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Mom Letters Covering 1999 in Chicago A novel by Jack Brackitt 1. January 1.1 Timeline In Mom Letters, the first part of every "month chapter" is devoted to the timeline – some events that actually happened in the month. OK – why isn't everything that happened in January in the January chapter? Because this book is weird! Since a lot of Brackitt family activities aren't time-related, they're lumped together by topic. This will all become clearer as you go along…maybe. Now, here are three notes I need to squeeze in before you get started. 1. A lot about the book is explained in the "Afterwords" section. You'll find it after the December chapter. 2. We live on the north side of Chicago. My Mom and original family reside in St. Louis, and all that gets explained in a February section called "Goodbye to the family home." 3. I'm 35 years old. My wife, Karen, is 37 (she doesn't mind me saying so), and we have three sons. In this January 1999 month, Ryan is 10, Jimmy is five, and Andy is five months old. This makes for a great game of Three Billy Goats Gruff. Dear Mom, Last night we had a big blizzard. Once it was over, I walked through 21.6" of snow and returned three videos. Karen: Did they clear the sidewalks south of us? Me: I didn't have to walk that direction. Karen: Where'd you drop off those videos? Me: Uh oh. Did I go to the wrong place? Karen: Yes! Can you go back out? We don't want to get lost video charges. So, I tromped all over the neighborhood and straightened it out. The worst part: I couldn't think of anyone to blame. 1.2 Andy at six months Since Andy is changing more than everyone else this year, he gets a monthly update. Andy's waving! This is a major deal. I see him and I wave. He brightens up, and then he throws both hands up and down. Andy: Ah! Ah! When Andy would climb up on furniture, I'd have to say, "No, baby!" He'd stick out his lower lip and cry. Now, Andy just stands next to the furniture, looks at it and cries. He removed the middleman. I get Andy all bundled up in his pumpkin seat and carry him around like a package. I deliver him, and I might as well make recipients sign for him. 1.3 New car story Part 1. Hatchback Ryan had a vocabulary assignment at school, and here's what he wrote: "My dad's SHABBY old car was a real BURDEN. All the repairs that it needed INDICATED how much he needed a new car. When I would say something his RESPONSE was that other things were more urgent." He got an "A Excellent" on it. Background: I have a blue '91 hatchback with 129,000 miles on it, and it's starting to fall apart. Jimmy: This car is worth 29 bucks. Me to carwash guy: I'm just going to get the basic wash – no deluxe. Guy: Yeah. He said it like, "Yeah, of course that's all you'd want." The older boys and I sat in the hatchback. Me: So, what's wrong with this car? Ryan: The paint's peeling, and it needs new mats because they're all dirty. It needs to be washed. The whole car needs repairing. Your seat's torn – it looks like rats chewed on it. The head thing on my seat's busted. And it's a very dangerous car. The muffler's rotted. And the paint's peeling. Jimmy: You already talked about the paint. Oh, and there's a crack right here. Ryan: Let's just bury this car in the yard. Jimmy: Why don't we get a new car? Me: Because I'm broke. Ryan: Why don't you just write them a check? Me: I can't just do that. They'll arrest me. Ryan: Oh, please. Jimmy: Hold it – if you're broke, why do we still have our house? Me: The bank owns most of our house. Jimmy: They took it? Part 2. Problems Here are five of them: 1. The engine light would go on occasionally, and then exhaust came in through the heat vents. Oddly enough, this wasn't a problem, because the heater fan didn't work. 2. If I turned on that fan-less heater the radio stopped. 3. It often has a bad muffler, because it's set so low to the pavement. During one bad snow storm the muffler tore off completely, and some lucky guy got it. 4. This piece of oddly shaped plastic fell from under my dashboard, and I still don't know what it is. I put it in the glove compartment and hoped it wasn't part of the steering. 5. It has a bad case of the "mysterious dashboard rattles." This annoying mmmmmm sound came from somewhere near the...I don't know. I banged on the dashboard to stop it, and that made it louder. 6. A few weeks ago, I drove over 50 mph and the front end shook like a wet dog. I never noticed this before, because Chicago rush hour traffic goes about 30 mph top-speed – perfect for this car. (The shaking story is foreshadowing, by the way.) On the bright side Years ago, I installed this $97 car radio/cassette deck, and surprisingly, it continues to work perfectly. I always wanted to talk with the workers who built it. Me: You thought you were making some cheap junk car stereo, and here it's lasted four years. Worker: Yeah! We figured they'd break as soon as people bought them. Wow, four years. Another good thing: The timing chain works. Seriously, do cars really have these things? I've never seen one, but car enthusiasts warn me about them – with all the fervor of a foot-stomping preacher. Chainer: How many miles do you have on your car? Me: About 100,000. Chainer: Ohhh, my friend. You know, I was just like you. I drove my car very hard, and I never thought about my timing chain. Then one day I was on Damascus Road, and this light came on… Part 3. Estimate Now we get back to the story of the shaking front end. (See, I told you.) I took the car in for an estimate. A few hours later, the mechanic called me and sounded grim. Mechanic: Let me tell you the simple part first. Uh oh – if they divide it into sections I know trouble is coming. In sum, the mechanic told me the front-wheels-connected-to-the-steering parts were all worn, and they would need $1,300 worth of repairs. And the car has a resale value of $200. Well. I left Karen a voicemail about our problem. A significant amount of our marriage is conducted via voicemail. Karen left a message back. She was optimistic about the whole thing, and she suggested I look for a new car. What's another payment, anyway? Part 4. Reviewing Long ago I chose the car I wanted – this particular four-door model. I went on the Internet and put a deal together with a dealership in the western suburbs. My car came in three types: The LE, the SE and the Cheap-E. What I selected is needless to say. Buyer's note: The LE (priced $5,000 more) offers many extras that cost the manufacturer little or nothing. For example, only the LE can be black, while mine is blah earth tone that looks like primer coating. Saturday We drove out west and laid down $100 to hold a particular car. The salesman thought it odd I didn't ask for a test drive, but that wasn't necessary. It's a new and familiar car – what's going to be unacceptable? But I gave in and tried it out. It felt like a rental car – one of those rolling marshmallows that puff up our roads. Two things I noticed: 1. The seats are comfortable. That's another reason I never want a sports car, because they chisel their seats out of rock. Sports car salesman: If you were driving in the Helsinki Grand Prix you'd want these seats, believe me. 2. The speedometer goes up to 140 miles per hour. Under what circumstance will I need to drive my car that fast? This is only good for the joy riders who'll steal it. On the way back, I told Karen if we were desperate money-wise, we could put the car on a number of credit cards. Karen: At least I'll have a new car to visit you in prison. Part 5. Arrangements What a pain to buy a car: upgrade insurance, get a loan, order the car alarm, install the truck bed