There was a time, not long ago when a small staff, including a cook and “a competent girl,” no doubt the nimble upstairs maid, oversaw the day-to-day function of the large Queen Anne at 3618 Farnam Street. I do like to picture that well-run
-
-
One day last week as I was lying outside, alone, luxuriating in the sun and my daydreams, I had a forecast of a Slim Aarons’ style picturesque summer– A la A Place in the Sun. Enveloped in Ethiopian jazz, floating from our sun porch, a
-
When Mike Brady was toiling away in his architect’s home office, I imagined he was designing a home just like today’s focus. Usually hunched over his draftsman table, busy but not particularly bothered by his children’s constant interruption, it
-
In my years of making the tour on Western Avenue, I had never seen a sign of life at 5429 Western, although it was plain she was very well looked after. All the same, having observed her for that amount of time, one would think one might catch a
-
Imagine my delight when I spied one of my favorite Rockbrook Darlings had been put on the market just the other day. I will confess I have died a thousand deaths over this residence. In fact every time I indiscreetly slink past her in my
-
We seem to have stumbled across a new idea over here at the My Omaha Obsession Agency. Why not run a short, infrequent series on great real estate in town? Aside from my long, drawn out research pieces, these will be little highlights
-
If you have not yet followed the footsteps along the path of Mysteries of Omaha: 1002 North 72nd Street, you will want to turn back around, exit through the secret wardrobe, crawl toward your room and head to the very beginning. Look for the big
-
You know very well by now that this detective agency has a staff of one. And this one likes to wander off. I pretend at times that there is a crabby clerk to whom I am tethered. Mr. Cross, the office clerk. His sole purpose would be to answer
-
Indeed, I have at times been compelled to Gumshoe Gal Friday about town with an affected stealth, mind you, tiptoeing out, weaving in among the foggy folds and lurking in the shrubbery. The only time that I feel a compulsion, ever so faintly, to
-
As I trundled along, feeling a bliss-filled rush, I grabbed for the camera in my backpack. I had decided that this was the summer of wearing Detective meets Parent Trap inspired costumes and I was feeling very good about my 1960s camp top. But