2/29/08

Some changes are under way at Milburn Health Mart Pharmacy.

As many of you already know, we joined the nation’s largest family of independent pharmacies last year. We are planning a three-day, grand-opening event for April 30-May 2.

My bosses, John Williams and Ed Walker, decided to join Health Mart because they espouse the principles they have lived by for years. Milburn’s always has sought to be the compassionate, caring, community-minded health resource in the community. Much like a locally owned newspaper, a locally owned pharmacy stands above the rest because of what they provide that no one else can. While local news is a small-town newspaper’s franchise, we feel the same way about customer service.

What I mean is we know our customers, and in many cases, have been serving and advising their families for several generations. The pharmacy has been an institution in downtown Sullivan for the past 80 years, longer than any other retail business currently operating on the square.

Most of us can only imagine the changes in the pharmacy business over the past 80 years. But one thing has remained constant: Our desire to provide our customers with the best service available. And with that in mind, we are making a few cosmetic changes designed to make it easier for customers to get the service they’ve come to expect from an industry leader. You might have noticed that our awning was removed this week. We think you’ll be pleased with the change when the new one goes up.

We’re moving the front office farther back in the store in an effort to make the waiting experience more comfortable for our customers. We plan to put a flat-screen TV on the wall and run a promotional video for customers to learn more about us. We also hope to provide customer counseling in a more private setting. The changes also will allow us to display more items from the Home Health Center, which sits behind the pharmacy at 120 S. Main St.

Moving the office meant creating a new space out of one of our display areas toward the back of the store. I started removing some wall coverings last week and finished that Monday.

At 6 a.m. Tuesday, Ed, Curtis Tomlin and I began work on the new office. We got the early start so we could get most of the demolition work out of the way before customers started coming in. Then we started putting up new drywall and built a wall to close in the display area.

Curtis does a fair share of physical labor every day, but for me, Tuesday was much different from my normal work day. That point was driven home as I went to sit down to dinner Tuesday night. Muscles I didn’t know I had ached. There was no way I could move that didn’t hurt at least one area of my back. The last time I did any drywall work was 15 years ago, before my arrival in Sullivan, and it was apparent I hadn’t worked many of those muscles in a similar manner since.

But most of the drywall work is done. We have some to finish up next week after electrical work is completed this weekend. Slap in the door and do a little painting and trim work and we should be done.

My aching back says it’s about time.

2/21/08

I am among those spoiled a few years back when there were two or three years when temperatures allowed the most serious golfers – those who don’t mind bundling up – to play in every month of the year.

That’s not been the case this year or last and my anxiety is nearing the breaking point. I think if I didn’t have a round of golf scheduled in about three weeks in Tennessee I’d be going stark-raving mad. Take some time here to contemplate my normal emotional state and grin before you continue reading.

Not a day passes that I don’t look at my clubs wistfully. I’ve been in the bag several times making sure I have an adequate supply of golf balls, tees and necessary equipment for my upcoming season debut on the links.

Golf seems to be an activity that one either loves or hates. Many people tell me they can’t see the sense of trying to hit a little white ball and then chasing it all over the course. While I find it relaxing, when I play, more often than not the ball goes all over. I’m one of those golfers who like to see the whole course during the round.

But I’m addicted to the game and can’t wait to get back at it. My angst is magnified by the fact my wife, Kathy, bought me a new club for Christmas and I haven’t had a chance to hit it yet. I guess I’ll have to work in a session at the driving range behind the mall in Terre Haute soon, unless Mother Nature cooperates and provides enough nice days to take the freeze out of the greens and dry out the course a bit.

My game has shown some improvement in the past few years and I’m hoping to continue farther along that path. I am among the many amateur golfers who have turned to hybrid clubs to improve their confidence as they stand over the ball. That’s what golf is all about – confidence. Not much different than life, eh?

To the uninformed, a hybrid club is one that looks more like a wood than the long iron it replaces. Players of my skill level have problems hitting those clubs solidly very often. I have a little trouble with my middle irons, too, so I carry five hybrid clubs in my bag; the more accomplished golfer might carry two at the most.