liner – that last one was a mistake. My life is a mess already, and I have to make sure a man with my name doesn't take free ownership of the car. Also, I needed to get rid of the hatchback, but I couldn't find the title. Hmm, that was a piece of paper I got nine years ago – odd that it was lost. This gave me the opportunity to write the state with a request...something I don't get to do often enough. Monday We arrived at the dealership to pick the car up, and the finance guy's computer system was being repaired. That took a few hours, so we watched a lot of daytime TV in their waiting room. One talk show was themed, "Who's the Father of My Teenage Daughter's Baby?" Finally they showed the real father, but the mother-in-law demanded a retest. After seeing the dad, who could blame her? After the computer was fixed, we went into an office about the size of the cardboard box for a washing machine and signed a stack of papers. My new car was fine, except someone forgot to put in the alarm system. Driving it home, I realized our insurance only covers this car if there's an alarm in it. I considered asking Ryan to sleep in the backseat with a baseball bat (and he would have). Instead, I found a pay phone, called the insurance company, and got an adjustment in our policy. Me: That's wonderful. Now my wife won't beat me up. Insurance guy: I understand. What became of the hatchback? I sold it for $20 so it could be repaired and sold to a worthy person. A junkyard would have paid $50, but later they might've claimed I took advantage of them. Part 6. Ownership This car is so quiet I can't tell whether it's on or off. I carry around a lot of two-liters bottles of soda in the car. In the hatchback trunk, the bottles rested comfortably, but they roll around in this new trunk. It sounds like a person is in there banging to get out, and that makes me feel less lonely. Friday I was heading home with Ryan. Suddenly, the cars in front of me slowed up and I had to brake. The guy behind me banged right into me – not ultra hard. We pulled over. Guy: What happened? Me: Well, we all braked, and you ran into me. Guy: It's not my fault. Man, look at my bumper. I just bought this car. Me, looking at my bumper (just scratches): It would be your fault, because you ran into me. But it doesn't look bad, so you want to forget it? Guy, walking to his car: OK. Man, you're lucky. Me: Now that I've got this new car, what are you gonna have to complain about? Ryan: We'll see. 1.4 Morning The short, non-time-related tales from the Mom letters aren't presented in the chronological order they were written and sent. Instead, they're grouped into different subjects, and "Morning" is the first one of these. Ryan Ryan went to bed with wet hair last night, and this morning he looked like a Picasso painting. Me: Time to wake up. Ryan! If you don't get up, I'll start singing. Ryan: I'm up. Ryan: Can I have this bread for breakfast? Me: Absolutely. Ryan, eyeing it suspiciously: Why, what's wrong with it? Me: It's fine. Ryan: I don't want it. Jimmy Jimmy was already having a grumpy morning, and then...he noticed a dryer sheet stuck inside his shirt. Jimmy: Errgh! He angrily pulled it out and threw it to the floor. I was getting the kids ready, and I called Karen at work. Me to Karen's voicemail: Is Jimmy going to school or daycare? Karen, from the kitchen: School! I was loaded down with baby and briefcase, we were walking down the long steps, and I saw that Jimmy was about to take his Slinky? to school. Me: Jimmy, that Slinky should stay here. He handed me the toy, and I couldn't get a firm handle on it – the thing was falling all over the steps, and I was flopping around with it. Jimmy: Dad, stop playing with my Slinky. Andy Andy awoke and sat up sleepy eyed. Me: Hi, baby! He gave me a squinty, "oh, please" look, clunked over and went back to sleep. This morning Andy attacked Jimmy's remaining breakfast and knocked it over. While I was cleaning it up, Andy grabbed Jimmy's toothbrush and cup and threw them around. Apparently, we have a baby who creates diversions. I put on Andy's shoes. Then, my shoes. Then, Jimmy's shoes. Then Andy's shoes again – because he pulled them off. Karen Good deeds and compliments become currency in this family. Me: Thanks for cleaning the kitchen this morning. It looks great. Karen: You're welcome! Can you do me a favor? For breakfast, Karen ate last night's chicken curry. Jack I dreamed that I got up and went through my morning routine. I have no problem picking a morning newspaper out of a public trashcan, but if it's got muck on it, I pass. Family Sometimes when we're getting ready, there's an infomercial running silently in the background. This morning, we were joined by women getting facials. Jimmy: Mom, I can't find my dress shoes. They searched all over. Karen: Jimmy, you're wearing them. We had a holdup – Jimmy couldn't cross the safety gate we have for Andy...it's between the kitchen and the living room. Me: Ryan, help Jimmy get over the gate. Ryan: Jim, c'mon! Jimmy: No, I want Dad to do it. Ryan: Here, I'll lift you. Jimmy: No! Me: Jimmy, Ryan's strong – he'll help you get over. Jimmy, crying: Unh unh! Me: Hey – just open the gate. Ryan: Oh yeah. And they did. Talk I wish the commercials would come out and say it: "…and no other cereal tastes more like wet newspaper." 1.5 Drew Brackitt profile Quick note before we start: All of my original family members are profiled in this book, and their stories are delivered in whatever month they were born in. This puts our dog Drew first, and my Dad would have liked that. Also, the story below introduces my three older brothers. Here they are…in their birth order: Al Sam Doug Me Drew "Jack, take your youngest brother out for a walk." – Dad, 1977 Introduction A pedigreed black Labrador retriever was born on January 17, 1970. Dad paid the $400 adoption fee and gave the puppy his official name: Drummer Brackitt. He got his first name because Mom loved the Christmas program where the boy plays the drums. Dad brought Drew home to us, and he became the seventh and proudest member of the Brackitt family. Drew was... ~ 140 lbs, over double the average for a Labrador. He was almost the size of a Saint Bernard. ~ well-composed – except when it came to wanting food and outside. ~ afraid of the vacuum cleaner. ~ the smartest dog I've ever known. Eating Drew wolfed down almost every table scrap left by his fellow family members, and he wasn't choosy. One time he ate Dad's transistor radio. In the Brackitt family, secretly snatching food from each other is a respected skill. Drew was the best in the family at this, and he knew it. A Christmas story: Mom knew she shouldn't give a dog turkey bones, so she carefully wrapped the carcass, put it into the trash can on the side of the house and pushed down the lid. A few hours later Mom looked into the yard, and Drew was running with the carcass in his mouth. Bravery Drew's oldest brother Al writes on this subject: "The best Drew story is one of great courage. Circa 1977, this miserable mutt ran across our backyard and tried to bite me. Drew leapt out of the shadows, grabbed that dog by the neck, shook him five times, and threw him aside. The mutt hid behind a picnic table and barked feebly at Drew. That dog never tried to attack me again. "I also remember a good story about this German shepherd named Dack. He was trained to attack. The owner was always bragging about his 'Killer German shepherd.' One time Dack attacked Drew. Drew rose up like a bear, grabbed Dack by his throat and held him. The owner and Dack both howled. Drew had a great deal of courage. He was an excellent dog and is sadly