The Yarn Spinner

  Chicago Style   The “Loop,” The “L,” “The Lake,” “The Front Room, “The Taste,” “LSD,” “Gangway.” “Grachki,” Chicago has its own lexicon.   The “Loop” refers to the downtown business area encircled high above by electrified rapid transit tracks carrying about 800,000 riders daily in passenger cars linked together to form a train commonly referred to as the “L.”   The “L” was originally short for elevated but now this is the official name for these transit cars no matter if the tracks are elevated, at street level or below ground (subway.) The “Taste” means The Taste of Chicago LSD is Lake Shore Drive Lake Michigan Gangway is the area between two apartment buildings. “Grachki” is my favorite. “Where did I put my garage key?” A friend who grew up in Chicago joined a real estate company in California and when she was working on a listing, she noted it had a front room. The owner asked what the name implied. She said, “FR,” that’s front room.   “Not in LA,” he said wit

    WO ⅃⅃ I ꟼ I thought it was Russian. I first noticed it when Bill got up from my chair. I am a dental hygienist and Bill was in for a check-up and cleaning. Bill was a long-time patient, and I knew him personally. Still, I felt a little uncomfortable staring at him.   It looked something like a tattoo.   I knew a primary  motivation  for those who get a tattoo  had to do with its personal meaning (such as to mark a significant experience or struggle). “To keep my mother’s  memory ,” “A way of honoring my first child,” and sometimes it represented  a certain time of someone’s life. It also could be an extension or expression of who they were. Others find tattoos to be an appealing form of body art.   Still, I had to ask. “What does it mean Bill? “What does what mean?”  was my patient’s response. “Whatever you have written on the back of your head.” Then came the truth. “I don’t have anything written on the back of my head” claimed Bill. “Well, you do now.”   Occasionally, a patient

                                                       Chicken of the Woods              I  have done my fair share of hunting over the years, mostly upland game like pheasants, but ducks and geese have also run “afoul” of my double-barrel. Typically, I would hunt with partners, and sometimes, with a guide, like my good friend Rick a.k.a. “Hoot” Larson. Hoot dragged me over hills and through hollows of Iowa’s Allamakee County for many seasons always putting me onto a gobbler for my Thanksgiving table. Today, however, I set out with another guide, my friend Ruben, an experienced hunter. A  chilly wind scurrying over the surrounding fields altered the tall prairie grass into an undulating seaway of dark green as we entered the woods. It sighed up through the branches of oak, elm, sycamore, cherry, and maple shaking loose autumn leaves that fell ahead of us forming a pathway that invited us father into the dense old-growth forest. The air was thick like iron, but we were steeled to the ta