The tales an old turtle shell can tell

I have an old turtle shell, bleached white by the sun, that I found near a canal in Florida and now sits displayed on a shelf in my home. Larger than a football, it must once have been a whopping snapping turtle, the terror of the canal that could relieve you of a finger if you ever messed with it.

Trouble with that whole ‘free will’ kerfuffle

In the Beginning, I am told, God created man from a lump of clay — which may explain why men are prone to dirty thoughts.

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.

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?”

Oh joy oh joy oh joy, it’s a snow day!

Of all the heart-breaking endings that this pandemic has wreaked upon us, add one more — the probable death of the snow day.

I’m all hat and no cows, in case you wondered

I have a lot of hats, but only one that I ever wrote a song about.

I have racks and racks of baseball caps honoring the Cubs and the Bears and just about every exotic place I’ve ever visited, but I never wrote a song about any of them.

Full moons, like fond memories, follow us across the sky

Decades ago, when my son Dave was only about five years old, he sat in the back seat of the car, staring at the full moon as I drove through the night. He was quiet, lost in thought.

Congratulations, Mr. President — may you lead our nation well

First, an admission: I have no idea what I’m talking about.

Oh, plenty of readers will say, “So what else is new?” But this time it’s different, because as I write this, it is 8 a.m. on November 3, Election Day in America, and although you know what happened next, right now I don’t.

Breaking news: Louis L’Amour is still dead

The bad news is: Louis L’Amour is still dead.

The good news: I’ve made my peace with it — a necessary healing because, after all, I’m the guy who killed him.

A burning image of bucket-list American blues

One of the special pleasures in life is checking off item by item on your bucket list.

I’ve been lucky to live long enough and to travel extensively enough to wear my bucket-list pencil nub down quite a bit. Notre Dame Cathedral, The Louvre, Sydney Opera House, Brandenburg Gate—the list has narrowed quite a bit since I was a young, wonder-eyed boy.

A tale of Daddy Warbucks and other dogs

Last week, as our nation teetered on the brink of 200,000 citizens dead from a criminally mishandled pandemic, and with my mind reeling from the never-ending stream of disastrous news, I hit the road to escape self-imposed lockdown and hopefully find someplace to unwind in relative safety.

It was Starved Rock State Park, where one could wander peaceful outdoor trails through winding canyons, as gold and orange leaves drifted down through the still air. And although I knew I might meet others seeking a bit of sanity, I felt confident that I would find enough safe social distance outdoors.

Text in your votes, because THIS … is Graven Image Challenge!

All things considered, it’s not really all that hard to obey the Ten Commandments, is it? Oh, sure, we all waffle a bit when it comes to coveting, but most of us manage to steer clear of outright murder and theft, and we’re pretty fond of Mom and Dad.

But then there’s that pesky Commandment Number Two, the one ordering us to “make no graven images.”

Are selfies covered under that rule?

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