The Slowly Unfolding of the Rose
Robert M. Katzman © February 11, 2019
When we meet I will hug you
Kiss your cheek,
Help you with your bags
Ask if you’re hungry
Invite you into my old car
Which is a good old car
Make sure you put on your safety belt
Ask if you like doo-wop music
(Read on …)On Not Finding a Girl in the Wilds of Wisconsin
By Robert m. Katzman © July 2018
I wrote this on Facebook months ago and forgot about it. All 600 words of it.
Seems funnier now than when I first wrote it. Even tho’ nothing’s changed, you might read it and smile:
So here’s my ironic and quixotic quest to find a new love using the internet since the death of my wife in May 2017.
I tried Plenty of Fish for anyone of any background, and JDate and SuperTova for Jewish girls only. I wrote very nice, friendly, romantic and honest descriptions of myself and put up current photographs.
I received a number of responses and met with two women. One was from a prosperous North Shore town and one was from Germany.
My 68th Halloween. Trick or Treat?
by Robert M. Katzman © October 31, 2018
Well, of course, Trick
What did you expect?
The Trick for me is, this far gone
Is to remember what the Treats were
As life gradually unfolded
Sirens of Regret
By Robert M. Katzman © June 26, 2014
I can hear it far away
Weaving in and out
Sirens
Firetruck?
Better get outa the way
Wasn’t I painting something?
Mrs. Phillips, your boy has talent
You can tell that at seven?
Joy’s Diamond Ring: Romance and Racketeers
By Robert M. Katzman © Sunday, July 11, 2010 (updated 2/8/2021)
First published by Bob Katzman at 10:47 pm on Sunday, July 11, 2010
Not your usual love story.
A fifty-year saga about a Chicago West Side tribal immigrant’s tale, encompassing: Friendship, Jewelry, Gangsters and the real meaning of lifetime friendship, no matter what.
A puzzle with so many pieces, all steadily adding up to Joy’s diamond ring.
On December 31, 1977, New Year’s Eve, I invited my long-time love, Joyce Esther Bishop, then 27, to dinner at a famous old Chicago steakhouse. Specifically, The Kinzie Steakhouse, but which is now far better known today as Harry Caray’s Steakhouse, after the now deceased and legendary Chicago radio announcer for the Chicago White Sox baseball team, famously remembered for yelling: “HOLY COW!!” after every home run hit by the home team.
Aside from Joy’s full-time day job working in the city, she also worked at my original Hyde Park store, Bob’s Newsstand, every weekend. She was either selling newspapers, stuffing the Sunday newspaper’s weekend components inside each paper or keeping an eye on all the numerous part-time employees and/or the endless stream of customers.
This was back in the days when Chicago still had four separate daily newspapers and was the last remaining American city to be so blessed. Now there are only two Chicago newspapers left, both post-bankruptcy, and in their present (2010) shrunken and sensationalized formats, they would have seemed other worldly to either of us in 1977.
The then fiercely competitive conservative Chicago Daily Tribune and the more liberal Democratic Chicago Sun-Times, were rich and mighty Midwestern icons of journalism, seemingly able to last forever, just thirty-two years ago. What happened?
Joy was certain that I loved her, since I told her so every single day (and still do). I was also convinced that she loved me too, in the unmistakable ways women get that idea across to the objects of their affection.
Wildflower Diary (2)
by Robert M. Katzman © June 23, 2018
 Short essays, reflections & captured moments about prairies, plants, food and people worth writing about, at various times:
 July 30, 2017
My original essay, posted separately:
Wildflower Diary: Caring For Joy’s Gardenâ€
https://www.differentslants.com/?p=3550
 March 6, 2018
 Ok, this is my grandfather, South Side Jacob the Carpenter’s quick recipe for tiny seasoned red potatoes with cheddar cheese. He was from Byelorussia, born in 1882, so ya gotta take that into consideration. He used unusual tools to achieve his aims.
Here it is:
So, you roast the red potatoes on a metal tray for about 4 minutes in an oven, broiling them at 450. Then take them out, go look in your closet for a steel hammer with good balance to it. Wash off the serious part of the hammer, then beat the hell out of them little potatoes (with the skin still on) until they are totally defeated. Kinda like what happened at the 1968 Democratic Convention. But, I digress.