WALKIN', WRITIN', WIT & WHIMSY

Earlier today I pulled the car out of the garage to take it for a wee spin on a mid-December morning that felt more like mid-February. I warmed up the car, then remembered that wonderful heated seat gizmo (ahhh – bliss), while watching shadows of the curls of smoke escaping the nearby chimneys.

Soon, I was mesmerized by a dozen or so sparrows which were flying around aimlessly in the front garden. They alighted on one bush, then another … all of a sudden, en masse, they gravitated over to the wall and began clinging to the bricks.  Well … what in the world?

I sat there, transfixed on those birds, as I waited for their next course of action, but they just stayed there, hanging onto the rough surface of the brick.

Before I pulled out of the driveway, I made a mental note to myself to Google “why do sparrows cling to outside bricks?” Hours later … what do you know … ask and ye shall receive – small birds glom onto the brick to nibble on the grit from the mortar to aid in their digestion.  Yup, several sites said that, and now I know why tuck pointing is an ever-present Fall chore.  I’ve always blamed the crumbling mortar on the age of the house.

While I was in the driveway warming the buggy and myself, I was also checking out the front garden. I was pleased to see my holly is almost as tall and full as it was before Polar Vortex #1 that occurred in January and February 2014.  You may recall I wrote that when I went out to do Spring clean-up that year,  I lost several bushes, among them my beautiful butterfly bushes, all considered hardy to Zone 5. Because it was nearly thirty years old, the holly’s roots were massive, and the hole it would leave in the front garden would have altered the entire landscape.  So, in a desperate measure to revive it, I poured the contents of several bags of Holly Tone through the bush and onto the ground, watered it and crossed my fingers.

But, nothing transpired, so, just as I figured, it was a futile attempt. Several times during the Summer of 2014, I peered at this pitiful imitation of what had actually began as a pair of holly bushes:  “Blue Boy” and “Blue Girl”.  Believe it or not, to get those beautiful red berries, you need to have a male and female holly for pollination to transpire and red berries will eventually occur, but only on the female holly.  Those two small bushes, planted way back in 1985, eventually merged into one large bush through the years, towering over the compact evergreen bushes.  The pointy leaves were a dark, shiny green, and, I was patient, until finally the female holly bush bore bright red berries, which gave the front garden a festive flair in the middle of the humdrum Winter landscape.

Back in my youthful, and more creative days, I used to take sprigs of holly and sprays of Mugo pine to fill two ceramic snowmen mugs. I buried mushy floral foam in the base of the mugs, added the greenery, plus a few stems of red and white carnations from the florist, and, for a flourish, I poked a candy cane or two into each mug.  Voila!  We had a holiday ornament for home and work, making for “A Holly Jolly Christmas”, just as Burl Ives crooned in “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer”.

In 2015, following Polar Vortex #2, there still was no sign of life in my holly, so I took a saw, and, though it cut me to the quick, I lopped it nearly down to the ground. The roots were huge and I figured, I’d deal with that another time.  I cringed when I saw the results of my handiwork with the saw, but what else could I do?

But, on a hunch that I might still possess a green thumb like back in the day, occasionally I parted the barberries and peered into the garden at this abomination. Within a few weeks, a few tiny pale green tendrils poked out of one gnarly branch.  There was a glimmer of hope that I had started something.   I hurried to Meijer to buy more Holly Tone, heaping it on in big scoops to nudge this work-in-process project along.  I inspected that resurrected holly bush weekly during the Summer of 2015, and, slowly, but surely, shoots came alone, then slim and supple stems appeared, accompanied by shiny leaves filling out the bush and making it look presentable.  Those branches grew, reaching toward the sky, growing sturdier by the day.

Today, it is no mere shadow of itself, but a viable holly bush, albeit minus those prized red berries. You see – I don’t know if the male or female holly … or both … survived.  But, I admire its/their tenacity, and  I’ll give it a few more years to bear berries, because, as we all know – good things come to those who wait.

[Image by J. Monter on Pixabay]

Wintry weather has certainly settled in, much to my chagrin. If only the snow had stayed at bay, I’d have bundled up and headed out to enjoy a pair of extra-long walks, since my boss was out of the office the past two days.

