Shnay: Decking the season with silliness
By Jerry Shnay Citizen Journalistemail@example.com December 12, 2013 2:02PM
Updated: January 16, 2014 6:12AM
Deck the land both low and hilly, ‘Tis the season to be silly.
You can’t fault the people in Flossmoor or Olympia Fields. We are acquainted with residents of both communities, and in many ways they are almost always perfect.
Seldom do we see the sleeve come in contact with the mouth when we dine at a dinner table in either suburb. We do not doubt that the children in each village are shining examples of beauty and brilliance.
But there’s a speck in the eye of anyone who resides in either south suburban Valhalla — outsiders, specifically those strangers who drive large trucks along Vollmer Road, past the numerous signs cautioning them that the railroad underpass east of Kedzie Avenue is only 11 feet, 9 inches in height. Period!
It must be that a few itinerant truckers, thinking that the warning signs actually are intended for someone else, keep driving toward the bridge until the top of their truck meets the bottom of the concrete bridge head on.
This is when they stop. This is also the reason why the concrete on the underside of both sides of the bridge is frayed at the edges.
The latest incident, we are told, took place less than two weeks ago.
Because Vollmer Road, at that point, is the border between the two villages, an eastbound truck stuck on the south side of the street is in the purview of Olympia Fields.
The north side is Flossmoor’s responsibility, although the two police departments often help each other.
We wish we could come up with a plan to alleviate the truck-stuck problem at this underpass. The best solution we could think of would be to install a 12-foot-high neon sign near the underpass with lights that could be seen a half mile away and a siren that would shriek when an oversized truck was detected.
We casually presented the idea to a couple of residents of the two suburbs. They thought it to be a terrible idea that would be overly intrusive and would result in people suing their villages.
They should know. Both of them are lawyers.
Follow me my merry goose, As our brain cells get so loose.
In the previous column, granddaughter Madeline documented our recent visit to Colorado, but what she failed to mention was The Dog named Rocket.
Rocket is a white-and-black lump of instant insanity that attacks the television set when any animal appears on it and will try to go through a wall to get at food, his ball or a finger on a first-come, first-bite basis.
He is a Jack Russell terrier. Need I say more?
The other day, the family awoke in near zero weather to a near zero temperature in the house. Someone had turned off the furnace.
Grandson Ben, whom all women admire because he is “handsome” and all men will soon despise for the same reason, under some fairly intense questioning volunteered the following information as if he were inventing a new philosophy of life.
He did it, he said, because he thought the carbon monoxide detector might need new batteries. When the detector goes awry, it beeps incessantly. Rocket is not afraid of man nor beast, but when a beep is heard, Rocket quivers like an aspen leaf.
Thus, ergo, to keep the dog and the detector quiet, the furnace needed to be turned off until a new battery, which may or may not have been needed, was found.
Grandson Ben may well grow up to be a lawyer.
Don’t leave the old year with oaths and curses, And please pardon us for these sad verses.