Well, let's

see what's in the old mailbag today.

Mmmm. It's

all outgoing mail. Not unusual: I don't get a lot of

letters myself. People who like what I write tell me on

the street, at church, in the stores, on the phone. Those

who don't write letters to the editor mostly. If we're

going to dip into the mailbag, I guess we'll just have to

look at what's going out.

Here's one

to Editor-at-large Hamrick. (Doesn't that sound like he

slipped his leash and is running around unfettered?) In

an interoffice e-mail, of sorts, he objected to my

reinforcing the urban myth about the turn of the

millennium.

Dear Dave,

Sorry you took exception to my helping perpetuate the

idea that Jan. 1, 2000 was the beginning of a new

millennium. Of course I know it wasn't, except in the

sense that every day is the beginning of some block of

time, as in, "Today is the first day of the rest

of...," etc. Whether Jan. 1, 2000 or Jan. 1, 2001,

we're dealing in arbitrary dates chosen by committee.

Ol'

Dionysius Exiguus gave it his best shot, without benefit

of Hubble telescope and computers, but he apparently

missed by upward of seven years. And I tend to side with

the ancients who started the calendar on the solstice

rather than 10 days later. So where does that leave

millennium-siting? Besides, there's that Western hubris

again. Who's to say our system of dating is more valid

than that of, say, the Hebrews or the Chinese?

But, Dave,

don't you think any event that brought all the world's

peoples into such unprecedented peaceful unity is worth

celebrating? Have you ever seen such global jubilation?

Of course, don't you know, since we survived Jan. 1, 2000

unscathed, all the fearmongers will have another crack at

capitalizing on ignorance as this year draws to a close.

All in favor of banning the playing in public of

"Also Sprach Zarathustra" every time

"2001" is mentioned, please signify by saying

NO! Sallie

Ah, here's

one to you:

Dear

Readers: I need your help. With Valentine's Day on the

next calendar page, may I solicit your input for a column

whose working title might be Romances Worth Retelling? If

you have had, or know of someone who has had, a really,

really touching romance - preferably one that led to

a permanent commitment - write and tell me about it.

I'll edit the best and see if they'd make good reading

the week before and/or after Cupid's annual outing.

Also, I've

noticed that folk sayings, or proverbs, differ

delightfully from one culture to another. Mary's friend

Rainer often says things that tickle our funny bones

because they are so "right on," and we wonder

why Germans say them and we don't. For example, I said

something about wanting to save money on some purchase,

and Rainer replied, "In Germany, we have a saying,

`The last shirt has no pockets.'" Our equivalency, I

suppose, would be "You can't take it with you."

If you know

of such proverbs from other lands or even other regions

of this one, share them with me, would you? My address is

127 Terrace Tay, Peachtree City, or [email protected] . Thanks! Sallie

To a fan:

Dear Mr.

Bryan III: And your point? Sincerely, Sallie

"Feel-good" Satterthwaite

P.S. You're

certainly entitled to your opinion, while I am not, not

in a soft-news series like the school comparisons.

Believe it or not, I don't really have an opinion on this

issue anyhow. At least when I put words inside quotes, I

nearly always get them right - which is more than

you can say. I did a search on all 25,500+ bytes in those

articles, and not once did the words "highly,"

"rated," or "government" occur, all

attributed to me by you.

P.P.S.

"Fluff" and "feel-good" don't bother

me - that's what I do best - but

"brain-dead"? I thought some of my stuff has

occasionally demonstrated spontaneous excitation of

electrical potential between oligodendrocytically

myelinated peripheral nerve fibers proximal to the post

synaptic membrane and exacerbated by ionic concentration

disparities contiguous to the corpus callosum in the

telencephalon. Or maybe not.

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