resurrect the pontificating mouse. And, if I can't find the mouse I know just the creature to take its place.

Being is important:
Being important is unimportant