Trying to wrap my head around “cat-think”

I am not a “cat guy,” so sometimes I need help understanding how “cat people” think. Today is one of those times.

A few weeks ago, Carol Pavlik wrote in this paper about her attempt to adopt a cat, only to be thwarted by a woman sitting behind a desk who peppered her with stern questions. What was her policy on declawing? Did she have a vet? What would the cat be fed? She answered carefully and thoughtfully, because she had “nothing but good intentions for our hypothetical kitty!”

Sometimes you just can’t beat old-school

After having lunch at a restaurant with my son recently, we got into the car and I turned to look over my shoulder as I backed out of the parking space.

“Wow,” he said, “you still do that old-school.”

I had no idea what he was talking about, which is pretty much par for the course for me when it comes to conversations with members of generations that are less vintage than mine.

“What are you talking about?” I said.

Florida Man tales are hilarious – until they aren’t

If you’re looking for a chuckle some time, Google “Florida Man.” The laughable parade of ridiculous clowns is endless:

The Florida man who told police he couldn’t be arrested for drinking and driving because he only gulped his bourbon at stop signs.

The Florida man who stole a Walmart mobility scooter so he could drive his date to a sports bar.

The Florida man who fast-tracked an effective vaccine against Covid, but then told America to inject bleach into their veins instead.

Learning to celebrate the worst day of your life

Sometimes you meet a guy who makes you rethink all the worst parts of your life, and makes you wonder how many curses may be blessings in disguise. Marcus Thomas is one of those guys.

When my friend Carol and I met him in early March, he told us he had just celebrated the 36th anniversary “of the day that put me in this chair.”

Debating the merits of angel-sparrow wrecking balls

My friend Carol has been spending a lot of time lately thinking of her childhood as a good Irish Catholic girl on Chicago’s South Side. It’s not that she’s questioning her faith or anything, or worrying if her soul’s ledger will end up in the debit or credit column. She’ll be fine in that regard.

No, it’s that when she talks to her 16-year-old granddaughter, she’s astounded at how Ella’s modern-day Catholic upbringing is so different from her own old-school Catholic upbringing.

Drowning under a zero-tolerance wave

It started with an innocent question from a high school student: Why did the Washington Football Team have to change its name? The answer, it turns out — at least in the judgment of some— w as less than innocent.

Mary DeVoto, a Mother McAuley High School teacher of 41 years, was fired for violating a zero-tolerance rule of ever speaking a word that I assume I can’t print here for the same reason. (I won’t test that theory and put my editor in the uncomfortable position of deleting the word — or its writer — from this publication.)

From binge watching to buffalo robes

Just yesterday I got to the end of yet another binge-watched TV series — this one “Shameless,” on Netflix, an 11-season romp through Chicago’s South Side, with a title that describes all the characters and their behavior perfectly. If you haven’t seen it, tune in only if you have a high tolerance for vulgarity, sex, nudity, bodily functions and disfunctions of every stripe.

Because if you’re OK with all of that, this show is a don’t-miss gem.

Then, as an afterthought, He yanked out a rib from the man and created woman. I have no idea how that in any way explains the way that women are, but then who understands women anyway? Many have tried, but every time men think deeply about women, they get dirty thoughts. I blame God.

As a further afterthought — or maybe as a way to escape blame — God gave man and woman free will. “What could possibly go wrong?” I imagine He might have said.

Time’s fun when you’re having flies

Thanksgiving morning, as the turkey breast roasted outside on the barbecue grill, I picked up my cell phone and sent a few “Happy Thanksgiving” texts to people who make me thankful that they are in my life.

My son and daughter, of course, and old friends like Bill and Mike with whom I worked for more than 30 years. And Alejandra and Margaret, loving stroke caregivers I haven’t seen since my wife died almost four years ago.

A lesson in breathing, rather than bait-taking

I’m sure you’ve felt it as I have — that feeling that maybe, just maybe, we can begin to breathe again.

Sure, it has something to do with ripping off that smothering facemask, but it has to do with way more than that. It has to do with watching more and more of our friends, family and neighbors get life-saving vaccines, and then boosters. It has to do with watching covid infections, hospitalizations and death rate rates plummet as a result.

The miracle of a three-year-old’s kisses and wishes

As family Bears parties go, this one would have been considered epic even without the tiny miracle that happened, because it was the first time that my entire family could all be together on the same day.

There was my son Dave and three grandkids by him — Jack, Natalie and Olivia, all between 12 and 16 years old. And my daughter Jenny and grandkids Quentin, Evan and Johannah, all between 23 and 26 years old, with Quentin’s birthday only days away. And Johanna’s kids — my great-grandkids — Anastasia (Asia), who is three already, and Dakota, just barely a half-year old.

Some ‘holy cow’ facts about the great Chicago Fire

For the record, it wasn’t a cow that caused the Great Chicago Fire a century and a half ago. That fact was settled a long time ago, and you probably already knew that if you’ve read the stories that abound every October retelling the tale — and none more than this year, the 150th anniversary of the Great Fire.

A crusty reporter’s firsthand crustacean report

After nearly two years of pandemic lockdown, it’s easy to let your world shrink to the little you can see outside the window, just this side of the trees at the back of the yard. TV is no help, stuck in an endless loop of fake news fighting real news, conspiracies battling confirmation, tucked in between messy hurricanes and war evacuations.

