My mother was the first to appear. "Where's the salt?" she asked, as she steered the bib of an apron over her upswept hairdo.

"No salt," I said. "I'm on a low-sodium diet."

With that, my father leapt to her side. "You think that's bad," he said to his wife, "she's using..." He stopped to pick up the bottle of Extra-Virgin Olive Oil, then continued, "this, this thing, instead of schmaltz."

Pontoons are used for pleasure boating. They're made out of abrasion resistant PVC and nylon with frames for support and can be equipped with a motor mount, canopy, and a small anchor. Such boats are suitable for seas during calm weather. 

"You crack me up," she said, as she poised mid-fork on a tube of polish sausage she was hoisting to her lips. She was stretched out on our daybed, a wooden tray propped on her lap, and our TV remote was in her left hand.

"I'm glad you find me amusing," I said.

"Oh, come on, sweetheart, you know I'm only teasing." She dabbed her lips with a napkin, and went on. "But you have to admit, we've seen this scenario before."

The number 147 bus travels north along Lake Shore Drive. When riding it, I aim for a window seat on the right side. In this position, if I lift my head a bit, I can see the path favored by runners, speed walkers, and the occasional ambler. Today, lulled by the rhythm of the bus, and the divine Chicago climate, my mind slips from its habit of listing things-to-do, and lands on a figure on the trail. Slowly, with each turn of the wheels of my transit, Tommy emerges. 

Thunderstorms were predicted. The temperature was high in the 90's -- a record for that time of year. Traffic would be horrible, not only was it a Saturday night, but festivals in the city would further choke streets. (To read the rest of the essay, please click on the link below.)