Unfortunately, I think the hybrids have improved my game as much as possible and reaching the next plateau will require the most dreaded word in my golf vocabulary – practice. I’ve always been one to believe playing instead of practicing was a better use of my time. I only hit balls when I don’t have time to play at least 9 holes.

Since I don’t see that attitude changing in the near future I have to resign myself to the fact that I am probably nearing the pinnacle of my golfing career. Scores may continue to drop for a few more years, but after that, I expect a steady incline in the final number on the card unless I can get out and play a little more.

As much as I miss the game – I can have as much fun playing by myself as with a group of others – I do miss the guys I compete with on a regular basis. Everyone’s pretty much friendly with everyone else, although you have to be prepared to take a little ribbing for anything remotely stupid you might do on the course. You also have to realize that whomever you are playing with when you commit that stupid act is more than happy to share your misfortunate with the rest of the group.

You just have to grin and bear it, then come back again as soon as possible and grip it and rip it.

I’ll leave you with a common four-letter word frequently heard on the gold course.

Fore!

Which is "look out" in golf lingo.

2/14/08

I love you, pop

Most of the Salyers clan gathered Sunday at The Beef House near Covington to celebrate my dad’s 78^th birthday. The only ones missing were my brother Paul and his wife, Beth, who live in California. Pop’s birthday actually was a week before, but Super Bowl Sunday took precedence over family celebrations, I guess.

Sitting at the large table with Pop and our step mom, Cathy, three brothers and sisters and our spouses and a couple of grandkids, got me thinking about my dad and all he’s taught me over the past 53 years. I guess what stands out most was devotion, dedication - whatever you want to call it – to the ones you love. Maybe that’s the word I’m looking for – love. I know that’s what I felt as I looked down the table at him.

I’ve done some pretty stupid things in my almost 53 years on this earth. I’ve asked his advice on nearly every important decision in my life. I didn’t always take that advice, but not once did he ever say, "I told you so." But pop always was there to pick me up and dust me off after each and every misstep. I can’t thank him enough for that.

My mom and dad were married for 30 years before she died from heart problems at age 49. My dad and step mom are nearing their 25^th wedding anniversary.

Pop basically raised two families. I have two brothers and two sisters ranging in age from 55 to 44, as well as a step sister and step brother. They came into pop’s life when they were about 8 and 12, I think. They adore him, too. I think they found him tough, but fair.

I can’t say that I’ve had a hard life, but my parents instilled early in life that few things that are important come easily. They always pushed us to do our best.

Growing up in a family of five kids, there wasn’t always money for everything a young boy or girl – or more importantly, or so it seemed at the time - that a teenager might have wanted. But mom and pop always found a way to come up with the money for anything we needed. I think that’s an important distinction. Looking back, I wouldn’t change a thing. The lessons I learned as a child have served me well, I think.

It’s hard to put into words the many things my dad taught me over the years. Here’s a short list:

Your reputation is all you really have in this life. Once it’s ruined, you’re done.

Honesty is the best policy. If people can’t trust you, you have nothing.

Say what you mean, and mean what you say.

Hard work can make up for a lot.

Pick your battles wisely.

Treat people how you want to be treated.

A little understanding goes a lot farther than harsh words in most cases.

Always give your best effort. There’s no shame in not being able to do something, but there is in doing anything half-heartedly.

These may not seem like earth-shattering notions. In fact, they’re the kinds of things that all moms and dads should pass on to their sons and daughters. Unfortunately, in today’s society, we often find those values lacking.

My dad grew up in a large family who migrated north from Salyersville, Ky., He’s the only one of nine born in Indiana and he still lives about 9 miles from the country house where he was born. He’s outlived that eight-room farmhouse and, being the youngest, most of his brothers and sisters. He’s still got a ways to go though; my Aunt Mildred is 92.