But, that was not my agenda at all.

Yesterday morning I shoveled the dregs of Sunday’s snowstorm, a sloppin’ big mess that was really heavy because the snow was filled with so much moisture . It sure was a good cardiovascular workout, and, as a result, my bedtime was about the same hour as when I was in first grade.

This morning, I figured I’d better take the car for a run while the going was good. As to snow and ice, I’m a white-knuckle driver, but the roads were clear and dry, so off I went.  Earlier this year, after the car’s “big fail”, I was told by the mechanic that I simply had to drive more – that walking was great for me, but the car needed to be driven more than 250 miles a year.  I heeded his advice, and have been diligent and driven 621 miles so far this year … only 114 miles less than  I’ve walked so far in 2016.

When I returned from my little ride, I thought I’d attempt a walk. Well, it was a short promenade because the City sidewalks for a mere four houses on the entire block were clear to the cement, and, peering beyond those houses, I could see icy patches galore, and walking in the street didn’t hold much appeal.

So, I got inside the house, peeled off all those extra clothes and went downstairs and hopped on the exercise bike for a few miles to release all that pent-up energy.

There’s no use bemoaning this extreme cold which has descended on us and will linger ‘til the weekend when the snow machine cranks up again.

Well, we live in Michigan after all.

My friend Ann Marie, who is also an avid walker, sent me a couple of interesting words she found while perusing the “Old Farmer’s Almanac” last week. Ann Marie was probably wondering just how many days she would be using the treadmill versus walking outside.  The question she posed to me, was if I had an aversion to these words as much as she did.  The words were new to me and I quickly Googled to find out their meanings, and, yes Ann Marie – we share the same disdain for cold and snow.

So, here are a few cool words to share at upcoming holiday gatherings:

Cryophobia is an abnormal and persistent fear of cold, including cold weather and even cold objects.

Chionophobia is the extreme dislike or fear of snow.

Now, raise your mittened hand if you, too, suffer from either of these syndromes.

Ahh, that first big snow event of the Winter season. But, wait … Winter doesn’t happen for another ten days!

For sure, all this snow might put the kibosh on walking for the short-term.

Anyone who follows this blog knows I am no fan of wintry weather – never have been. But, even I must concede that the snow was beautiful today, and, it will remain so, until that stark white landscape gets chipped away by salt, soot or tire tracks.  Soon the snow plow will scoop up the leaves and street grime and sully those pristine crystals.

In my opinion, there is a calming effect when one goes out to clear the snow. Perhaps it is that rhythmic sound of  the shovel scraping along the cement, followed by the soft plop of snow landing on the pile after hefting shovelfuls to the left, or to the right.  It is soothing because the heavy snow muffles the sounds of the outside world, except for the occasional car travelling ever so slowly as it makes tracks in the snow-filled street.

Yup, the world seems hushed all around.

That is … except for the songbirds.

On this cold and snowy day, in which the flakes quickly morphed into flurries, and our world soon resembled a scene from a Currier and Ives lithograph, a group of birds sat huddled together on a nearby branch and were all atwitter. Clearly, they were filled with joy.  Perhaps they were singing along to my neighbor’s outside Christmas ornament … bells which occasionally peel traditional Christmas carols.

I do know it was not me whistling while I worked, but those songbirds in the tree.

By the time I was finished shoveling, I figure those birds had sent out more tweets than President-elect Trump.

What a difference a day makes … peering out the window this afternoon, it looked beautiful with the sun out and cars whizzing by at the regular speed – none of the treacherous driving that was evident yesterday.

Surprisingly, no mention of icy and dicey weather had been predicted … just a blustery morning with a brutal wind chill.

But, five minutes into my journey Thursday morning, I knew that no good was going to come of those icy pellets that were stinging my face and grabbing onto my coat and not letting go. When I first set out, it was gloomy looking, and the streetlights were still on, even though it was late.

On the return trip down Emmons Boulevard, those icy pellets were dancing along in the middle of the street, doing some pretty fancy moves … oh those dips and flips and swirls, often congregating curbside, but, eventually, that conglomeration of crystals would begin to wreak havoc on the streets making them slick.

