RIVER CITY JOURNAL: HERE'S MY VISION FOR MONDAY, WHICH COMES AFTER SUNDAY

If I fill this last column of 2000 with odds and ends, you could conclude that I am cleaning off the top of my desk and organizing all the drawers and file cabinets that surround me.

You would be wrong.

I don't make a big deal about the change in years. Or centuries. Or even millenniums.

Except for dating checks, of course.

Which is the hardest part about a new year.

Otherwise, 2001 will start on Monday, which comes right after Sunday just like it does every week.

I'll be confused all next week, as I was this week, because the first workday of the week was Tuesday, but it really felt like Monday, which is what I thought Tuesday was until Wednesday came along, which was Tuesday most of the day.

See how it works?

But, in spite of what I've just told you, there are some year-end items I need to take care of.

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First, a special thank you to Dolly Dambach and Lorie Peats who took pity on my conspicuous whining about fruitcake.

Dolly dropped off one of the most scrumptious fruitcakes I've ever eaten. Given my age-advantaged status, I've nibbled a few fruitcakes in my time.

And Lorie came by with some fruitcake cookies, which I had never tasted before. I must say, however, that these cookies upheld the noble reputation of the fruitcake, the royal food of the holidays in my book.

I've been trying to figure out why Dolly or Lorie would try to bribe me with sacred food (check your Bible under "milk and honey"), but I quickly concluded they are just extra-nice people. The world needs a whole lot more Dollys and Lories.

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Another special thank you goes to the folks who help put out this newspaper every day.

I can't imagine a finer group of people, although I hope everyone else feels the same way about the people you work with too.

We are proud of this newspaper, and it shows.

What I like best about the people who work here is that they are never satisfied unless they are improving the content or the printing or the ads or the delivery.

That's the way it should be.

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And still another thank you goes to you, kind and gentle readers, who loyally take the paper to heart every day.

And thank you for all your kind words whenever we meet on the street or in a store or in a restaurant. Knowing that someone has benefited in any way from our efforts is a very special reward.

Yes, I know some of you use this newspaper to line bird cages and train puppies.

Good.

At least you have common sense.

By the way, try washing windows and mirrors with wadded-up newspapers. You'll be pleased with the shiny results.

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Finally, a word about the World Famous Downtown Golf Course and All-You-Can-Eat Catfish Buffet:

Some of you have been scolding me because I keep writing about how amazing the golf course is but you don't see any signs of greens or fairways or clubhouse or environmentally friendly propane-powered golf carts.

Let me see.

How can I put this?

Here goes:

People with vision don't need rose-colored glasses to see the silver lining on the sunny side of the street.

There.

I'm sorry I had to be so blunt.

The amazing downtown golf course is as real as "beauty" or "valor" or "loyalty" or whatever special food your mother used to cook.

It's all in the eye of the beholder.

Where you see quaint business establishments, a courthouse with the world's steepest concrete steps, weed-infested vacant lots and a floodwall with the personality of a fence post in heat, I see the makings of a world-class attraction that is -- thanks to semissourian.com, our online edition -- talked about from Hong Kong to Puxico.

Paris has its tower. New York has its statue. St. Louis has its McDonald's on the riverfront.

Cape Girardeau has its dream: a downtown golf course that makes us pleased as punch to say we're from this fair city.

Pipe dream?

If more of us spent more time spinning fantasies and less time bickering about whatever it is we don't like about our favorite river city, we'd all be happier while making the City of Roses (and Murals and Everlasting Street Repairs) a better place to live.

That's my wish for new year. Or Monday. Whichever comes first.