He’s currently remodeling the kitchen of the home he’s completely redone over the past 20 years. I don’t remember living in one of his houses that wasn’t in a perpetual state of modification.

He has no desire to stop working, although health concerns have forced him to slow down – when my step mom can convince him to take a break for a while.

Here’s to hoping his working days last forever. Happy birthday, pop!

Send comments to info@milburnpharmacy.com

2/8/08

The past two weeks has not been pleasant for the residents of the little yellow house on French Street. Yes, we’ve been among the infected, with what I’m not sure, but apparently the same thing that has struck nearly every household throughout the county. It’s been rare to find someone who hasn’t been coughing, sneezing and wheezing. And those were among the more pleasant side effects of what I’ll call the Scourge of 2008.

My wife, Kathy, and I both work among the public so it’s hard to say how we came in contact with "it," but our money’s on our little granddaughter, Layla. She spent a weekend with similar symptoms at our house right before we started having trouble breathing, went through box after box of tissues and one coughing fit after another. The worst, I think, was when the throat felt like it was on fire.

The only even remotely good thing to come from this scourge is I lost three pounds in the past week despite missing my daily workout at the fitness center. I couldn’t see the benefit of working out when I could barely breathe.

Gee whiz, if I only could have kept this cold for another six weeks I’d be down to about 200 pounds by the first of April. Just kidding; I’d much rather be sweating away on the treadmill or elliptical machine than walking around with a head that feels the size of a giant pumpkin. I’m still craving a good night’s sleep.

It was either a good, sweat-filled workout after work Wednesday or the fact that the bug had run its course, but I feel much better today than I have in the past two weeks. And I won’t be entirely surprised, although I will be disappointed, if those three pounds return now that I actually can taste food.

Ah, yes, the taste of food. It’s so nice to be able to enjoy a meal again. We had turkey Sunday night and I have to admit, one of my favorite meals was as tasteless as some of the meals I ate while serving in the Navy. It was Thursday before I could enjoy a turkey sandwich, the best part in my mind of roasting a turkey. I think that Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday all I could taste was the Miracle Whip.

I can only hope that I learned enough discipline in the past two weeks to do the most important exercise of any day for me, pushing myself away from the table. Portion control always has been my biggest enemy, or so I’m told.

I’ve come to the realization that I can work out day after day, but as long as I can’t push myself away from the table – or keep my hand out of the cookie jar late at night – that I’m fighting a losing battle of the bulge.

Of course, that’s not the whole story. Often it’s what we eat, not how much, that sabotages weight-loss efforts. But I’ve also learned that you have to give yourself a little treat every now and then. All work and no play make me a dull boy.

Speaking of dull, it’s been anything but that in our humble abode on the west side of town. New pup Karma and established lord of the manor Jerry Garcia have been carving away at each other’s territory. If I were a betting man, I’d say it looks like Jerry is going to come out on top, if for nothing other than the fact that he’s bigger and stronger than Karma. While Jerry used to turn the other cheek when Karma invaded his space, he’s taken to dominating his younger brother with his size and strength.

Sound familiar, anyone?

Send comments to info@milburnpharmacy.com

2/1/08

By JEFF SALYERS

Some things, I guess, are just meant to be.

My wife, Kathy, and I have been pondering getting a second dog for months.

"Jerry (Jerry Garcia, our nearly 4-year-old mini-pinscher) needs a brother or sissy," Kathy must have said a million times.

We’ve been through trial runs with visiting dogs and had a play date with another. I thought a second dog was out of the picture, but Friday night we pulled the trigger.

Jerry now has a little brother named Karma. We decided on that name based on how he came into our lives. If we’d thought about it for a little while, we might have called him Trouble.

Karma is a 5- to 6-month-old Chihuahua. He’s mostly white with a tinge of brown or mostly brown with a tinge of white, depending on which angle you’re looking from. He’s an energetic little pup, the key word being little. He’s smaller than Jerry and the vet assures us that Karma won’t get any taller. If he gets any fatter it will be our fault.