missed." Activities Drew's favorite activity was sleeping on the couch. I would watch these B&W 16mm films at school about life on the farm. The dog was named Shep, he slept with one eye open, he was up before the rooster crowed, and he helped round up the cows. I thought: Drew is nothing like this. Drew's third oldest brother Doug worked more than any brother to give Drew the life he was supposed to have – as a retriever. Doug took Drew hunting for squirrels, but Drew chased them instead. However, Drew did love to swim in the lake, so all our cars had that long-lasting lake/wet dog smell. Dad tried to get Drew to retrieve ducks, but Dad never shot one, so it was a moot point. Duck: Did you see that down there? That hunter never had his gun ready, and his dog was just rolling in the grass. Walks Brother Doug would stand and cook at an all-night diner for eight hours, get off at 6:00 am, trudge a mile home, open the door, and Drew would jump around – wanting Doug to take him for a long walk. And Doug took him. Sam: I enjoyed walking Drew and getting outside. He spent a lot of his time smelling everything, and that was fine with me. If I was lying on the couch and Drew wanted to go out, he would stick his big face right into mine, then pant, drool, nudge and breathe on me for about five minutes. If that didn't work, he would walk on top of me and lay down on my chest. That would work. Functioning Drew pooped in the basement a lot. We family members were used to this, and we simply walked around his droppings. However, some visitors stepped in the wrong spot, and they were sent flying. (Basement floor + dog turd + shoe = airborne.) Drew had the worst gas in the house. He'd lay in the family room and let out one that filled up the place. Then he'd give this look like, "What's that terrible smell?" And he'd walk out, clearly disappointed in us. Family Drew revered his Dad, adored his Mom, and knew his four brothers as his equals. One morning, we human brothers walked to school, and Drew was in the yard. A few hours later, Drew picked up our scent and walked a half-mile to come see us. He went into the building by himself (school doors were open in those days) and trotted down the halls. … The principal saw him and handled the situation well. He kindly took Drew by the collar to the school basement, checked his tags, recognized our family, and called Sam out of class. Sam tried to get Drew to leave, but the big dog wouldn't budge. He wanted to stay in the same place his brothers were at. The principal called Mom, and she arrived. She sat with Drew for a little while, told him that lunch was waiting at home, and he went back with her. In the early 1980s, Drew was getting on in years and moving slowly. I arrived home after a few months at college, and Drew greeted me energetically. Me: Why's Drew jumping up and down like this? Mom: Well, he's happy to see you! Really? That day I learned two things about our dog: 1) He could tell each of his brothers apart. 2) He could miss one of his family members. We miss him too. In 1983, Drew quietly left his place on the couch and walked proudly into our hearts forever. 1.6 Music Ryan We were listening to a famous old song on the radio. Me: This is a platinum record. Ryan: It's Latin? Me: No, platinum. It sold more than a million copies. Ryan: It's Spanish? Ryan put his the headphones on, but I still heard his music as loud as through a regular stereo. Ryan was watching one of his cable music shows – a live concert by a band with five members who choreograph together and don't play instruments. Me: They're lip synching – not really singing. Ryan: No, they're singing. Me: Son, I have some hard facts to tell you about lip synching. [And I did, in an instructive, parental way.] You know, I'd like your bands a lot more if they actually sang in concert. Ryan: Well, your bands have long hair and they just stand there. Jimmy Jimmy wrote a new song: Dad's a big scaredy cat He's afraid to go to the store Dad's the stupidest guy in the world Dad's the oh so Oh so Stupidest guy in the world Jimmy is taking guitar lessons. As our reward he gives concerts for us, and here's how it goes: The performance is held on our top floor. Karen, Andy, Ryan and I take our places in the audience – we sit on the futon. Jimmy sits on a short black stool and rests his left foot on this gas pedal thing. Karen hands him his little acoustic guitar, and he plays, "Hot cross buns." We applaud. Karen Me: We might get tickets to a classical music concert. Karen: Wow! Me: You want to go? Karen: Not really. Jack I can't tell the difference between country music and bluegrass. Talk We have a kids' music cassette that's a total ripoff – it's the exact same music on both sides. And geesh, why? They play copyright-free songs, so there aren't any royalty problems. Music executive: I like this idea – have the same songs on both sides. The kids will never notice. In fact, they'll like it, 'cause they won't need to flip over the tape. We're doing a public service. I'm a friend to children everywhere. I recently discovered these overnight sensation all-girl bands also make music. I only know them from the trashy celebrity TV shows and tabloids. Now I understand they also sing songs and release CDs. 1.7 Scandinavian furniture shopping Friend Marco Torez and I went to the bigger-than-Norway Scandinavian furniture store out in the suburbs. Here's the breakdown: Overall This store is a mecca. It's the only place of its kind for hundreds of miles around, and people who are quasipolitan (meaning "city types who live in the suburbs") come from all over to buy their furniture. If the store were conveniently located, it wouldn't have nearly the business, because driving a long distance is part of the appeal. The outside of the building is bright orange, and it can be seen by the Voyager 11 space probe. I would tell you how many floors it has, but I didn't pay enough attention. It's a big place – long escalators. Lots of furniture...as one would imagine. They have a play area just for the kids, an ice cream parlor, and a restaurant. First date gal: Where are we going for dinner? First date guy: The furniture store. First date gal: Good. I can get an end table. Items We saw a display of "rag rugs" – brown, clothy floor mats that cost $30 each. We have some rag rugs in our basement, and I'm glad to know their worth. Getting down to price and value, let's examine one of their Scandinavian TV stands. It's particleboard with white paper laminate. If we went to a US discount store, that un-Scandinavian stand would be $22. Here it's $25, and it's designed in a Nordic land. That's a good deal. For three extra dollars we can tell visitors, "This TV stand is Swedish. Look at it!" A true oddity in this place is their inflatable furniture. I sat on the end of an air-filled sofa and it rolled me to the floor. I re-sat carefully, and I spoke calmly to it. Me: Don't move…we're doing fine. OK. Sofa: Man, you're gonna puncture me...you've got a pen in your pocket, I know it! Me: I don't. I promise. Other uniquosities There are plenty of "they must do this in Scandinavia" aspects to this store. For example, they provide peculiar looking baby strollers. They're verticalized, are a dull-gray metal, and have a lot of knobs at the connection points. They look like something steelworkers would build on a lunch break. The store offers free paper yardsticks to measure the furniture. I guess if they had real yardsticks, bargain hunters would beat each other with them. Employees there are called associates, consultants, or some title that's as inflated as their furniture. I'd tell my bosses there: Call me a schmuck and