So, where does the name Wrinkles come from? Hint: 74. Yep, you read that right -- 74. I would assume anyone that age has wrinkles. It seems that each morning when I confront the mirror in my bathroom there's another wrinkle ... devilishly winking back at me.

On the 25th of this month, I will add another candle to my birthday cake and another wrinkle to my body. I know for sure I won't have enough of what it takes to blow out that many candles. But the upside is if it's a cold day, I'll have enough heat coming off the cake to keep me warm.

Three quarters of a century?

Heck, you can't knock that.

Wrinkles?

Bring 'em on!

* * *

My name probably would lead some to believe that the Democrats have another voice on the HDN's opinion page.

Not so.

I am a registered Independent and have been for a lot of years.

In Ellis County, for many, many, many years, you were born into a political setting. Seemingly, if you were Catholic, you were Democrat. And that "marriage" prevailed for a long time. But as the years rolled on, that has changed. Just look at the presidential election of 2008 when Democrat Barack Obama was soundly defeated in what once was one of only two Democratic strongholds in the state.

Look at my family. At one time we numbered 11 -- including Mother and Dad. That was 11 Democrats. No question about it. You were born, then baptized in the Catholic faith and then "baptized" Democrat. That's just the way it was.

Today, we are down to six in the family, and of that number I count two solid Republicans, one solid Democrat, two leaning toward the GOP and then me. Surprising? Not in the least. Families change just like everything else. All of this sometimes results in interesting family gatherings.

Let's just call them "family wrinkles."

* * *

As youngsters, Big Creek in south Hays was always a lure, as was a place back then called Custer's Island, a few miles southeast. Of course the "island" had a reputation different from that of Big Creek. Along Big Creek you fished, at Custer's Island you socialized; I guess that's what you'd call it. The "island" was also the place where we cadets at then St. Joseph's College and Military Academy camped out each spring as part of our military training. A weekend without seeing girls? Come on, Army, that's not fair!

Those outings always had the school's military staff and the student body's officers up all night long to make sure we were all abiding by military standards of acceptable behavior ... whatever that meant. Girlfriends were gathered nearby just waiting for a chance to sneak into camp.

I can't recall that they ever had any success, thanks to the thumbs down success of the eagle-eyed student officers.

They were nothing but wrinkle wreckers!

* * *

Speaking of Big Creek ...

I can remember as a kid when one hot July Sunday afternoon our family held a picnic at the park with many in attendance, including one of our most favorite uncles. He was a great guy, except for the fact he smoked what my mom called "those stinky cigars!" They were a small, thin thing that really left their own version of a calling card.

Anyway, during the afternoon of eating potato salad, baked beans, fried chicken, homemade ice cream and, of course beer, our favorite uncle disappeared. Apparently his stomach began to feel like it was stuffed with a bunch of cross country runners that needed out. So uncle found a well hidden spot in the weeds along the banks of Big Creek and did his thing.

When finished, however, he remembered he forgot to stick some tissue paper in his pocket to successfully conclude the weed hidden performance. His only choice was a clump of weeds nearby. So the weeds were pressed into service. Job done. Back to the picnic. Many hours later, uncle began to feel uncomfortable, sort of jumped around like a polka dancer to the tune "In heaven there ain't no beer ..." Well, he might have been best served if he let the weeds alone. Poison ivy just isn't a lot of fun. At Christmas that year, he opened an attractively wrapped gift box under his tree and to his amazement it was filled with weeds and accompanying note, "Just in case ... and these are non-poisonous. Merry Christmas!"

* * *

Politically, former Vice President Dick Cheney, unlike most past vice presidents, has chosen to speak out instead of going quietly into the night. Cheney has talked more in the past 10 months since he's been out of office than the entire eight years he was in. I don't know quite how to put this, because as a former Wyoming resident I took a silent oath to always respect anything Republican, but the more he talks the more it sounds like a guilt trip. But then one must consider that Cheney is guiding his daughter, Liz Cheney, into the political arena. And in so doing, he feels he must first confess his political sins. Wow! He sure packed a lot of those things in his political saddlebags. I don't know what Liz Cheney has up her sleeve, but if she holds off for a few years, she just might become the vice presidential running mate for former Florida Gov. Jeb Bush.

Bush-Cheney?

I don't know how long President Obama is going to sit on the political pot before he does something. Afghanistan didn't just happen, it's been going on for years and years. He's had plenty of time now to make a decision on troop numbers. Political constipation can't be accepted as an excuse.

And I often wonder if Health and Human Services Secretary Kathleen Sebelius wishes she was back home doing the boring governor thing. She really looks run down. I hope she doesn't have a case of H1N1 flu. But I'd bet dealing with that controversial issue would probably make her feel likes she has.

Tom Dreiling is a retired northwest Kansas journalist who spent 42 years in the profession. He also writes commentary for the Goodland Star-News. tad1@st-tel.net