So, you ask, how did this new dog come about?

Kathy, our granddaughter Layla, and I were eating dinner Friday night when the couple behind us recognized us and struck up a conversation about kids, work and the like. Out of the blue, their son asked Kathy point blank: "Do you want a puppy?"

"Yeah," she responded. "What kind?"

My wife’s eyes lit up when he said Chihuahua. We had found that a dog bigger than Jerry didn’t work. Karma seemed to fit the bill.

Before we knew it we were over at their house. A short time later Karma was being escorted into the little yellow house on French Street.

You might think that Jerry would be jealous of a new dog in the house. For the most part he’s indifferent. But every once in a while he gives me this look that I interpret to mean, "Why, daddy?"

If anyone is jealous, it’s Karma. Give Jerry a little loving and Karma is right there, trying to horn in and get some loving himself, which sends Jerry packing. Give Jerry a bone and Karma tries to wrest it away. Actually, treats are the only thing they fight over except when Jerry tires of Karma chasing him through the house incessantly. Kathy says it’s up to Jerry to stand up to the new kid on the block.

At first we thought that Jerry would have his refuge on the bed like he did with other dogs. But after a few tries Karma was able to climb onto the bed as well. Jerry is jealous only in the sense that he wants his space. If Karma’s on the bed, Jerry doesn’t particularly care to be. He’s taken to sleeping on the couch.

And Karma is not the least bit scared of the bigger Jerry. Jerry will yelp at him and bare his teeth, but Karma stands there toe-to-toe with him, somehow knowing that Jerry’s bark is worse than his bite.

Both of them are protective of Layla and it looks like it’s going to work out.

Speaking of Layla, she’s much more steady on her feet, although a cold made her a handful over the weekend. She now can walk up one step of the stairs before giving up.

But things are looking up.

Send comments to info@milburnpharmacy.com

1/25/08

I guess I’m lucky that no one asked me to be a member of their donkey basketball team. I probably would have said yes and lived to regret it.

Instead, my wife, Kathy, and I were among the about 600 people who watched the action earlier this week at the Downtown Gym.

The event was a combination of excitement and hilarity. It was fun watching the participants struggle to stay on their donkey while trying to make a basket. The hilarity came from learning that the donkeys had minds of their own and frequently sent riders to the floor head over heels. And fortunately, everyone went home unhurt, although maybe a little sore.

I suppose the players thought it a bit unfair when the man running the show would rap his stick on the gym floor behind a donkey, usually sending the donkey down the floor at an increased pace.

It was good to get out for a night of good, clean fun and support good, clean fun at the same time. Profits from the event went to the Sullivan High School Post-Prom committee, which works hard annually to provide overnight entertainment for prom-goers, eliminating the opportunity to make a destructive decision such as use alcohol or recreational drugs.

What was great to see was the participation of the firefighter and hospital teams, who competed against squads comprised of teachers and students. The latter two groups have a vested interest in raising money for the prom, while the former have shown time and again that they are always willing to answer the call of community service.

Devotion to community is an injection all of the Sullivan County communities could use. There are plenty of leaders committed to making a better future for us all, but it never hurts to get the public involved.

Mayor Scott Biddle is looking for ideas from the public on how to make Sullivan a better place to live, someplace that we all can be proud to call home. Often when such initiatives get under way all you hear are reasons why something different can’t be done. I’ve always been one to believe that you can do anything you want if you have enough tenacity to stay the course.

What the mayor and his "think tank," members of the community like you and me, have identified are some little things they hope can be done in the next year to make a difference people can notice. "Quick wins" was the term that came up time and again.

The best part is that all of the ideas can be addressed on an individual level. That’s what a community is, a collection of individuals. And it’s much nicer to be working together than pulling at opposites. I’m a firm believer in the old adage, "You’re either a part of the answer or a part of the problem."