increase my pay. Checkout The store has a lot of accommodations, but fast checkout isn't one of them – it took about 20 minutes. Next time we'll bring friend Lee Kirby and have him stand in line for us. Marco and I will eat lunch, browse around, watch some Denmark TV (Hamlet marathons), select our items, and Lee will be ready at the register for us. 1.8 Supermarket Ryan Ryan: You're only taking me to the store to annoy me. Ryan: Pleeeze don't make me go into the store. Me: Why not? Ryan: Because they play stupid songs and you sing them. Jimmy I was at the grocery store with Jimmy. We were in line, and Jimmy was studying the candy. I released a little gas. This would have gone unnoticed, I promise – but Jimmy stands a lot lower than most. Jimmy, announcing: Daddy, you had gas! Me, sheepishly: Yes, Jimmy. What candy do you want? Jimmy: I'm going to pull my hat over my face so I don't smell your gas. And he did. I was at the store and called home to see if we needed anything. Jimmy answered the phone. Jimmy: Hello. Me: It's Daddy. Jimmy: What are you doing? Me: Can I talk to my mom? I want to know if we need anything from the grocery store. Jimmy: We don't. I need eggs. Jimmy sat in the cart and helped me cross things off the grocery list. Because Jimmy can't read, I told him the letter a particular product started with, he would scrutinize the list, make an assessment, and scratch something off. This worked fine...I just need to buy items that start with different letters. Then we heard a loud noise. This upset Jimmy, and he scribbled up the entire list. Me: How can we see what else to get? Jimmy: Dad, that noise startled me and made my eyes pop out. Andy We were outside the supermarket. Jimmy: Let's take Andy into my special door. This is the three foot high entrance that shopping carts get pushed through. Jimmy went first, and then I scooted Andy into it. One baby-formula maker is smart: They have a different illustration on the front of each type of formula – for us it's now rocking horses. This is for fathers who get sent out to pick up cans of formula for the baby. Wife: Get the formula with the rocking horse on it! Can you remember a rocking horse? Rocking. Horse. Look at me. Say "rocking horse" for me. Picture a horse, and it's rocking. Karen Karen was sending me to the all-natural grocery store for milk. Then she noticed we also needed jelly, and she asked me to get that. I looked at her. Me, asking telepathically: Wouldn't all-natural jelly be too...natural? Karen: On second thought, we'll do without. Karen asked me to call her on my cell phone when I got in the store, and she would help me select a certain type of cheddar cheese. My cell phone never works right when I'm that deep within a building – and that's where the cheddar cheese is. So, I called her from the front of the store and started walking back. Karen: Hello? Me: OK, stay with me. I've got to go back to the cheese. I'm walking back there, I'm – Karen: Are you there yet? Me: No, I'm walking past the sodas, I'm wal – Karen: Which cheddars do you see? Me: Hang on, I'm almost – Karen: Jack? I can't hear you. Jack? Jack? Karen asked me to buy her cranberry juice. She wanted pure cranberry juice – not cran-coconut or cran-avocado. So, I went to the store and made it a point to skip all the "cran +" drinks. But then, I could only find cranberry juice cocktail. Hmm – that's not pure cranberry juice. So, I looked way on the shelf and saw this totally obscure brand. It was pure cranberry juice, made on a farm somewhere. I proudly took it home. Karen, holding the bottle and looking skeptical: What's this? Me: Pure cranberry juice. Karen: Oh, I meant cranberry juice cocktail. Jack Cans of soup are normally about $2.20, but they were on special – two-for-one. I asked Karen how much we could afford to stock up on. Karen: You can buy $30 worth. I figured that would be about 15 cans. This turned out to be incorrect. For a while I was buying food at the grocery deli, but I stopped...because it's almost as costly as eating in a restaurant. I went to get this big 24-pack of toilet paper. It was the super-cheap brand, so the paper is very thin… it doesn't have airy cushioning…making it quite heavy – more like a big block of wood. But I didn't realize this when I pulled it down from a high shelf. The toilet paper fell on me – hard. I was thrown off balance, and my glasses were knocked to the floor. Now, my bent glasses sit lopsided on my face, and I look like an alcoholic British actor. I was in the checkout line. Guy behind me: Somebody's number is lost. Me: I'm sorry, what? Guy: Lost. Permanently lost! Me: Have a good day. When I have to return something, I'll stand in line and rehearse my "here's why I'm bringing this back to the store" speech. And behind the counter is a 17-year-old with a nose ring. When I put the food away in the refrigerator, I leave everything in their grocery sacks. The baggers usually put similar items together, so it all works out. For some reason, Karen prefers I not do this. Talk We have an all-natural food store in our neighborhood. They... ~ have a sign up in their butcher department. It explains how they treat the animals humanely. ~ sometimes give massages…near the food we'll eat. ~ have a big seafood section, and they sell these exotic fish – the ones with gnarly teeth, red warts and blobby triangular shapes. I guess people watch those deep-sea TV documentaries and say, "Look at that gross fish. Makes me hungry!" This new mega-grocery store near us... ~ over-planned their entrances and exits – no left turn…no right turn. I can't figure out how to get in there. ~ sells dress shirts and ties, because it's long overdue. 1.9 Chicago profile: Dimensions There are six parts to the profile, and this is the first one. History Thousands of years ago, this glacier was pulling back after a long stay in Illinois. Glacey (affectionate nickname) had done an admirable job leveling out the ground beneath it and creating all that fertile Illinois farmland. But one day, tragedy struck: Glacey took a fall into a giant ditch. She broke a hip and was never the same again. That ditch became Lake Michigan, Chicago settled on the southwestern shore of it, and that brings us up to modern day. Finally getting to the dimensions Chicago is flat – flatty flat flat. You'll only need a four-cylinder car. You'll also need a map of the area we're going to explore, so I'll draw you one: Lake Michigan looks like this: U Chicago's aptly named Chicago River connects to the lake like this: -U The river has north and south branches: >-U We live up north: *>-U Chicago stretches about 25 miles North-South and 15 miles East-West. It's like a city in itself. Here's how Chicago fans out from the Loop. It goes from... ...businesses in the Loop – lots of banks, insurance companies and ad agencies ...to service companies (printers, office furniture stores), loft buildings, high-rise condos, an ever-shrinking number of manufacturers, and tourist places ...to homes, low-rise condos and fun bars ...to homes, apartments/condos and old-time manufacturers. Where we live… Our house is about a mile west of Wrigley Field (the most famous landmark in North Chicago), and we're right in the middle of bustling intersections, bars, liquor stores, cabs, and restaurants with sidewalk dining. When you want to identify a part of North Chicago, here are three ways to do it: 1. By neighborhood. There are over 70 of them, and they have names. In most cases, I can't tell where one neighborhood ends and the other begins. 