As I got closer to home, I walked by Ford Park, where I crossed paths with a woman I see nearly every day when she walks her two dogs. We often chat because we are on similar schedules.  During our conversations, those dogs are constantly eyeing Ford Park’s grassy grounds, straining at the leash to break free of her and roll on their backs in the grass.  She always indulges them, patiently standing there holding the length of the two leashes limply in her hand, while they enjoy their little tumble.

But, there would be none of that yesterday because a cold wind was blowing and she had her fur-edged parka hood up, plus a muffler covered the midsection of her face, with her eyeglasses filling in the remainder. Those dogs were clad in holiday woolen sweaters.  The pint-sized pooch had one with a Christmas motif and the larger dog sported two sweaters – a plain and a striped version, since one would not cover his entire back.  Parts of him resembled a warm-and-fuzzy candy cane.

Of course we stopped briefly to commiserate about the cold weather, as those two doggone cute pooches patiently stood by her side, eager to break free to roll on the frozen grass, or, to get going as soon as their mistress stopped visiting. I wished I had a camera with me, but I knew it was cold and blustery and since my down coat does not have big pockets, I have to unzip and practically climb out it to reach the camera and then fumble with cold fingers to take a shot.   So, I left it behind.

I got home and ran the car and was glad to hear the furnace humming as I opened the door.

Based on the predictions for a lot of snow this Winter, I bought a second shovel in case the original one broke. I figured it was time to head down to the basement and spray the backup shovel with Pam cooking oil to get it all primed for this snow extravaganza they are calling for this weekend.

But, there was a sticker on the blade portion. Annoyed, I yanked off my glove and tried to pull a corner of the sticker, but, I got about an inch ripped off and no more.  Using my fingernail, I pushed and peeled and scraped that silly sticker to budge it off the front of the blade to no avail.  So, spraying Pam would have been a total waste of time.

Last night I knew it was time to consult my mom’s treasure trove of handy hints books she collected through the years. Nowadays, of course, we have those internet hacks people pass around that instruct you on how to do just about everything, or, there’s always YouTube.

Well, some of those hacks may work, but I decided to rely on the old tried-and-true methods instead.

So, I searched the household hint guru Mary Ellen’s “Helpful Hints”, “More Helpful Hints” and even “Best of Helpful Hints” to no avail.

I just might have to give in to that foul-smelling “Goo Gone” to solve this sticky wicket if the hairdryer blasting hot air on the paper sticker, or slathering creamy peanut butter on the adhesive residue doesn’t do the trick.

The peanut butter sounds easy enough, but … will every squirrel in the neighborhood be sniffing appreciably and following behind the shovel and me?

Now there’s some food for thought …

I was thinking about this very song, “California Dreamin’” by the Mamas and the Papas, as I walked down the driveway to begin my walk this morning. It was chilly and windy – the sky looked dark and somber.  Inside my down coat, I visibly shivered and almost scurried back into the warm house, but, it was clear and dry … so off I went.  Even though I’ve met my goal, I’ll try to eke out some more miles, so next year I will have more steps to strive for in my 2017 yearend goal.

Shortly after leaving, I saw a flock of Canada Geese streaking right overhead, their dark bodies looking like silhouettes in the gray sky. As usual, I heard the familiar honking before I saw them, their noisy conversation preceding their arrival by a minute or so.

Most all the leaves were not only brown but swirling around my shoes, and now absent from the trees. I can see the nests of the squirrels and big birds through the bare branches – I wonder if they know their hidey holes are laid bare to the world now?

Though I thought I had all the cold-weather gear I could need to go out this morning, I may have to rummage through the cedar closet and grab a few more woolens. It was months ago, when I took a first pass at grabbing some heavier clothes to keep me warm on my walks on those very brisk days.

Three and a half miles later, I arrived home with red cheeks and as soon as I opened the door, my glasses fogged up and I couldn’t see a thing … well, I guess we’ve been blessed so far this Fall with fair weather, so I shouldn’t complain too much.