Take improving city pride, for example. I’m sure that each of us can find something in their neighborhood that could use some tender, loving care. The same goes for improving the appearance of the downtown area. We all should adopt the attitude that it takes less energy to pick up a piece of trash than it does to toss it out. It’s time to take time to care.

I’m not talking about re-inventing the wheel. I’m talking about things that should be second nature, such as not littering or keeping your grass cut in the summer.

Baby steps.

Simple things each and every one of us can do on a daily basis to make our community a nicer place to live and work. The next time you see some trash on the sidewalk or in the street imagine you are a first-time visitor to our town, and remember that you only get one chance to make a first impression.

Take time to care, bend over and pick it up. Be a part of the answer.

And the next time you think about tossing a piece of trash on the ground, take time to care and think again. You might be surprised how you feel about littering if you just take time to care.

Send comments to info@milburnpharmacy.com

1/17/08

The threat of snow overnight Wednesday brought varied opinions among the staff here at Milburn Pharmacy & Home Health Center. One of my co-workers holds the belief that if it snows, you might as well get a bunch of it.

I have an opposing view.

My idea of a great snow is one that starts falling after I’m in for the night. You know, one of those snows that looks so pretty in the light cast by street lights but is gone by noon the next day. I like for the total accumulation to be much like what I found on the ground Thursday morning when I took our canine companion, Jerry Garcia, out for his morning walk – just enough to cover the ground and not enough that I have to get out the snow shovel.

I’ve already shoveled snow once this winter, and if I don’t have to pick up that shovel again it will be just fine with me. I know more snow is forecast in the coming days, but I’m crossing my fingers that the morning news prediction - that most of the new snow will fall north of Interstate 70 - comes to pass.

I grew up in northern Indiana and I remember having snow on the ground from Thanksgiving through the end of March many years. So I’ve had my fill of snow for this year, and forever.

Unfortunately, we all know that unless I move to a warmer climate – say Hawaii – snow will be in the forecast sooner or later.

I’d just prefer it be later since I plan on calling Sullivan home for years to come.

+++

My wife, Kathy, and I were treated with a weekend visit from our granddaughter, Layla, this past weekend. As predicted in a recent column, she can walk now, which makes watching her a whole new ballgame. Fortunately, this time she was walking at a slower pace than she was crawling before. But I suspect by her next monthly visit she’ll be moving at a faster pace.

Our two-step rise or drop, depending on which way you’re going, between the kitchen and family room also had the little darling facing a dilemma: do I want to try this or not?

She would grab the railing, get one foot in the air about half the height of the step, look at the railing again, and then drop down on her behind and crawl up or down the stairs at break-neck speed.

+++

We’re lucky, I guess, that Jerry gets along better with Layla than he does those of his own kind. Jerry wouldn’t let anything happen to that girl. He protects her like she was his own daughter.

One experience stands out in my memory. I picked up one of Jerry’s toys and gave it a squeeze, producing a high-pitched squeak. We call it his squeaky toy. Layla didn’t like that sound at all. Jerry didn’t either, initially, but he got a new one for Christmas and it’s his favorite toy.

A sort time passed and while Layla was in Kathy’s arms taking a bottle, I was tossing the toy around. Jerry would fetch it and bring it back to me. One of my tosses barely cleared the couch and ended up in the portable playpen where Layla sleeps. Jerry just stood there on the back of the couch. He knew he could jump down and get it, but he also knew that if he did that, there was no way he could escape. A standoff, so to speak as he looked at the ball, then at me, then back at the ball.

Since he’s such a good boy I reached down and got the toy, tossed it again and life was back to normal at the little yellow house on French Street, fun and games for all!

Send comments to info@milburnpharmacy.com

1/10/08

Sometimes you have to do something you know you don’t want to do just to prove to yourself that you were right. So it was last weekend.

My wife, Kathy, has been insinuating for some time that our canine companion, Jerry Garcia, needs a brother or sister to keep him company. Jerry apparently feels otherwise.

Let me explain.