2. By intersections. Chicago is full of them. If a guy said he was in Chicago but he rarely experienced intersections, I'd say he was in the wrong city. 3. By ethnicity. A lot of immigrants settle in Chicago. A fellow explained the phenomenon to me this way: "It's like the Pied Piper. One immigrant comes to Chicago, makes it, and he tells others back at home." Chicago isn't as congested as some big cities, but it does have a lot of humans. The city proper (or improper) has three million people, and the entire metropolitan area has 7.2 million. Sometimes it feels like 7.3 million. Lake There's no water shortage in Chicago, and that's because of Lake Michigan. Since the 1870s, people have been fighting to get mega-polluting factories off the lakeshore, and thanks to them, there are parks next to most of the lake. There's even a runner/bike path that goes along the water for about 18 miles. Next time you're here, we'll jog it. Five years ago I was on this path and a little kid, about four years old, was standing by himself. Very strange. This lady was walking in the opposite direction from me, and we both looked at the boy. Then we looked at each other. Then we started yelling out to the park: "Hey! There's a kid over here!" Wonderfully, a mother quite far away heard us and came running over for her child. Me to the lady who also yelled: We parents have to stick together. Lady: I agree. Have a good day. Downtown, the Lake Michigan shoreline is about half a mile further into the lake than it was years ago, and that's because of landfill. After Chicago's huge 1871 fire, there was no place to put the rubble except into the lake...hence, landfill. Every year, when the first winter storm hits, one group of snow-lovers swims in the lake. Twenty people get in and only seven get out, but they get their moment on the 10:00 news. Beaches Surprisingly, Chicago has sand beaches on Lake Michigan. They ain't no Gulf of Mexico beaches, but considering our inlandedness, they're A-OK. Chicago River The Chicago River is most important from an historical standpoint. If there hadn't been a big river going into the lake, there wouldn't have been all the water traffic/trade that built the city. Now the river is a cove for rich guys to park their sailboats. Before 1900, the Chicago River flowed into the lake. Everyone threw their garbage and sewage into this river. They drank from polluted water that came out of the lake, and people got sick. … The solution was to 1) reverse the flow of the river – get the lake to pour into it instead of the river pouring into the lake; and 2) have that polluted river flow south – away from Chicagoans. To do 1) they used locks and gravity. For 2) they dug a channel that connected the south branch of the Chicago River (which originally was kind of worthless) with a big river that ultimately connects with the Mississippi. This meant St. Louis – 300 miles south – would have to deal with Chicago's sewage, and that was fine. Streets Chicago streets are laid out in a grid – some go N-S, and others go E-W. Theoretically, there are eight blocks to a mile, so all the roads are 1/8 of a mile apart. If a suburbanite needs something from the grocery store, it's a three-minute drive. If I need something, it's an eight-minute walk. This is life in the city. Chicago has bizarre problems. One year we had a terrible snowstorm, and all these vehicles were crawling on the interstate. Drivers couldn't leave their cars, and they crept along for at least 10 hours. Pedestrians walk in traffic as if the car is the weaker one. Walking in the city brings up a combination of smells: car exhaust, concrete, a lack of dirt and grass, and whatever food seller is close by. It's not like being in the suburbs, because I don't experience the sudden manure smells...unless someone is throwing his own. There are a lot of homemade signs tacked to telephone poles: "Lose 30 lbs. in 30 days! Doctor guaranteed!" Why is a respectable doctor advertising in this way? Chicago can confuse out-of-town drivers. For example: Two of our nation's major East-West (note that) interstates are 90 and 94. These highways come together and run North-South through Chicago – fine! It's just a quirky thing: "While these interstates in this major city, they're going to take a vertical swoop." However, those big green highway signs still say that 90 and 94 are going East-West – when they're actually going North-South. So, you come into Chicago from the south, drive up north on 90-94 to visit a friend, and the sign will say you're going west. "Agh!" you say. "My friend says he lives north of Chicago – what happened?" It's a lovely experience. Coming into town on Interstate 55, there are several billboards for whiskey. That says something about Chicagoans. Repair people like to strap stuffed animals to the front bumpers of their utility vehicles. North Avenue runs East-West (not North-South). 2600 West North Avenue is North and Western. Speaking of Western, it's the longest street in Chicago. Chicago is continually under repair. Workers are out there making our lives better, and I don't have to help them do it. Intersections Several famous diagonal streets fan out of downtown Chicago. They look like spokes in a wheel, and they cut through the grid. This creates 1) big six-way intersections, 2) triangular-shaped buildings (because they're sitting in a wedge between, say a N-S street and a diagonal one), and 3) lots of car accidents. One triangular-shaped three-story building near us was being remodeled, and the workers unwittingly knocked out some supporting beams. While the guys lunched elsewhere, the structure collapsed, and the exterior walls fell outward into the street. It made the news. Amazingly, no one was hurt. Many intersections have no signs naming the streets. It's done so visitors will explore more of the city. Friend Marco Torez knows more intersections than anyone I know. Me: How about Elston and Central Park. Marco: Sure, I know that. There's a chop suey place right there. And a pizza place next to that. Lake Shore Drive Lake Shore Drive is a huge deal. People sing about it. This eight-lane road is always well paved, partly because the city knows visitors like to travel on it. The main part of the Drive is about 29 miles long, and it's one of our country's scenic-est experiences. Here's how it looks traveling north on the Drive: On the right, there's always a lake and sometimes a beach. On the left, there might be a ... ~ series of high-rises. The tall apartments/condos battle each other for lake views. ~ park…with the picnic tables, playgrounds and boom boxes. ~ sailboat harbor. ~ mansion…now usually home to an association or a school. ~ zoo. Giraffes get the lake view. They don't allow pickup trucks on the Drive, because they're trying to keep it scenically pleasing. But a $50 junker car is OK. Parking Rule of thumb: Parking in the Loop and the near north is nearly impossible, but it gets easier the further out you go. Private parking lots have plenty of available spaces, because if a car is there illegally, aggressive moneymaking operations will tow it. Some of them… ~ were breaking into the cars they towed and stealing the radios, etc. ~ charge about 35% more if you pay with a credit card. ~ are kings of the "you'd better be nice to us because we have your car" attitude. Friend Tim Campbell and I parked in one such lot, came out, and there was a tow truck going for my car. We ran and got to my car in time. But then the tow truck wanted to block us in the lot, and we had to race out of there. But why would they block us in – what could they have done? That part was kind of silly. I always wondered how the city tows a car in a parallel spot, because the car has a vehicle in the front and back of it. Answer: They tow guys have this