His name was Tim Koss, a Lieutenant of detectives when I was a rookie police officer.  Koss was a tall, distinguished-looking man in the mode of Cary Grant or Stewart Granger, prone to monogrammed cardigan sweaters, subtle jewelry, and expensive footwear.  There was a reserved elegance about him that women were drawn to and [...]]]>

His name was Tim Koss, a Lieutenant of detectives when I was a rookie police officer.  Koss was a tall, distinguished-looking man in the mode of Cary Grant or Stewart Granger, prone to monogrammed cardigan sweaters, subtle jewelry, and expensive footwear.  There was a reserved elegance about him that women were drawn to and men trusted.  His wife balanced him nicely, also tall and slender, worthy of displaying prizes on “The Price is Right”.  When the two of them were viewed together, the casual observer might conclude that Mount Olympus was short a couple of residents.  In truth, Koss was bright, slightly depressed, with a twisted sense of humor, and a wry way of looking at the world.  For unknown reasons, he took an interest in my young, rookie self, and became somewhat of a mentor to me during my first year as a cop.

The young couple had two small children with them at the restaurant, and as I labored through my chicken fingers I watched the relationship of the family.  It was different than most I see these days.  There was no travel bag full of toys, no blizzard of techno-bliss, nor were the kids fussing or [...]]]>

The young couple had two small children with them at the restaurant, and as I labored through my chicken fingers I watched the relationship of the family.  It was different than most I see these days.  There was no travel bag full of toys, no blizzard of techno-bliss, nor were the kids fussing or whining.  All four people at the table, two in their adulthood, two under 7 years, were talking and enjoying one another, physically and psychically touching each other, learning about each other, with relatively equal participation.

In the early spring of 1975, I quit my job, and my wife and I filled a Volkswagen Thing with us, camping gear, a giant Schnauzer puppy, and took to the road with no destination in mind.  A few days later we found ourselves in Brown County, Indiana, a truly [...]]]>

A Gift in the Fog

In the early spring of 1975, I quit my job, and my wife and I filled a Volkswagen Thing with us, camping gear, a giant Schnauzer puppy, and took to the road with no destination in mind.  A few days later we found ourselves in Brown County, Indiana, a truly lovely area with rolling hills, scenic valleys, quaint artist’s communities, and more covered bridges per square whatever than any place else on the globe.  We decided to stay for a few days, and pitched our tent in a rambling campground between two wooded hills in one of those scenic valleys, 50 feet from the obligatory babbling brook.

There are those to whom mowing grass is a gas, but I find a lawn a yawn.  Some feel that heaven is clipping a hedge, but I’d rather camp on a skyscraper’s ledge.  Many find flowers their cup of tea, but a dandelion can get the best of me.

It shouldn’t be that [...]]]>

Clipping and Flipping

There are those to whom mowing grass is a gas, but I find a lawn a yawn.  Some feel that heaven is clipping a hedge, but I’d rather camp on a skyscraper’s ledge.  Many find flowers their cup of tea, but a dandelion can get the best of me.

It shouldn’t be that way.  I was raised by a man who took a well-groomed lawn very seriously.  He mowed a lot.  So did I.  I even did a stint for a time as a grounds man on the campus of the University of Illinois mowing for a living until I screwed up my knee by falling off an 8-foot wall of a raised yard near the office of non-academic personnel.

Employed in the lawn and garden department of a large store one spring, my job was to assemble lawn mowers for the unsuspecting public.  Some of them actually worked.  I know the difference between Kentucky blue, fescue, and zoysia.  I know privet when I see it. I can easily determine between northern birch and the river variety.  I am not ignorant, just ineffectual.

When I was a lad, kite flying was popular among me and my peers – a ragtag crew of Cub Scout, river-rat little leaguers.  In those days, one could not journey to the local mart and purchase some exotic piece of airborne art for a few bucks.  Oh, no.  The best we could manage [...]]]>

When I was a lad, kite flying was popular among me and my peers – a ragtag crew of Cub Scout, river-rat little leaguers.  In those days, one could not journey to the local mart and purchase some exotic piece of airborne art for a few bucks.  Oh, no.  The best we could manage was a trip to Baumgartner’s Dime Store and buy, for a hard scrabble 50 cents, a common paper and split lav kite that, with the proper tail attachment, might actually fly – and it had better, because one crash with the delicate craft most always meant its demise and the total loss of half a buck, a small fortune when cokes were a nickel and comic books a dime.

As it happens sometimes in my narrow life, a friend started me to think.  It was when she spoke of her wedding, her husband in his rented tux and she in her linen suit with dyed-to-match heels setting off on their road of life together many years ago – and some of the [...]]]>

Double Indemnity

As it happens sometimes in my narrow life, a friend started me to think.  It was when she spoke of her wedding, her husband in his rented tux and she in her linen suit with dyed-to-match heels setting off on their road of life together many years ago – and some of the rocks that litter that very road.  It brought to mind weddings – two of them to be exact, both of them mine.

Some time ago, my wife and I watched a rerun of a movie starring Mel Gibson and Helen Hunt.  “What Women Want” is a very enjoyable romantic comedy about a male chauvinist pig who can, all of a sudden, hear what women are thinking.  It also caused Laura and me to do some thinking [...]]]>

Some time ago, my wife and I watched a rerun of a movie starring Mel Gibson and Helen Hunt.  “What Women Want” is a very enjoyable romantic comedy about a male chauvinist pig who can, all of a sudden, hear what women are thinking.  It also caused Laura and me to do some thinking about the battle of the genders.  So far there’s no clear winner, but women seem to be ahead on points – at least that’s what they’d like us to believe.