I have to make the most out of the next few days, since the weathermen are forecasting the first significant snow event this weekend. It won’t hurt my feelings if the snowflakes decide to take a hike because it means I will take one of my own in their absence.

In the meantime, a little dreamin’ about California never hurt anyone …

All the leaves are brown and the sky is gray

I’ve been for a walk on a winter’s day

I’d be safe and warm if I was in L.A

California dreamin’ on such a winter’s day.

~From “California Dreamin’” by the Mamas and the Papas

Whether we like it or not, snow is supposed to descend on us … soon our neck of the woods will look like a snow globe. As you know, I’m no fan of snow, not even to set a festive mood by creating a white Christmas.

So, with that forecast for the white stuff in mind, I hurried out this morning to get some miles walked before the snow began to fly. Even though I’ve reached my goal, I still want to keep walking until year end.

I headed toward Emmons Boulevard where I stopped to admire some additional decorations since the last time I walked down that street on Thursday.  As to Christmas outside décor, I like an understated touch … my favorites are the lighted, white wire reindeer and the icicle lights … subtle twinkles that light up the night.

I went to the railroad tracks and then headed back.

Along the way, I stopped on the footbridge, where at least forty ducks and geese were splashing happily in the ice-cold water. They didn’t stay with their kind, but instead drifted lazily in the water, nibbling at reeds at the water’s edge, dipping their head for a drink or preening themselves.  Every so often, one rabble-rouser would decide to stir things up a bit verbally, but the others didn’t pay any attention and went on about their business.

I paused to watch them, just as I always do … that chance afforded me to catch an up-close glimpse of nature in the middle of the City is always a delight for me.

But today, as I stood on that footbridge, I was once again awash in sadness as I watched those feathered friends splashing and calling out to no one in particular.

They made me think of my little feathered friend Buddy, and, as I watched them, I felt tears leaking out of the corners of my eyes and dropping down into the murky waters of the Ecorse Creek.

You see … my Buddy has crossed over to the Rainbow Bridge.

You may recall just on Thanksgiving Day I wrote a post about the joy and companionship he has given me; I was grateful for that little beacon of light in my day. His very presence made me a kinder and softer person in this often-cruel world.

Sadly, that beacon of light has been extinguished and my sadness the past few days has been almost too much to bear.

Buddy rallied back after a respiratory infection and was seemingly 100% healthy once again.

Then, a few days later, suddenly he kept shutting his eyes and leaning his little mop top head against the cage bars, like he had no energy.

I began to worry.

The next morning when I got him up, he seemed to have lost the coordination that enabled him to hop or fly from perch to perch, and he kept tumbling onto the cage floor. This went on for most of the day, along with prolonged bouts of sleeping in the corner.

Friday morning he was worse, and could not move from the bottom of the cage … he looked at me, with bright eyes, and he seemed puzzled by his lack of mobility as he kept trying and trying to move around his cage with no success. Worried, perplexed, and sobbing uncontrollably over Buddy’s behavior, I asked my dear friend Marge if she could take us to the vet.  The consensus was that he had suffered a stroke and we had him euthanized on Friday morning. I will pick up his ashes after the holidays are over.

There is an expression that good things come in small packages – this little bird captured my heart and had me wrapped around his foot. I am sad as I sit at my computer and no longer feel his presence as he sat on the butcher block, only a few feet from me.  There is now an empty spot in the corner.  Several times in the last few days I have forgotten myself while sitting here and called to him out of force of habit.  I interacted with him constantly  … but this time there is no peep as a response.

All God’s creatures, no matter how large or small fill our hearts with joy.

Rest in peace Buddy … you are missed.

I am including two of my favorite pictures of Buddy taken shortly after I got him in December 2010, as well as an excerpt from “Lend Me A Bird” … the words give me some comfort at this time.

“I will lend to you, a Bird”, God said, “and teach you all you have to do. And when I call him back to Heaven, you will know he loved you too.” ~ Anonymous

December has arrived, and, it was as if Mother Nature put her hands on her hips and said “enough of this beautiful weather … it’s time to match the calendar page to the weather forecast and roll out the cold and snowy stuff!” (Yes, I’m sorry to say that the “s” word is being bandied about for this weekend.)