flat x-shaped jack thing that goes under the car's front, rises up, and rolls the vehicle out diagonally. Finding a parking spot is like securing a nice parcel of land I'll own for a short time. "Hello, Mom? Guess what I got!" 2. February 2.1 Timeline February just seems shorter. We were in the car and for the first time, (sad pause) Ryan wanted to hear the totally funky teenage/dance/rap/thump, thump, thump radio station. Ohhh...I'll have to go through many years of this. Jimmy created a Valentine, and he asked his Mom to write on the back, "Jimmy made this." During Mardi Gras season, I celebrated by going to the all-natural supermarket for milk. I admired the new cute gals working at the registers...until I discovered they were guys wearing drag. I'm now introducing our black cat Grimbo. We were in our house, and I wanted to sit where Grimbo was, so I put him in another spot. But he wasn't happy with the body position I put him in, so he moved himself a little. He always does. Snow I was digging out a parking space. This car came slowly by and stopped. Passenger: Why are you doing that? Me: I'm putting my car in. Passenger: But I don't see your car. Me: It's up the street. They stared at me. Passenger: You've already got a spot up the street. Can we have this one? Me: I wish I could. I'll give you the other spot when I'm done here. Passenger: How long will that be? Me: About an hour. They stared at me. Driver: Man, you got two spots! And they drove off. After the big snowfalls subsided, North Chicagoans finally got out to the supermarket. They looked Rip Van Winklish. Yesterday the snow fell. I shoveled it, and today there was no snow anywhere. It all melted. Lady on the radio: Yesterday I saw people out there shoveling – how stupid can you be? Brother Sam visit Today is Wednesday. No, Thursday. Brother Sam came into town and we had a fine time together. First order of business was getting something to eat. A diner near us serves three eggs, toast and potatoes – all for just 99 cents. True! This is the only place I'll treat visitors. Sam ordered two 99 centers, piled both onto one plate, poured hot sauce over everything, and ate like he hadn't eaten in a week. Sam drove back home, but he left a nice sweatshirt behind, and that was a good windfall for me. 2.2 Andy at seven months Andy is trying hard to communicate. We play patty cake, and he's right there in the game. He doesn't give me a big laugh when we "throw it in the pan," but I think it's because he's concentrating on the action. Andy likes to be held so he can stand. I can't blame the little guy, because he's been sitting or laying for 96 percent of his life, and it's time to stretch out. I'll be lying on the couch, and Andy will climb up and peer down on me. I'll lose the "he's only a small baby" perspective…he looks like a mad dentist who's about to operate on me. 2.3 Goodbye to the family home Are the Mom letters written only to my mother? No! I also write to my mother-in-law Martha, and my godmother, May-Jane Flick. That's especially true when Ma Brackitt becomes a central player in the story…and that's the deal now. Here's the story of my trip to St. Louis. The objective: Say goodbye to our 33-year home, because Mom was moving to a nice new place. Long background At this point, I'm giving you a short history of our original family in St. Louis, because I can center it around our family house and...I dunno, it seems to fit here. In 1958, my parents married, and they had four ne'er-do-well sons. 1960s On July 17, 1965, we six Brackitts moved into our house. It's a ranch style with four bedrooms on the main floor, plus (thanks to efforts in 1980) two more bedrooms in the basement. The exterior is red brick, because there's a lot of red brick in St. Louis. It's on a corner lot, so we dealt with people driving on our lawn and tossing beer bottles, and sometimes they weren't even family members. Our house received the typical punishment over the years – nothing too unusual. Growing up, most of our household items were in an 80% workable condition. This included our light switches, garage door opener, screen door, bathroom tile, and carpeting. Only when something was beyond kaput did it get repaired…about a year later. 1970s Of course, the most important event of the decade was the addition of Drew to the family. We ignored many of the normal rules families followed. Mom happily gave up on the sit-down dinner each night, and neither parent tried to keep track of us. Instead, we kids made our own choices about what to do. While we made many atrocious decisions, none were fatal and we all learned from them – except Doug. Example of our freedom: The brothers and I rode our bikes miles away from home at a time when neighbor kids weren't allowed out of their yards. Notably, there's a precedent for all this. Dad grew up in a family of nine in a 250-person farm town called Brace in central Illinois. They had quite a rollicking household. Family members were always running everywhere, leading adventurous lives and coming back when they were hungry. … This type of household is more expected in a small town, because everyone knows each other, etc. But Dad introduced unregimented family behavior to 1970s metropolitan suburbia, and we were a fright in the subdivision. Though Mom didn't grow up this way, she supported having a boisterous household, because she was a free spirit in her otherwise-organized family. 1980s In the late '70s/early '80s we kids went to college. I graduated in 1985, and – strangely enough – we all settled back in the house. It might as well have been 1964 all over again. The truth is we enjoyed being together. We were comfortable with the coming-and-going thing, and the kitchen had food. As for the house itself, we had a lot of cars out front – three on average. A county cop asked a neighborhood punk about the goings on in the subdivision. Cop: And why does that one house have all the derelict cars out front? Maybe he thought it was a questionable boarding house, and he would've been right. Finally, in late 1987 I was the first to leave home for good. I moved to the big city – Chicago. Dad understood my reasons better than anyone else, because he always loved the Windy City. 1990s Al was the second to leave home. In 1990, he moved into an apartment complex 1/2 a mile away. Then Doug left. In 1991, he moved to Chicago and became a prosecutor for the city. But Doug came back to the family house, chose a bedroom, and started a law partnership with Al. He married Peggy in 1995, and Doug moved out for good because she was against living in the basement. Goodness, Dad left next. In late 1996, he moved into the outstanding veterans residence in Cape Girardeau, MO – two hours south of St. Louis. Dad had a 10-year series of strokes, and while he was still conversant and self-mobile, the VA folks could give him the help he needed. In 1998, Sam moved into an apartment near the airport. He was always helping to keep the family house up (mowing the lawn, shoveling snow, etc.), but Mom was planning a move to a condo, so everything worked out. Mom was the last one left, and she would be leaving in a month. That's why I was going to STL. Uh, no, I wasn't planning to help Mom move. I wanted to ensure all my childhood possessions would either 1) survive the move to Mom's new home, or 2) go with me back to Chicago, because I was sure Karen wanted them in boxes in our living room. Thursday prior to my trip An e-mail exchange: Me: I'm coming down for an official goodbye to our family house. Al: We'll have a ceremony where Doug slips on a replica of a Drew turd in the basement. Friday When I arrived, a lot of Mom's