That’s why it’s important for principled columnists — like me — to go that extra mile to keep your world expanded beyond the narrow bounds of your lockdown life, to keep you up-to-date firsthand on things that don’t sit just outside your window in Huntley.

The ironic joys — and jolts — of letting the world pass you by

In early July my friend Carol and I headed down to Wilmington, Illinois, for the annual Catfish Festival held there. The Festival was scrapped last year (like everything else) because of the pandemic, but this summer it was back in full force, thanks to effective vaccines that most sensible Illinoisans have taken advantage of.

It was fun to see the Festival back in fine form — deep fried catfish and country-blues bands in the beer garden of the Rustic Inn, mud volleyball out behind the Route 66 Bar and Grill, carnival rides and booths in the North Island Park surrounded by the Kankakee River, flea market on Water Street, and more. It’s the kind of “redneck roundup” Carol and I both love, with laughter, lowbrow entertainment and cheap beer.

Ticking off ways to stop the pests that tick you off

My favorite spot to sit and think — or sometimes just to sit — is in a lawn chair on the berm at the back of my yard, where the ridge rolls down through the oak trees to the meadow below. Because the ridge is shaped like an airplane wing, a gentle breeze always flows up through the shady oaks. The nearest homes are a half mile distant, past the meadow, which is home to deer, coyotes, pheasants, and other wild-welcome neighbors.

The saga of a star-steered morning

While skimming through the newspaper this morning, I happened to glance at my horoscope, which read: “Focus on practicalities. Chop wood and carry water. Maintain positive cash flow. Minimize waste. Conserve resources and energy.”

“Hm-m-m,” I said, because as luck would have it, I had chopped wood and carried water just a few minutes earlier on my way out to get the paper off the drive. (Well, I carried a watering can and sprinkled that pumpkin vine at the back of the yard, and I broke up a fallen branch lying on the lawn, so… yeah, close enough.)

When “Groundhog Day” comes home to roost

I was watching a Cubs game the other day, a slow-moving duel between two ace pitchers, and while I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, as of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.

Getting used to this whole ‘normal’ thing

A pandemic can do horrible things to you — even if, blessedly, it passes you by.

I fall into that category. Although I was able to stay virus-free long enough to get the vaccine and become bullet-proof, the pandemic did horrible things to me.

Confessions of a later-in-life Peeping Tom

Look, it’s a curse carrying around a name like “Tom” all your life, having to endure childhood taunts like “Peeping Tom” from early school classmates. Because I was not then, nor have ever been, a Peeping Tom.

Well, at least not until recently, thanks to that video camera I recently bought, so well-camouflaged that those who are being peeped-upon don’t have a clue that I’m watching them.

I’ll get to that, but first a bit of background.

A tip of the hat to the second-best dog in the world

Last week I went to the second-best hot dog stand in the world and ordered a couple Chicago dogs with everything, including a pile of greasy French fries that would have kept a Potato Famine family of six going for a week or more. It was my first venture to that hot dog stand in a year, and it was good to find that they still put out the second-best hot dog in the world.

Don’t cry over a ‘lost year’

At the end of my junior year in high school, my parents moved us from Elmwood Park to Franklin Park. And so, on a Monday afternoon in early May, I suddenly found myself sitting in a classroom in West Leyden High School, having started the day at Elmwood Park High School, clearing out my locker.

Traveling back to normal with a vaccine passport

Thanks to the millions of vaccines being administered daily in the US, it appears we may actually be “rounding the corner” against this pandemic, to quote the words of the former Occupant in Chief.

The past is a foreign country

If you’ve done any traveling in your life, you see that folks do things differently in other lands. Some of the difference seems interesting and fun, but there are also differences that make you glad to skip back home, where folks do things “right” again. “What are those people thinking?” you think. “How can anybody behave like that and think it’s OK?”

Getting my first vaccine was as easy as Rubik’s Cube

Ask anyone who knows me, and they’ll tell you that when it comes to being medicated, I’m nearly a virgin. I pretty much stopped getting vaccines as soon as Mom couldn’t spank me for refusing to get one. I take no prescriptions, and I resist the temptation to pop a Tylenol or aspirin when my back aches or my head starts pounding. I find that Irish whiskey is the cure for (and probably cause of) most of my ailments.

The winning bid in a game of ‘thrones’

Who can say why some people do the things they do, and what value they place on worthless items that would be nothing but trash to any sane, sensible man?

Take a gander at my cluttered bookshelves sometime and you’ll wonder what possible value some of the items there could have to any sane, sensible man. The answer is “none,” but then we’re not talking about sane and sensible in this case, I guess.

The wonders — and woes — of a Brittany Spaniel pup

Winter is fading at long last, my son’s first winter in his “new” house — a hundred-year-old gem with all the charm (and harm) that a century can bring. And although Dave loves the previous owner’s bathroom renovation, he learned during the recent cold spell that there was nothing charming about the poorly insulated water pipes in the uninsulated crawl space.

Shaving away the lies with Occam’s Razor

I met a new friend a couple months ago, and after we had covered all the important topics of conversation — football, fishing, musicians we saw back when we lived a free-range pre-Covid life — he swung onto the topic of the Capitol insurrection.

“Yeah,” he said, “I hated seeing all those left-wingers posing as Trump fans smash up that building.”

Operation Hit the Beach – full mission log

December of 2019 — the last normal month any of us can remember — I spent in Naples, Florida, and when my son Dave flew down with the grandkids just after Christmas, I asked, “So what do you want to do tomorrow?”

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