Getting a second dog consumed most of our thoughts last week. The topic first entered the conversation early in the week when Kathy saw how well Jerry reacted to a small dog in the neighborhood. She looked on the Internet for more information and realized that the cute little pooch was much too expensive for my pedestrian taste and budget.

The idea of adding to our family gained steam when Kathy came home from work a day later with a flyer listing dogs which needed homes.

Our experience over the holidays with our canine visitor, Hoosier, who was much bigger than Jerry, suggested to us that small was the way to go. A 3-year-old mini-pinscher, just like Jerry except in color, caught our eye. However, she was a female and a phone call revealed she had given birth about two months earlier. Scratch "Jessie" off the list, Kathy said.

She seemed resigned to not getting another pooch. I was straddling the fence the best I could, every now and then saying, "Whatever you want, hon."

Maybe we should have asked Jerry what he thought.

The lord of the little yellow house on French Street would have told us to quit wasting our time.

By Friday night the issue appeared dead. But while I was busy reading, Kathy was surfing the ’Net, quietly building an argument for a neutered 9-month-old Labradoodle, one of the other dogs on the rescue list.

What’s a Labradoodle you ask? I had the same question and was informed in short order that a Labradoodle is a cross between a Labrador and a standard poodle.

An intriguing mix to say the least. Tiger Woods has two of them.

While Jerry remained mum on the subject I just had to open my big mouth Saturday morning. "Are you sure," I queried, "that you don’t want another dog?"

"You call," Kathy said, and next thing I knew, I was on the phone. By late Saturday afternoon we had set up a Sunday "play date" for Jerry and "Buddy."

We spent the next several hours trying out names, eventually choosing Jack. Jack Straw from Wichita . Jerry and Jack; two dogs that couldn’t be more different.

If that’s not putting the cart before the horse I don’t know what is.

Sunday morning Kathy and I were filled with anxiety. We couldn’t wait for Buddy to arrive. Then we saw how big he was, bigger than we had thought he’d be. His head alone was as big as ours.

Buddy was the friendliest dog I’ve ever come across, but he was three times the size of Jerry. Not exactly a small dog, eh?

Jerry was not impressed. Like our Christmas visitor Hoosier, Buddy wanted to play.

All the time.

Jerry on the other hand, likes to lie in bed. It was like mixing oil and water. We knew within minutes that Jerry and Buddy would not become brothers. I don’t think they even got to the friend stage. At least Jerry didn’t growl at Buddy like he had at Hoosier. But then again, they were only together two hours.

I knew it wasn’t going to work before Buddy arrived. Kathy and I had started planting the seeds of doubt shortly after picking a name. How would I fit both of them in the truck for our Saturday and Sunday morning drive to get The Indianapolis Star? Would taking Jerry only make Buddy jealous? Would getting Buddy make Jerry jealous?

And what about the expense, time and effort of caring for a second dog?

So, when the very understanding lady from the pet rescue center returned later Sunday afternoon we sadly told her that Buddy just didn’t seem to be what we had in mind. Jerry let out a yelp when she pulled in the driveway, acted excited when she came to the door and returned to the couch when she left, Buddy in tow.

Still No. 1, he dropped off to sleep on the couch.

The only difference between he and I is that he doesn’t snore.

And maybe he has more sense.

Send comments to info@milburnpharmacy.com

1/3/2008

Sometimes I think animals can teach us a thing or two if we can get past the whole master thing.

That notion came to me last week while we had holiday visitors: my wife Kathy’s son Josh, his wife, Kodiane, and their dog, Hoosier. It was reinforced while our dog, Jerry Garcia, and I were jockeying for position in bed early Thursday morning. I hopped out of bed and wrote that first line down to make sure I wouldn’t forget it.

Jerry is a small, purebred dog, while Hoosier is a larger, mixed breed. Jerry pretty much rules the manor at the little yellow house on French Street. He’d only had one animal visitor before, and that was for only a few hours.

Jerry is going on 4 years old, while Hoosier is still a pup. Jerry prefers to lie around during the day, while Hoosier likes to play.

