Last night it rained boys and bears here in Mountain Home. Nothing smells as right as rain on the desert with the smell of wet sage in the air. Even today the clean smell of the desert takes me back to when we were kids exploring the desert, hunting jack rabbits and just riding around. At our class reunion ten years ago I was standing out of the way, drinking water and watching you people, like a scout. A comfortable looking woman caught my eye. The years had been good to her and her smile reminded me of the sun coming up over Bennett Mountain on the best day of the year. I studied her, wracking my brain. She saw me, cocked her head and studied me right back. She then walked over, smiled and asked if we had dated in high school. I told her the truth: I could not remember. She chatted a bit then went off to be with her friends who could remember their lives. I knew I needed my year book, the very on I lost about the time I lost my innocence. I told Red about this and a few weeks ago she presented me with a home made year book in a Walmart binder. When I got a chance I studied this year book. Girls I didn't think knew I was alive wrote wonderful things about me and signed it "Love" and stuff like that. I didn't know I was so popular. The guys wrote about the fun we had playing on the high school basketball team. I told Red that fifty years is a long time and I didn't even remember being on the basketball team. She closed her eyes, wagged her head slowly and said, "You moron." She then explained that she had borrowed Barry Peterson's year book and copied all the pages to make me a year book. She said all the nice things people wrote there were about Barry and not me. Why do demon's always kill the wounded? Barry is a good man and a friend of mine. I am sure he will not mind that I have a copy of his year book and cherish those memories as my own, including my time on the basketball court. All this and Heaven too. Life is good.