Shortly after moving from Chicago to Port Washington 12 years ago, I met one of our new neighbors, a gentleman named Lou. You couldn’t meet a nicer guy. Kind, thoughtful, gentle. Over the next seven years or so, I got to know Lou a bit more. We attended the same church, and we both spent a lot of time outdoors – me working in my yard or throwing the ball around with my son; he tending to his home or the one belonging to the neighbor who lived in the home between us. A widow, Lou was like a son to her. Mowing her lawn and blowing her snow without fail.