In suiting up to head outside, I was a tad conflicted. The weatherman reported it was raining for some, snowing for others … someone even remarked that it was “snaining”, one of many oddball terms coined by the late Sonny Eliot.

When it was finally light, I headed out because there were miles to be walked and a goal to be met. That wintry forecast for the beginning of next week and beyond gave me cause to put a little pep in my step.

I returned home having passed 719 miles … all I needed to do was surpass last year’s total miles walked – 718, and that one more mile did the trick. With an eye to next week’s wintry forecast, perhaps I’ll break out the brand-new hiking boots I bought last year.  Because of El Nino, I stayed in walking shoes until the nasty snow machine kicked in mid-January, then walks were not as plentiful and boots were the norm.

In the meantime, any miles gleaned until this year concludes are bonus miles, and a higher bar to set for myself in 2017.

I crave constants in my life … maybe it is a sign of getting older, or being less tolerant of the disorderliness of life in general.

I do know I am a creature of habit and hiccups in my routine really upend me.

I like my basic creature comforts too … nothing fancy, but having the power on when it is a late November day is nice to have.

I returned from today’s walk, having enjoyed the mild, 52-degree temperature, and was in the processing of shedding my coat, when poof – there went the lights and the room was bathed in darkness.  “Well, great – just great” I muttered.  I knew there were many people already without electricity from last night’s winds, but the winds were calm when I was out walking.

Five minutes passed.

Then ten, or fifteen more minutes.

Clearly, it was not a transient thing, so I grabbed the flashlight to retrieve the lantern to put near the phone to call DTE. A series of prompts ensued, then the robo-voice took my information and reminded me to unplug items that might be damaged when power was restored. DTE could not determine the timeframe for power restoration, as there were many others in the queue from last night’s wind damage.

Nearly two hours later, happily, the fridge and lights came to life, plus the digital clock on the stove verified it was back with a peep.

Ahhh … the basic creature comforts had returned once again, sooner than expected, so kudos to DTE!

Soon, the callback from DTE told me that an upgrade to equipment had been performed … hmmmm. Service was okey-dokey before?  But, I was very thankful it was back so quickly, especially when so many others were no doubt still in the queue to get their power restored.

But there is still something amiss.

Every home owner has those unique noises or quirky characteristics that are unique to their home.

Like the maple corner cabinet in the kitchen which occasionally creaks and groans and every once in a great while, the bottom door will just slowly swing open all on its own … ghosts?

Or that one creaky floor board under the hall carpeting that has made the same noise for five decades now. It is rather loud, but it just wouldn’t feel right not hearing that obnoxious noise when I pad down the hall in my moccasins.

My parents used to complain about that squeaky board when they were sleeping in on a Sunday morning, and I’d be scurrying up and down the hall, getting ready for my job at the diner, where I worked weekends and Summers through college. I was up at the crack of dawn and had to be on the diner floor by 6:45 a.m., or before shift change.

Yup, that noisy floor board tormented my folks for years.

Me too, because that silly squeaking floor board gave away my tardiness when I arrived home really late on weekend nights as well. My parents, normally sound sleepers, not only heard me Sunday mornings, but they would awaken to hear me tiptoeing down the hall, knowing I’d get their disapproval for my late hours, so I’d be trying my very best not to step on that board to alert them of my late hours.  But, alas – usually I’d hear them stir; I was foiled by that floor board once again.

Another constant in my life for decades has been the kitchen clock. The numbers on that schoolhouse regulator wall clock are so big, I can see them without my glasses and the Westminster chimes sing sweetly … one gong at the bottom of the hour, and hourly strikes at the top of the hour.

With the time change on November 6th, I put in a fresh “C” battery. Somehow the new battery knocked against the cabinet which contains the chiming mechanism.  Suddenly BOING!!!  A plastic piece, the size of a nickel flipped out of the back of the clock, followed by several skinny copper pieces.

That didn’t look good at all.

And the clock has been silent ever since.

Well I missed it.

Badly.

I’m a news hound and like keeping up on the radio news broadcasts throughout the day … without that clock, which I set to go off two minutes early, thus reminding me the top of the hour was near, I’m just sunk.

