Vacationing within 300 miles of home

Many of us have travel bucket lists, maybe including wows like New York, the Grand Canyon, Paris, a non-Western country, an African safari.

Cincinnati probably doesn’t make your list. Neither did it mine until a brief visit to my two early-20s nieces, who each landed her first post-college job there. I intend to go back. Because of an aunt’s funeral, my sister Pat and I had to cut short our visit. We didn’t get to the top attraction on my list, the National Underground Railroad Freedom Center. There wasn’t time for a tour of Over-the-Rhine, whose more than 1,000 historic buildings make up one of the country’s largest, most intact 19th-century historic districts. Both attractions meet my criterion for worth seeing: one of a kind, or nearly so. 

That outing reminded me that there are unvisited places within driving distance of Chicago that would interest me. After a trip to Yellowstone and the Grand Tetons in September, I expect to be content to take less breathtaking vacations nearby. 

Thoughts after coming close to being a fatality

Many of us have experienced a close call with death. A car just missed hitting our vehicle and plowed into another yards from us. A plane we were supposed to be on crashed. We were present during a mass shooting — an increasingly common occurrence in America.

It’s natural to think, it could have been me.

On Monday afternoon I walked westward through the intersection of Wabash Avenue and Roosevelt Road less than a block from my home. I had just reached the other side when I heard a thud and screams behind me. Turning around, I saw a FedEx truck — with a body pinned underneath. The victim, who died, must have passed me in the crosswalk. If I’d been a few seconds later, I would have been in the spot where the truck struck her. 

Getting permission to read more mysteries

One of Chicago Tribune Biblioracle John Warner’s new year’s resolutions was to read more crime and suspense fiction because he enjoys it. 

I chuckled when I read that. It was the first time I heard anyone say they ought to read more genre fiction. It’s likely for people to resolve the opposite, vowing to cut back on mysteries in favor of “more literary” fiction. Even though critical appreciation of crime novels grows, a puritanical inner voice cautions me that mysteries should be like snacks between substantial nourishment. It felt like the Biblioracle had given me permission to indulge a secret passion.