For the first couple of days the pair would play for a while, but when Jerry wanted his peace and quiet he would start to growl. The two would be separated by either Kathy or I scolding Jerry or Josh or Kodiane telling Hoosier to back off.

Toward the end of the stay Jerry wised up. Whenever he’d had enough of Hoosier he’d jump into bed. Hoosier was much too big to make that leap. He’d try to encourage Jerry to play some more, then trot off to another room.

The final day of the visit the two were playing like best friends. Hoosier was chasing Jerry into the bedroom, then waiting for our little companion to circle around through the house and return to the living room. A few falls had taught Hoosier early on in the week not to try to go too fast on the linoleum floor. Jerry would scoot across it without missing a beat, then jump from chair to couch to chair before circling the couch a few times and heading back to the bedroom.

What’s the point of all this? My New Year’s resolution.

I have several, actually. I pledge to lose the weight I didn’t lose in 2007 and once again will set my sights on reading at least a dozen books in my spare time, which I have a lot more of after my career change.

But more importantly, I’m going to try to be a better husband, friend, citizen and neighbor. If you think about it, that should be an easy thing to accomplish. I’ve always found it takes a lot less effort to be nice than it does to be mean and grumpy, at least most of the time.

Some people bring out the worst in you, but I’ve decided to stay away from those people this year, and try to be nicer to the people who bring out the best in me. I look to build goodwill across the community. I want to help keep our neighborhood and the city as a whole, clean. I want to work quietly to make our city the kind of place to live that we all know it can be, and hopefully, all want it to be.

I got a call this morning that one of my ideas is starting to bear fruit.

And in this cold! Can you believe it?

It sounds like 2008 is going to be a great year.

Send comments to info@milburnpharmacy.com

12/28/07

By JEFF SALYERS

I’ve worn a peace-sign necklace for the past several years. It’s a hand holding up the fore and middle fingers with the circular peace sign like the one I wear in my ear cut into the palm of the hand. That sign first appeared in the late 1950s when a group of British scientists issued a call for the end to the use and proliferation of nuclear weapons. About six months ago I added a small, silver cross. It seemed an appropriate reminder that Jesus Christ was the first non-violent revolutionary.

A few weeks ago my wife, Kathy, and I were shopping for sweaters and I tried several on before making my decision. Before getting in the shower the next morning I reached down to remove the necklace only to find it was gone.

Kathy and I searched high and low, scouring the house before coming to the sad conclusion that the necklace was gone, we thought, forever. We figured it likely had been picked up by someone, which would not have been so bad, or gobbled up by a department-store sweeper. Without it, I felt naked, like something was missing. But life went on.

We quit smoking in July 2002. For the next six months, whenever I left a building I reached for my breast pocket and that pack of cigarettes that had come to rule my life. So it was with the necklace. I constantly was reaching for it, always coming up empty-handed. I read once if you want to change the world, change yourself; if you believe in love, act lovingly; if you believe in peace, act peacefully.

That necklace was my reminder.

Kathy called me on Christmas Eve to say she had something special to tell me, but that it would have to wait until later that evening. I tried to coax the news from her, but she was vigilant: I would have to wait until after Christmas presents were opened.

We started a tradition several years ago of opening our gifts on Christmas Eve because I was working nights at the time. I say Christmas Eve, but it actually was Christmas Day – about 2 a.m. – by the time we got around to opening presents.

We start earlier now, with dinner at about 5:30 p.m.

We also have another Christmas tradition, this one from Kathy’s childhood. Presents are opened one at a time from the youngest to oldest. So our granddaughter, Layla, started the festivities shortly before 7 p.m. I was next to last with only Kathy – a whole month older than I – to follow.

When my turn came I found everything I had put on my Christmas list. A suggestion to any children reading this: Don’t ask for anything big and you won’t be disappointed. One of the last presents I opened was a new peace sign necklace, just like the one I had lost.

I started to tell the story of the missing peace sign when Kathy disappeared for a moment and came back holding the original.

