Odds and ends with some a bit odder than others:
In our prayers: I’ve never been much to pray. Suppose I was burned out on too many rote Hail Marys as a kid. And I’ve never made the leap to a more sophisticated take on prayer. But for a long time now, Mary and I have shared a prayer late on Sunday nights as we lay in bed and steel ourselves for the week just ahead.
It’s a recap and an anticipation and an affirmation. And sure, there’s a little Bing Crosby in there as we count our blessings.
We pray for our kids. We pray for the power of the two of us doing our best. We remember people we know who are in some immediate worry over health or love or money. We thank the people who have gone way up and over in looking out for us that week, and always there is more than one. We pray for the family that come before us and gave us life. Can’t say too many good prayers for Frank and Mary Haley and Dick and Babe Cassidy. We give thanks for the protection and caring of our little house in Berwyn. We pray for our small company and for the towns we cover — and, yes, Forest Park, I’m praying for you, too.
Then there is the small band of regulars who make our prayer list. Maybe I’m going to hell, but we added Pope Francis and Cardinal Cupich and never really gave a positive thought to Benedict or Francis George. Bless me, Father, etc.
For the past eight years, every Sunday night we have prayed for the president and his family. I’ve never prayed for a president before. Never occurred to me. But this president, President Obama, Mrs. Obama and those two girls brought out in us prayers of gratitude and of protection. We prayed for their strength and grace, love and fun, intellect and heart. All in the hurricane of a consequential presidency, in the face of obstinacy and, surely, racism, in the glare of our souped-up world of observation and commentary.
This past Sunday night, as we prayed for the president and his family, I thought about next Sunday night. Are prayers, like love and respect, needing to be earned? Or more freely given, especially to those who seem immune to their power?
Maybe I’ll need to pray on that one. In the meantime, next Sunday night we’ll pray for our country.
Red light tickets: I’ve got two of them myself. There they sit. Unpaid. Today, tomorrow, forever.
We did a fair piece of reporting last week and this on the bald-faced municipal theft that red-light cameras represent. We focused on Harlem Avenue from North to Cermak and the $26.5 million in tickets that have been issued along that stretch in less than three years.
Like 90 percent plus of all the tickets spit out by these cameras, both of my tickets — North Riverside and, I think, Hillside — were for making a right hand turn on red. A total crock that has no connection to traffic safety. And so, North Riverside village officials, you’ll need to find another sucker to pay your $100 ticket so that you can fund the police pensions you have otherwise failed to plan for. Won’t be me.
A final deadline?: We’ll know soon enough if River Forest village officials are serious about headway for development at Lake and Lathrop. After years and years of delays and extensions the village board seemed intent this month in setting a hard stop of Jan. 30 for favorite-son developer Tim Hague to actually buy the property he claims to want to develop.
Stay strong, village board. Or move on.
Very quickly: The Chamber’s Bite Nite food fest is coming right up on Jan. 27 at the Nineteenth Century Club. Always fun and an indicator, in my mind, at least, that winter has reached some sort of breaking point. … The better indicator, of course, is that we are now less than one month from the start of Spring Training. My White Sox will be just as appallingly bad as the past two seasons. But it will be horrible in a youthful, energetic way that will make them fun to watch. And I suppose the Cubs will play again this season, too.