stuff was already packed up in boxes. Mom: I just did a little every day and got it done. Me: What will you miss about this house? Mom: I'll miss the curtains. I made those on my sewing machine. Mom was upbeat about this whole business – she looked forward to getting into her new place. To help the movers keep track of furniture, I got Mom to buy some colored dots, stuck them onto boxes, then created a chart that showed what color of dot went into what new room. If the movers weren't color blind or dogs, we'd be in good shape. Mom, later: Your dot idea didn't work. Friday night I went to Al's apartment to hang out. He lives across from the New Cathedral, and just a few weeks before, the Pope had a Mass there. Yes, Pope John Paul II! Al threw a Pope party, and everyone stood on the balcony and saw the real live pontiff. I watched their home video of the whole thing, and Al wasn't lying – there, on the TV, was the Pope out waving to the crowds. They had elaborate security for the pontiff. The Pope's guards wore all black, but I doubt they were priests. Saturday I got out the camcorder and made a video record of the entire home – documented every corner, wall and window. I made about two hours of tape, and next time there's a party, I'll show it to everyone. Afterwards, we got together with Mom's handyman and our family friend Louis, and we drove out to her new home in Chesterfield – West County St. Louis. Chesterfield is one of the nicer towns in the suburbs, and they have a mobile home park there. I saw Mom's house, and it's nice! Now I'm glad she fought my attempts to put her into that boarding house. Her home is one of three connected together. It's a town home, but it's more homey than towney. These places aren't big in front, but they extend way back – they're like three ranch houses set sideways and glued together. This is necessary, because in West County the "visible to the street" space is expensive. Because the previous owner was in the process of moving, her new home had all the previous owner's furniture in there. It's odd how a buyer and seller quickly form a trusting relationship with each other. The new place presented Louis and Mom with a whole new set of to-do's, and though they might not have said it, that pleased both of them a lot. Saturday night Sam and I went to his favorite bar and hung out with a couple of folks from our old high school. None of them threatened to beat me up, so I guess that's progress. I have a good story about Sam, but you need some background first. Last summer I drove down to St. Louis, and we cleared 30-plus years of family junk from the attic and basement. We sorted it amongst the brothers ("Look, all my old school papers") and decided whether to keep things or take them to the dump. We had half the garage piled near the ceiling with pure junk. Sam had everything hauled away, and that was that. ... I had rashly tossed a number of things I regretted, including my beer can collection and some books from my youth. I mentioned this to Sam. Sam: You know, I think we can get back everything you need. Me: What? You drove it all to the dump six months ago. Sam: No, I couldn't throw any of our stuff out. I just took everything and put it in a big storage locker. Me: You're kidding me. That must cost you a lot. Sam: Yeah, it's about $130 a month. … I had to tell Mom about this. Me: Mom, did you know Sam has all that old junk in a storage locker? Mom: Oh, I heard about it. You know, Sam shouldn't pay for that. I've got lots of room in my new basement, and he can put everything down there. So, all that junk we almost threw out is going back to Mom. Sunday When I got home to Chicago, it hit me that I left my portable radio in St. Louis. Ouch! Where did I leave it? But then it also hit me: I had videotaped the entire house – I could find it that way. Acting like a crime detective, I watched the tapes, and...there my radio was, on a table next to the bedroom phone. I called Mom and we solved the case. 2.4 Clothes Ryan Ryan: I'm going to change my clothes. Me: Aren't the ones you're wearing fine? Ryan: C'mon, I slept in these. I didn't know that mattered to him. Me: Ugh, my shoes are wet. Ryan: Microwave them. Jimmy I handed Jimmy his hat. Jimmy, snatching it: Hey, that's mine! Andy I spent two weeks looking for my left slipper, and then Andy pulled it out of his toy box. Karen Karen is an air traffic controller and we're the planes. When one of us is off the flight pattern, she gets worried. Me: Can you help me find my shoe? Karen, pointing at the one I'd already found: It's right there. Me: I did the laundry. Karen: Did you run out of pre-treater? Me: No, it's fine. Karen: But there was hardly any left. Me: Hm. (I didn't use the pre-treater.) Jack Yesterday I tied my tie too long, and today it's too short. On average, I'm fine. I'm trying out mending fabric on the elbow of this shirt. This is the third appliqué (fancy word) on the shirt, because the cloth is so weak that everywhere the patch stops, a tear begins. Ladies and gentlemen: The All Mending Fabric Shirt. I bought these $29 "leather" shoes, and… ~ they soaked this brown dye into my socks. ~ when I scuffed them, this white plastic appeared. I concluded my purchase was a mistake. State prisoners riot against wearing shoes like these. Family Let's just surrender and agree that kids look neat with hoods on. They have that little round face peeking through – how could anyone not love hoods. Mittens don't have quite the same charm. Hoods are 3.7 times cuter than mittens. Circle Sari the dry cleaner is also a tailor, and I'll bring my clothes to him for repair. He's always sympathetic with my requests for service, but when I press him (play on words) he'll come out and say it. Sari: Jack, I have to tell you. These pants of yours will never be good again. You're only wasting money. I cannot, in good conscience, try to fix them. Turn these pants into gardening clothes. Would he classify half my wardrobe as gardening clothes? Talk I'm seeing a lot of ladies use plastic grocery bags as emergency rain bonnets. Who'd have guessed grocery bags would replace those little packed-up plastic bonnets that go into purses. I wish sneaker makers would actually wear the shoes they sell, and see if the laces stay tied. Why did sneaker makers get rid of the metal rings for their holes (eyelets)? When my laces lose their plastic tips – which always happens – I can't lick the ends and thread them through those holes. A celebrity jock endorser adds $35 onto the price of shoes just so he can buy a new mansion, so five cents worth of metal eyelets get cut. Why do some people wear chokers? It looks like they broke from their leash. 2.5 Andy's day Since you're coming for a week, I'm heretoforthwith delivering a report called "Our six month old's entire day." Here it comes: 3:00 am? Andy chooses his wake-up time more often than we do. He might scream for a ba-ba at any point, then he'll probably want to stay up and watch the overnight shows. 6:15 am Andy sits on my lap and looks with interest at whatever he cares to. Often he fixes his eyes on something up high, and I finally get to see his neck. My goal is to keep the baby happy so I can get us out of the house and to our destinations. He likes this one toy: It's plate-shaped, and little 'joystick barnyard animals' are stuck on top. Andy moves the pig. Pig: Oink, oink. It keeps him occupied for about five minutes. This is remarkable, considering he throws everything else. I get Jimmy going and eating breakfast, and Andy sits in his stationary exerciser – this round command center. Warp speed to Planet Ba-ba. … I like this round thing because we originally had it with Jimmy, and it sat in the basement four years waiting for another baby. That baby's making much use of it, and we didn't stress the credit card. 7:30 am I put Andy into his full-body coat. His arms stuck out to the side, and he looked like a lower case t. 7:45 am Andy used to go everywhere in a handled pumpkin seat that became a car seat. Now I carry him to my car, and he sits in the middle big boy car seat. We drop off Jimmy at school, and Andy might fall sleep. 