Midwest Memo
Got ya
by Alan Shultz

I call it the case of the "disappearing ink." My son Brad rolls his eyes in disbelief when I tell the story. He doesn't agree with me over the bad intentions I see hidden, lurking behind the computer screen.

In order to clarify a negotiated point in a real estate contract, I had the two parties initial a change to the standard contract language. But when the dust settled I wound up with a copy of the document with my client's initials but none with the initials of the other party.

I was already of the opinion that the other side was "tricky." They were about to prove it, at least in my book.

So, the other side e-mailed me a copy of the contract. There, up on the screen, appeared both sets of initials, but hit "print" and the tricky side's initials disappeared.

My son says it's my limited skills at the computer that keep these illusive initials from landing on my page. I'm staying with my own conspiracy theory complete with disappearing ink. Let's face it, from a writer's point of view it's much more interesting.

Brown leaves

My wife observed the other day that lots of trees have withering leaves at the far end of their branches. Wilt, that's what I've heard it called.

I suppose that the "good" in the way of nutrients and water from the core of the tree doesn't quite reach all the way to the outer end, the far perimeter of the tree.

It's sad, in any shape it takes, when it seems there isn't enough good - enough good will, or good cheer or good luck to reach all the way to benefit the all - be it a tree or a family, a career or a community.

Trailing clues

I stopped in the library the other day. What a refuge. It was cool and quiet and just the spot to catch my thoughts and reroute the day.

I sat at a computer station in the middle of the room and did a little research on the internet and looked at e-mail. When it was time to leave I asked of the librarian instructions on how to log out of the computer. "No need," I was told.

So off I went.

But then, as the dust hit the road, I got to wondering. I hadn't been at our local library, I was in unfamiliar territory and I was an unfamiliar

face to them, too.

Were they now reviewing my travels on the computer? Was my e-mail being reviewed? Paranoid you ask? No, but uncomfortable for the moment would describe that feeling as the trail I was leaving behind grew further along.

Regrets for things not done

They say it's the things you don't do for which you have the most regret. I'm no exception.

I got asked to do something the other day. It was a real honor to be asked, one of those special moments that come along. And yet, I'm not up to the task, not able to say yes.

It's so hard for me to say no to this one, that I haven't said that no yet. It's hard to release the blessing of opportunity without at least a tussle with perchance or maybe.

And yet, I can't do it. It would be unfair to say yes.

I feel the well of regret swell up and there's no way to look the moment un-seized that is passing.