Dinner in the Field and other stories
I find you can discover your strengths at any age. For example, I find I’m a better writer than I am an editor. I have a full-length draft of a memoir that I’ve devoted countless hours to, and it’s finally finished. I’m anxious to move on to new material. But finishing the book is not the same as completing the project. Doing it right, I’m told, entails a less than...
Artificial Calamari revisited
I was out with my wife for drinks and an appetizer in downtown Ottawa at the Lone Buffalo and the place was jammed. The Lone Buffalo touts itself as a provider of quality locally sourced and freshly prepared food and drink and makes good on that promise. But as we scanned the list of small plate options I was reminded of this appetizer inspired story from years ago. I got...
Catherine McClure’s Peanut Brittle
My sister in law Sheryl, Darwin’s wife, was my cooking teacher Friday. Darwin wanted me to come down the day before but I was busy. He was worried about the weather. Sheryl had to take one of their granddaughters to an appointment and wouldn’t be home till ten. They were calling for snow or something else to start in the afternoon. Danvers is about an hour away. I woke up...
Change, peanut brittle, and other winter topics
Saturday came early for me. I woke up early and rather than lie in bed I got up. The thermos of coffee I made for my trip to Chicago Friday was on the counter where I left it. I realized it was there yesterday at about the Marseilles exit, too far gone I thought to circle back and retrieve it. Too much time would be lost. I seldom have those...
The 96 LeSabre Reappears
My old workplace reaches me still in odd ways. I was forwarded a letter from YSB sent by a local auto salvage yard, reporting that in their possession was a 1996 Buick LeSabre, with VIN number, and if it was not claimed in 15 days it would be junked and sold for scrap. It was my old white LeSabre. I remember it well. Back then, around 2010, YSB was still...
These Days
An old friend, who owns a cornfield, raked cobs off her land after the harvest, dried them, and bagged them up. Another friend who lives close by hauled them to town and brought them to the shack where I found them, delivered while I was away, stacked neatly on my shack porch ten feet from the little stove where I will burn them. It’s extraordinary really, the kindness of others....
1961
Like all Wednesdays November 9th, 2016 is garbage day in my neighborhood. I got up early to take out the trash and recycling. I spent Tuesday in the Lion’s Club working as an election judge at my precinct. It was a long 16 hour day. I had breakfast, made coffee and headed to the shack. There was frost on the shingles. Because the time changed the sun was already...
The 2014 Cubs: Best of the Worst
I wrote this post at the end of the 2014 baseball season. It is worth another look. It’s about my Dad, a true blue Cub fan, and the team he loved. The Cubs, two years after this was posted, are in the World Series. My Dad, born in 1909, is gone. But as he always said “You Are Where You Are.” My Dad made obvious statements impossible to refute. He...
DCFS in Crisis
After Trump loses the election and those Republicans still standing desperately search for, retrieve, and reassemble the fragments of the GOP, reduced to small jagged pieces like an airliner blown to bits over the ocean, desperately trying to figure out what went wrong and how to fix it, Illinois will still be in trouble. We have no budget, no recognizable plan for pension reform, no clear direction on tax policy...
Postscript on Century Lake
Not all my travel writing comes from personal observation. I mix in research as long as it’s not too difficult. I was anxious to find out more about Century Lake when I returned to the shack: its size, history, estimated fish population, whatever I could turn up. Google makes it so easy to identify sources and shop facts these days. My search however turned up nothing. A search of Century...
Fishing Century Lake 2
I loaded my backpack with gear and swung it onto my shoulders. In one hand I held only the light portage poles in their cases, the other hand free. My companions, younger than I, carried more. They carried the coolers and a two gallon can of gas for the portage boats if needed. We started by going up and over a boulder by the river, and then the path plunged...