Bees in My Bonnet

 We live in a cozy suburb of Chicago known as West Chicago which is often confusing since it isn't in the city of Chicago at all and those who don't know the area end up thinking we're simply on the west outskirts of the city. The reality is, as you drive west from the city of Chicago, you must fly through a number of suburbs before arriving at our town about an hour away. Some of those neighbourhoods are observably more run down and others are more observably posh and elite. In every town there are certainly wealthier and less wealthy, dwellings of modest structure and those of elaborate and modern updates. There are what we call McMansions, Rural-posh, Rural-ragged, Historic-grandiose, Historic-charming, well-kept, un-kept, struggling-to-be-kept (that's where we land it seems 😅😀) - homes of every kind. Yet there are certain areas that I simply call 'Perfectville'. We live near one of these areas, and are often thankful to not live IN them (our neighbours wou

 I've been told orange is the colour of forgiveness. That may well be so - it is also the colour of the protestants in Ireland, The colour of inmate suits who reckon with the reality, Or lack, Of forgiveness. The Protestants hailed William of Orange,  And I wonder what they learned of forgiveness. I used to say when people commented on my red hair that, "It isn't red. It really is orange." And then they called me Ginger. And I thought about Ginger and was confused: Ginger is tan on the outside and pasty yellow-white inside. My skin is pasty-yellow-white.  My hair used to be orange, And now just looks like a dull tan,  So perhaps Ginger fits after all. Orange stands in contrast to almost all other colours. In fashion, nothing seems to match it. It requires courage to wear, or even to paint walls orange. Perhaps that's why it's the colour of forgiveness. It takes courage to forgive. To wear the orange jump-suit which seems to shout: "I need forgiveness.&quo