It has been eight weeks since rotator cuff surgery and I am finally rid of my sling; but only after my surgeon, Dr. Tom Myers, assured me that my arm would not fall off like a dead tree branch. You can't be too sure of these things, you know.

I have slept trussed up like a babe in swaddling clothes. I have learned to dress one-armed, eat one-armed and shower with my left limb firmly rooted at my side. In my next life, I may become a contortionist in the circus.

Now, I have ditched the sling. Well, sort of. The shoulder still bites from time-to-time and reminds me it will decide when it is healed, not me. A couple of jolts and I go flying for my sling until the pain subsides and I remember that healing is going to take a very long time and there is not much I can do to make it go faster.

In the meantime, my physical therapy schedule says don't even think about picking up a golf club in the near future. If it hurts to scratch my head, it stands to reason that taking a divot with a nine-iron would be counterproductive to my general well being and I would probably faint on the spot. Real men don't faint on golf courses. It's gets you laughed at by your golfing buddies. My golf swing gives them enough laughs as it is. Why push it?

But, all is not lost. Beginning next Monday, I head back to art classes and I can't wait. Whoever said you can't teach an old dog new tricks must have been the same one that said the moon is made of cheese. Art is this old dog's passion.

My instructor is Kristopher Meadows, located here in Marietta. Probably the same person who opined on old dogs also said that, "Those who can do; those who can't, teach." They never met Kris Meadows. He is equal parts terrific artist (good enough to paint my portrait that hangs in the Grady College of Journalism at my beloved University of Georgia), up-and-coming sculptor and crackerjack teacher.

In less than three years, he has transformed me from a guy that didn't know a rambling rose from quinacridone rose (that's a color) into a pretty fair country painter. I'm not bragging. It is just that nothing leaves Kris Meadows' studio until it is your best effort. Period. You may think you have created a masterpiece, but what you think doesn't matter. It doesn't go out the door with your name on it until he has decided it is finished. The maddening thing is that the guy is always right. Don't you just hate people like that?

Not only is there great satisfaction in creating good art, painting is the only endeavor I have every undertaken where I lose track of time. You can't paint and watch a clock - a totally new experience for me.

In addition to superb instruction, I am surrounded by some of the nicest people on God's green earth. I'm not sure if art naturally attracts quality people, but my Monday class is chocked full of them: Winnie and Bootsie, Ann and Hilde, Joanna and Kathy. Good people all. As the token male, I am in charge of keeping coffee cups full and getting reluctant caps off paint tubes. The chemistry couldn't be better in a Georgia Tech lab.

It wasn't all that long ago that I was in the rough-and-tumble corporate world. As vice president of BellSouth, my offices and those of the other officers were located on the floor employees referred to as the Shark Tank, meaning sharks will attack anything that bleeds - including other sharks. It was not a place for the faint of heart. That this shark managed to survive is no small accomplishment. Today, I am laughing and joking and comparing paintings with a group of people who don't know what I used to do and don't really care. If the other sharks could see me now!

But enough of this. It is time to bid adios to the sling and hello to art class. I thought this day would never come.

You can reach Dick Yarbrough at yarb2400@bellsouth.net, P.O. Box 725373, Atlanta, Georgia 31139.