Here’s what happened.

Kathy was rummaging through a hall closet, looking for some serving trays. The sweatshirt I was wearing on the day I "lost" the necklace kept falling off a hangar. She looked down after about the third time and saw a string hanging from her sweater sleeve. It was the missing necklace. It had been right under our noses all along.

That Kathy knew how much that necklace meant to me and found a replacement is a testament to our love. But today I’m wearing the original. The new one is put away in the event it’s needed at a later date. Or maybe I’ll pass it along to someone else, you know, spread the message one person at a time.

I like to think that finding the original necklace is karma, a sign that maybe there is a chance for peace in this world. I know it means that I can’t give up on that dream.

So as a New Year’s message, I send these words from John Lennon out to all who read this:

All we are saying,

is give peace a chance.

12/20/2007

By JEFF SALYERS

- Emerson, Lake and Palmer

After a 90+ day hiatus, the Sullivan reality show "MY LIFE" is back on the air.

Or the Internet, that is.

For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Jeff Salyers, former editor of the Sullivan Daily Times and now marketing director for Milburn Health Mart Pharmacy and Home Health Center. For about a year I wrote a weekly column called "MY LIFE," which centered around the goings-on at the little yellow house on French Street that my wife, Kathy, and our dog, Jerry Garcia, call home. Frequent mention was made of our first grandchild, Layla, who comes for a weekend stay about once a month. We’ve been fortunate to have her two weekends this month.

My commentary on life in general, and my life to be specific, ended when I left the Times in mid-September. I never expected to be making a career change at age 52, but I was fortunate to land on my feet here at Milburn’s, just a block east of my former job.

I’ve heard some people say they’re glad I didn’t have to leave town to find a new job. I say "Amen" to that.

Many of you have seen me on the street or at the pharmacy, where I have an office back by The County Seat restaurant. Feel free to stop by and see me any time. Any time between 8 a.m. and 4 p.m. Monday through Friday, that is.

That’s one of the benefits of my new job – a more regular schedule than that of a newspaper editor. I’ve found myself still in bed on several mornings when I already would be at work at the Times. Some nights I’ve found myself in bed when I still might have been at a government meeting.

What I miss most is writing this "slice of life" column. Maybe it’s a blog now that it’s on the Internet and not in print. Whatever you call it, I’m glad to be back at the keyboard.

Several of you have asked me in recent weeks how Jerry is doing. The lord of the manor is doing just fine. He has the run of the house and sleeps most of the day. If you recall from last year, Jerry has forced us to downsize our Christmas tree to one we can put on a table where he can’t reach the ornaments. For some reason, Jerry finds them quite tasty, or at least alluring.

Perhaps you’ve seen him on the street – on a leash of course – in his new winter coat. The past two years he wore a multi-colored sweater that he fought getting in and out of each time we’d go for a walk. Kathy has outfitted him this year in a leopard-skin, fleece-lined jacket that uses Velcro to strap him in. It has a fur collar that reminds us both of Kramer on "Seinfeld" when he was wearing the "Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dream Coat" coat. Kathy calls it his "pimp dog" outfit.

It keeps him warm and he doesn’t fuss, so I guess I can live with it.

As for Layla, I believe she was just starting to crawl when I last reported. She’s still not walking on her own, but she does push a walker around, something Kathy says she’ll probably be doing again 80 years from now. She can stand on her own, and if we’re not too far apart, she can walk a few steps and stumble the rest of the way.

The growing bundle of joy spends quite a bit of time at the refrigerator door, re-arranging a set of plastic letters with magnets on the back. She’s discovered they stick to the trash can and our 1950s-style metal kitchen cabinets, too, so they’re scattered everywhere.

After Christmas Eve, we probably won’t see her for two or three weeks. I expect she’ll be walking by then. Then she’ll really be a handful.

That’s all for now. Check out the rest of our Web site. Maybe you can give me some hints on improvements.

I’m glad to be back and hope you enjoy the show.