I received a mysterious night telegram from 9402 Pacific Street, possibly emitted from the warning trees, which caused me to hurry up to the property without delay. I cannot be sure how I got there, but I had cast off my thick Hudson and bed
Tag: Fairacres Neighborhood
-
-
Please come on in and let me take your coat. Tonight we’re going to have a little vintage pre-Thanksgiving gathering called The Last Mile Home. Firstly, I want to express my thanks to all of you. I am grateful for the personal stories, good
-
When I was in high school there were the best little thrift stores dotted all over town, very often in shunned neighborhoods. Aided by a ripped out phonebook yellow page, we would seek to find every single shadowy store, foraging for the
-
Omahans near and far, sleuths, snoops and the merely curious, thank you for meeting with us again. This is Part Two of the Hidden House series. If you have not yet read Hidden House Part One, here is the link to get you started. Mysteries of
-
When I was evaluated to be just old enough, my mother gave me her 1940’s dollhouse. This was not any old dollhouse. Mother of Miss Cassette had first viewed it and its building specs in a Popular Mechanics magazine at her Aunt Etta and Uncle
-
There is no chance for creeping on North 89th Circle without a tinge of house-stalking shame. If you are not endowed with thick skin or wearing a very good disguise, don’t even think about turning off of Burt Street. But here I am to entice. The
-
Years ago, when I had first hired Mr. Cross to address my messes in the detective office, attend to telephone calls and handle my mailings and such, he placed an opened, pale blue envelope on the ol’ tanker in a la-de-da manner. With
-
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
-
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.
-
Long ago I accompanied my grandmother on a magical visit to the Swanson Towers, off of 84th Street. 8405 Indian Hills Drive, for those among us who require exactness. My grandmother was paying a call to a rather chic galpal and truthfully, this