I wish I could recapture a bit more from my child’s eye view of the large, Asian house. The memory is a tissue thin scrim of standing by the railed porch with my father and his friends, awaiting entrance to a blurred art opening. The ambiguous
Tag: Douglas County Assessor
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Between you, me and the postman, I should have rang that doorbell when I had the chance. The shake shingle and stone cottage was a New England Classic. Any beady-eyed lingerer could see, 10805 Poppleton Avenue was the Real Deal Mystery disguised
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A few weeks back, four buildings extending the north side of Farnam between 29th and Park Avenue were demolished. Three of the buildings were constructed in the early 1900s, the fourth one purportedly built in 1990. There is no need to squabble,
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There is a part of town that someday might be the death of me. If not wholly consumed by its beauty, hopefully of pleasant equivalence. On this Mr. Cassette and I agree: the wandering country lanes in and around Westside High School possess us.
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I spent one of the happiest mornings of recent memory lounged on a chaise of Mr. Cassette’s family lake house dock, watching. Turned toward the beach, I lazily gazed as Mr. Cassette was bending down over the sand, head hanging and with quick,
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The first time I was invited to today’s Architectural Obsession, I innocently accepted without knowing what elegance and assurance was lying in wait; a galpal’s request was reason enough. I was asked to bring a dish to share on this winter
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This weekend I was just poking along Leavenworth when I noticed the old dairy delivery truck garage from the Graystone plant was missing. I had always liked that whole area, the south side of Leavenworth. After I spun around, I saw the little
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Honestly, it is all rather dismal around here with no snow in sight. I do love a good snow. Mr. Cassette has said it will possibly never snow again, which bothers me greatly, and to give up my Snow Pining. He trails off, knowing not to be too
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If you did not know it or maybe, if you were deep in thought (or woefully of the unobservant type), you might have never seen or even heard tell of the Jones Street footbridge through the foliage of Elmwood Park. It is now formally called the
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My mother wears size 8 AAA narrow shoes. She doesn’t talk about it much but if you ask, she will still proudly tell you she is a “AAA.” I remember my father saying, “Your mother’s very proud of her narrow feet” in that sarcastic, poking, Irish