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New Kid's View

Family lured Jerrianne and her husband to South Milwaukee in 2002 from Southern California where she worked as, first, a journalist, then, as a court information officer. She now stays busy with media-relations consulting, playing with her three grandchildren (part of the lure), writing, discovering her new environs, and hoping her garden will produce before the first fall frost.

Slog Through the Snow to Pullin' O' the Green

Here's a reminder from Irish folk band Garlic Mustard Picker member Don Lawson for a great fun evening. Come socialize with your neighbors and contribute to a great community cause! 

Pullin O the Green. This Saturday, March 8, 5 p.m.

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Late Winter Walk

I went for a walk today. But not through the park across the street from my house. The reason? Ice on the paths. I have, in fact, not walked in the park since the last significant snowfall. Although I’ve seldom shied in the past from braving the winter elements, a recent diagnosis of moderate-to-severe osteoporosis has made avoiding falls a major focus of my daily activities. So with spring in the air–yes, near 50-degree weather feels like spring around here–I took to the streets. As I walked past the park I was avoiding walking through, I spied were two children with a man I assumed was their father, also enjoying the first vestiges of spring. Despite being surrounded by wide expanses of white stuff that had yet to melt, the kids were playing on the playground swings. They had come prepared though. They left as I walked on by. The dad wading through the snow, pulled the youngsters on a sled.

On past the high school, that glorious, still relatively new high school, where the snow had melted enough to expose the two good-size ponds of fetid standing water left over from construction days, which summer after summer serve as ideal breeding grounds for those great picnic spoiling, not to mention disease-carrying, mosquitos.

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That Jerry Paprocki

That Jerry Paprocki. What a guy! Here it is Friday before Easter and snow’s coming down to beat the band. My husband’s spending the morning and early afternoon at our daughter’s house herding her three youngsters so she can work on her dissertation–which is coming down to the wire. By noon, the snow’s gotten pretty deep–maybe six to eight inches. So I decide that since my husband’s busy helping someone else, I’ll help him. I’ll go out and shovel snow so he won’t have so much to do when he gets home. After a few shovels full, though, I’m thinking maybe I should try the snow blower. It’s a fleeting thought. I’ve never used it and in the midst of a blizzard with my parka hood flopping over my eyes probably isn’t the best time for a test drive.

After half-an-hour or so, there I am making a whole lot slower progress than I had planned, almost wishing I’d never even started, when I hear a motor. I look up, shove my parker hood out of my face and see next-door neighbor Jerry Paprocki in a dark hooded jacket, coming up the driveway behind his trusty snow blower, plowing a path, white stuff flying.

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