Even if I can see the clock in plain sight on the task bar of my computer – there is no “alert” … no two-minute warning.

After several days of silently turning over into a new hour, and my stewing over the demise of the chimes, suddenly, I remembered the wall clock in the living room was a chiming clock. The only bugaboo was that we unhooked the wires connected to the chimes many years ago, after two clocks with Westminster chimes, striking twelve times at midnight simultaneously was often the cause of losing precious sleep.

I didn’t even look for the manual, because I am not the little old clock maker, nor his assistant.

Thus, after the holidays, a trip to ye olde clock repair shop will be in order. A horologist will bend his head over it for a quick looksee and say “why on earth would someone have pulled the wires out of the chimes mechanism on this fine timepiece?”

I will, of course, remain silent and shrug my shoulders.

So, I learned that new word and thought I’d share it: horologist.  No, it’s not a person who studies the art of cultivating fruit, vegetables and flowers; instead, it is a person who has studied the art of making watches, clocks and other time-telling devices.  I found that word on the PCC Watch and Clock Repair website.

Perhaps I’ll ask for the two-for-one special, and fix the kitchen clock as well, to repair that copper wire that went BOING, much like what happened when you played with the little spring in your Bic Clic pen back in the day.

Yup, you know you are smiling because you played with that spring too. BOING!!!!  In one second, your clicker ballpoint pen was rendered useless.

I may be rendered useless too, if a pair of clocks are chiming in the wee hours of the morn … I have a few more months to think about it.

Yup, a hiccup here and there and then life rolls merrily along again … or does it?

So, now that it was the last day of the long holiday weekend, it finally dawned bright and sunny … no rain or murkiness to be found. I made the best of it and made sure I got a full walk in – no eying the sky for raindrops.

Along the way, many people were tackling their respective leaves … that’s because this is the last week for yard waste pickup in Lincoln Park.

It was on my agenda as well and I had a ton of ‘em, even though my neighbor Jeff has been blowing them for me every time he does his. But, those wicked winds and all the rain pulled the yellow maple leaves down and they were everywhere.  As usual, there was not a single leaf from my tree, an ornamental lace-leaf Japanese maple.  It still has every leaf intact – they will linger well into Winter.

So my date with “Mr. Rake” was not over coffee, but getting a handle on those pesky leaves. It took me three hours to get them raked and bagged, and, had they not been wet, slimy and full of mud, I’d have used a dozen or more yard waste bags for sure.

After restoring some respectability to the front and back yards once again, I hurried into the house absolutely famished. I’d been outside over four hours on this crisp November day.

Whenever I came into the house after a long leaf-raking session, my mom was fond of saying, “that fresh air took the stink off of you”; in fact, she would claim she could smell the fresh air on my clothes as well.

I know I will be nodding off earlier than usual, a small price to pay for enjoying this late Fall day.

It’s the day after Thanksgiving … so, do you still feel as stuffed as this guy, or, are you one of the many shoppers that worked off that high-caloric meal by descending on the malls to stuff a shopping cart with bargains?

I’m neither stuffing myself, nor stuffing a shopping cart on this dreary and dismal day. My agenda this afternoon, after I send out this blog post, will be addressing envelopes and stuffing Christmas cards in them.

As to leftovers, stuffing, as in that tasty fare which accompanies the turkey, always reminds me of my mom who really enjoyed the leftovers, and always savored her stuffing and sliced turkey or chicken sandwich on the day after Thanksgiving.

Once again, the weather was certainly not conducive for walking. Unlike yesterday, when I wanted to reach that 700-miles-walked milestone, this morning, I peered out the window and said “well, maybe not today” … hopefully tomorrow though. Hmmmm – I wonder where this pesky rain was all Summer when it was so hot that when you walked past flowers and bushes, they grabbed your leg and cried out “I’m parched and need a drink” … they sure are quenching their thirst now.

Since we’ve dispensed with Turkey Day, we can begin the official countdown to Christmas,  unbelievably just one month from today.

I have an affinity for scarecrows, as you may guess from the abundance of them that have appeared in my posts recently … I especially like this one with its sideways glance and mischievous smile.