What appeals to me even more, however, is the perpetuation of the word "grammar" in reference to the school name, even if only with the initial. I don't know when the word itself was replaced by "elementary" in official designation, but—and you can color me paranoid—I happen to think that this widespread trend helped set the stage for further deterioration of the language.

The inclusion as part of a school name kept people aware that there was such a thing as grammar. Maybe the kids weren't diagramming sentences or conjugating verbs in class, but at least they were doing something about it and were aware of what grammar is. A lot of this awareness seems to have gone by the board (not school board, we hope). As an example of the deterioration, consider the widespread use of "like" and "go" in place of the verb "say." How often have you heard something like this: "I'm like, 'How often do we have to go through this?' and he goes, 'As many times as I tell you to.' " Pardon the retching sounds; I can't help it.

So, how does all this have meaning now? Well, simply because the people I call SUGS, the alumni of Saratoga Union Grammar School, are going to have their ninth annual reunion on Aug. 2. Participants will be those who attended from the 1920s—or even before, if there are any—to 1965, which was the last year for graduating from eighth grade there.

It's true that one doesn't think of elementary—excuse me, grammar—schools as having reunions, but Saratoga isn't your ordinary community.

The location will again be Wildwood Park, a site fraught with grammar school memories for me. That's because it was on my walking route to school when our family lived at the end of Marion Avenue (did someone say Road?) and I made the round trip twice a day. There was the morning-afternoon trek and, since we couldn't afford a cafeteria meal, another at noon so I could have a hot lunch. I'd say it was a good quarter-mile each way, but it was a scenic quarter-mile, and I didn't mind it a bit.

Adding special flavor to this year's reunion will be the announcement and, I hope, discussion of Saratoga School's 150th anniversary, which will be commemorated through the 2004­05 school year. Go SUGS!

Speaking of anniversaries, the recent grand reopening of the Saratoga Library in its grandiose new quarters marked a highly significant one. Saratoga School may be nudging 150, but our library is marking its centennial. Well, maybe "library" is stretching things a bit in terms of what began here in 1903, but the principle is there.

It was just a century ago that Saratoga got its first "library" in the form of a box of books on loan from the state, under a program established by the state librarian. The books were circulated from the town drugstore. Needless to say, the contrast between this humble but promising beginning and what we now have is, to put it mildly, mind-blowing.

Our new library occupies more than 48,000 square feet, houses some 180,000 items, including books, periodicals, DVDs and video and audio tapes. Also, there are 100 computers, so we're spanning the cultural gap from Gutenberg's movable type to the highest high-tech. Situated at Fruitvale and Saratoga avenues, this impressive structure's appearance is enhanced by the city's Heritage Orchard and the matchless scenic background of "Sierra Azul," the blue hills. The city arts commission capitalized on this combination by arranging an exhibit in the entrance hall of local artists' orchard paintings and photos.

It's-nice-to-have-readers Department: In a recent column I described a damaged anvil I have. The end opposite the horn has been broken off, and I surmised that it had been blown off with a gunpowder charge during a celebration known as something like anvil-blasting. I needed help on the term.

A friend, Pam Lavin, came through with the help. She sent me a copy of an article describing "anvil shooting," in which one anvil is buried, a charge of gunpowder put on top and in the swage hole, and a second anvil on top of that. Then the charge is set off, and the second anvil goes hurtling high in the air. Ever get hit by a falling anvil?

According to Pam's information, this was a widespread practice many years ago, a real "guy thing."