Smile — there’s a stop sign ahead

I’m in a good mood today, and I have heavy traffic to thank for it.

I know that’s a crazy thing to say, unless you’re an ambulance-chasing lawyer or a psychiatrist who sees dollar signs in other people’s misery. But I’m neither of those things, so go ahead — call me crazy.

Maybe our founding fathers were born just a bit too soon

The never-ending battle over gun control always seems to hit a brick wall at the Second Amendment, which states: “A well regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed.”

The statement raises important questions on all sides, regarding what, exactly, our Founding Fathers meant by it. By “Arms” did they necessarily mean “guns,” or would swords, knives, and spears suffice as arms? If they were talking specifically about guns, did they give any thought to what type of gun might be a bridge too far, given the horrors future technology might bring?

Sometimes Dad’s lessons taught other lessons as well

Dad and I were always close, and he had a big impact on the way I think today. For example, Dad instilled a strong respect for truth in me at an early age — because honesty didn’t come naturally to me at first.

When I was little, my philosophy was “Let someone else break it.” It worked like this: If I was tossing a ball around in the house and broke a lamp, I would painstakingly reassemble the pieces and then tiptoe out of the room. The next time somebody walked through the house, the lamp would rattle apart, right before their eyes. Son of a gun. And I was nowhere in sight.

Finding the brand of a real-life Ken doll

A couple weeks ago, I chatted with a guy at O’Hare Field that looked like a living Ken doll. He was maddeningly good looking — medium height, blond hair, blue eyes, fit and trim and impeccably dressed — and I wondered which Ken doll he might be.

Because it turns out there are more than 50 varieties of Ken dolls out there — Cali Cool Ken, Tropical Vibes Ken, Hip Hoodie Ken, and more. And now they come in a variety of skin tones and body shapes that include slim, broad and original.

Meeting the usual suspects to relearn what’s really important

Carol and I love to take a brisk walk every day — usually at least three miles or so, and usually at sunset. It’s a great way to let whatever seemed so important throughout the day to dwindle and fade back into a “So, that happened” memory, and let us refocus our minds back to what’s really important.

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.)