I'm riffing, of course, on the Dana Andrews film from last night, "Where The Sidewalk Ends." There's an elderly woman in the film, she reminded me of the gypsy who tried to warn Larry Talbot of his lycanthropic fate, who plays an integral role in the film, for the most part by being awoken from sleeping while sitting up in the kitchen of her basement apartment. Cops and taxi drivers, and even the Andrews character doing the old pretending to be the same person dodge, they all awaken her from dreams filled with big band music and getting mad, mad loving from Karl Malden (who was also in the film). The dear woman reminded me of my Auntie Irene, who lived to be 89 after smoking five packs a day of Lucky Strikes Red since she was in her teens. Irene could not sleep without the television and living room lights on, she always used an afghan made during that afghan craze of the 70s, it came after the lawn ceramics but before fondue pots. And yes, for those clever enough to connect the dots, its the same Irene who lived in Streator, and after a day--well, OK, twenty minutes--of searching, I was able to show a Streator street scene, right near where the state road ends, at the corner of Schlitz and Congoleum....\Wayne