7:55 am I drop Andy off at daycare provider Gwen Martinez's home. There, Andy is a big star and I'm his roadie. Andy and Gwen enjoy a nice day together. 4:30 pm Karen takes Andy home around this time, I think. (I don't keep track of Karen's schedule, because it's hard enough for me to accept that I'm on a timetable.) 7:30 pm I get home, and Andy can be in any number of places: ~ lounging with a bottle in the guest room. ~ sitting in his high chair ~ relaxing on the couch upstairs – surrounded by pillows and looking like one of those 19th century babies who was crowned king. 8:00 pm Andy sits with me as I type on my computer. He lunges forward and bangs on the keyboard. 8:15 pm It's Andy's bath time. Ryan was OK with baths, Jimmy hated them, and Andy loves them. 8:45 pm It's near bedtime. Andy sits on my lap, brightens his eyes, and occasionally takes deep breaths. He gets a ni-night ba-ba and blanky, and I move him to his 45 degree angle bouncy chair. (Andy doesn't need to sit with someone in order to sleep.) He scrunches his blanky up to his face and kicks his legs. He nods off, and I carry him upstairs to his crib. Me: You had a big day today Andy – we love you. 2.6 Food preparation Ryan I pulled Ryan's slice of pizza out of the oven and it fell upside down onto the hot oven door. The pizza started cooking on the door and they welded together. I pulled off what I could and gave it to Ryan. When the door cooled, I scraped off the cheese…and sure, I ate it. Me: What do you want on your hotdog? Ryan: Eh, the usual. Me: The usual? I baked a pizza for Ryan and cooled it in the freezer. About 45 minutes later... Ryan: Where's my pizza? Me: Oh! I forgot it. Hang on. It'll be nice for you. Ryan: Nice and frozen. Ryan has been particularly good lately. He even made a sandwich for Jimmy, which is something of a miracle. Jimmy: Can I have an apple? Me: Apples don't grow on trees you know. Ryan: Hold it, Jim. Jimmy Jimmy wanted cereal, but all we had was raisin bran, and he doesn't like raisins. So, I surgically removed the offending raisins. A few minutes later Jimmy called for me. He silently poked at a wet raisin that I missed and gave me a disapproving look. Me: Jimmy, there's no way I can take back the terrible thing that happened to you here. I can only give you a big, "I'm sorry," and promise to try and do better next time. Jimmy: See here? I took a bite of it, too. At my request, all the cookies in the house are hidden from me. Jimmy: Can you help me get the cookies? Mom said it's OK. Me: But then I'll know where they are. Jimmy: Close your eyes then and lift me up – I'll get them. So, I put Jimmy on my shoulders, and we stood in the pantry – me with my eyes closed. This went on too long. Me: Have you got your cookies? Jimmy: No. I don't know where they are. Jimmy was in the kitchen and Karen's pot was beginning to boil. Jimmy: Mom, the top is starting to shivel. Jimmy is reading a book about vegetable soup, and it inspired him. Jimmy: I wanna make vegetable soup. Me: Why can't we just open a can of vegetable soup and eat it? Jimmy: Mommy says she and I will make some. Me and Mommy will. Me: You're gonna get all those carrots and stuff? It all comes in a can. Jimmy: Mommy and me will make vegetable soup, and you won't get any. Me: You want peanut butter and jelly? Jimmy: No, just peanut butter and air. Andy I opened a jar of baby food for Andy and it smelled like dog food. Karen We had a cookie cutter that sat in the toy box for a few years, and Jimmy was determined to utilize it. So, he and I baked cookies. Karen was sitting with the baby in the living room and tried to assist from there. She gave lots of helpful hints…but I could hardly hear them. Karen: Don't forget to gredserk! Me: What'd you say? Karen: Yes, that should help. I did hear Karen say we needed to chill the dough, but I had no patience for that. As a result, the dough stuck to the cutter – this was problematic. So we went to Plan B: Jimmy shaped his own doughies (my name for pre-made cookies). He made a tyrannosaurus, a "bronchiasaurus," a handprint, a big "J," and an elephant. They came out of the oven looking more like flat blobs, but he did it – and they were good. Jack I'm shopping for food scales so I can weigh my meals, but those scales they sell only go up to 16 ounces. Nothing I eat weighs less than a pound. I eat about a fourth of my food while preparing it. Oatmeal story I decided to make oatmeal, and Jimmy observed. Jimmy, looking at the flakes: Can I taste one of these? Me: Sure. Jimmy: Yuck! This is birdseed. I poured the oatmeal out, and Jimmy had snuck a toy in it. This hunk of butter fell onto the stovetop. Since the stove was hot, the butter pad melted and slid all over the place, and I couldn't catch it. I was 35 years old and chasing after butter. While cooking, I added milk to my oatmeal, but that made it too soupy. So, I added oatmeal (making it too lumpy), then milk, then oatmeal. Finally, I made enough glub to feed the USS Theodore Roosevelt. Talk Household hint: What can be done with those ketchup, mustard, and soy sauce packets in our refrigerator door? I make a sassy nacho dip for our guests. The toaster forces me to put my single slice of bread into the far left slot, and I think it's because that's one with the temperature gauge. Fine. But I still believe the toaster makers are on a control trip. Life imprisonment should be given to those who put spaghetti noodles onto the plate before completely draining them. 2.7 Day in court A month ago, I was in this relatively small town about an hour from home. I passed someone illegally, and while the kind cop didn't give me a ticket for that, I did get one for not having proof of insurance. I needed to stand before the judge and show that I indeed was underwritten. This required a trip back to the town on the required date. I walked into their huge, ultra-modern court complex – "The House that Speeding Tickets Built." Inside the entrance, my name was listed on this large electronic board that showed the courtroom I was supposed to be in. Did I deserve this public humiliation? I went into said courtroom and sat in one of the pews, though I guess they're not called that. Here sat 70 other accused criminals and me. We were rounded up, and we looked it. They were my brothers and sisters in crime, and I felt this peculiar need to help them. At the very least, I wanted to pass around a hairbrush. About five attorneys were up front representing some of us, and I wouldn't have guessed who among us had legal council. For example, a lousy punky guy had a lawyer, and an upstanding citizen like me was defenseless. Those lawyers wore their day-to-day frumpy suits, which was expected. But then…in strode this wavy-haired Attorney Adonis in a sharp, double-breasted suit – quite a handsome fellow. Many of the women in the courtroom oh-so-casually fixed their eyes on him. I thought: Ladies, get real. He's not interested in accused criminals! Finally, I got called up to the judge. Here's how he looked at me: "You're sleaze, and I don't like you. Furthermore, I'm only going through the motions with this boring job until I
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