WALKIN', WRITIN', WIT & WHIMSY

It was a bright and calm morning. I was lost in thought. He caught me unawares as I looked up and saw him there. It was a stare down. We didn’t take our eyes off one another lest the other should make a false move. It was, in fact, like a scene out of the Wild Wild West. Finally, with an uninterrupted steely gaze, unconsciously my left hand slid slowly to unsnap the deep cargo pocket in my coat, my index finger and thumb primed to dip into the Ziploc bag of peanuts that still languished inside … but I stopped myself before I could go there.

* * *

I went outside mid-morning. The balmy air felt like a day at the beach after the frigid temps we’ve endured this week. The heavy down parka was unnecessary so I threw on a lightweight coat that I’ve not worn in many weeks. The sky was a brilliant blue with the sun shining brightly and bisected by twin contrails from recent airplanes that were long gone into the atmosphere but their ruffly white trails lingered on. After squinting at the sun and enjoying its rays on my upturned face, I opened the gate and went around to the backyard for my usual tour, in advance of my handyman Bill’s arrival to work his magic on the ice-packed drain spout.

The backyard sure was pretty with its new layer of freshly fallen snow and the warmer temps made me linger longer than usual. I used my boot to kick aside some of the snow blocking the exit of each of the backyard drain spouts, then I walked around the yard and checked the tracks in the snow to see what visitors had arrived there before me. Ugh. No, make that double ugh. Fresh rat tracks . Unmistakable evidence – multiple star-shaped footprints and narrow, but deep, ruts where their heavy tail drags behind them. Well, whatever good feeling I had about the morning quickly disappeared with this discovery. I spun around in disgust and stalked out of the backyard, only to see more tracks in the snow running parallel to the side of the house and near the outside faucet. Well great … just great. Sure, I know those varmints are out there but must they come up so close to the house and intrude on me like this? I wanted to scream.

It was then that I saw him in my peripheral vision. A chubby squirrel. He evidently saw me first as he sidled over to the edge of my neighbor Marge’s backyard, then clambered up the fence to greet me. Despite his heavy body, he sashayed along the top of the fence with all the skill of an acrobat, picking up speed as he got closer. He stopped abruptly; then he stared at me long and hard. He looked miserable with snow clinging to tufts of fur around his face and ears. But I, on the heels of the rat track discovery, was not immediately full of the warm fuzzies like usual when faced with that “please feed me, I’m hungry” look. At that particular moment, I thought of him as a step away from the rodent family that plagued my yard … and my thoughts. He swished his tail back and forth, in an extra effort to get my attention and then chattered at me. I do not “speak squirrel” but I suppose he smelled the peanuts that were tucked inside my pocket from my last trek to Council Point Park. Maybe he saw the plastic bag which probably peeked through the tear in that pocket. I shook my head vehemently and said “no, I won’t feed you – I don’t want you leaving nuts or shells lying about as a further invitation for the rats to visit … no, no, no” … without further ado, I closed the gate and walked to the front yard. He, who was clearly not going to take “no” for an answer, quickly followed me. This little imp reminded me of my peanut pal at the Park, but I did not soften my stance and acquiesce to him. I opened the garage door and felt a presence behind me. Yes, there he was again, and now I had to be careful he did not slip into the garage while I was running the car and disappear in there. But, he sat there just “good as gold” and very obediently, first while I ran the car, and then as I was sweeping out a little pile of snow that had drifted inside, despite my doorstops positioned at either side of the garage. He sat up on his haunches and begged. My heart began to melt as he wore me down, but just then Bill arrived, so I was spared any more guilt over not doling out treats. I closed the garage door and met Bill at the drain spout . He brought his usual tools for the ice-dam surgery: a chisel, an ice pick, a mallet and a blow torch. Except for the blow torch, he might have been Yukon Cornelius, out in the snow-encrusted tundra. Bill clanged and banged on the drain spout with a clatter that would wake the dead, and I thought that inside the house, Buddy probably woke up with a start and wondered what the heck I was doing to rudely disturb his slumber. The ice didn’t drop down right away. Still more banging. Then Bill removed the drain spout and took the pieces apart then banged on them some more. He chipped away at the ice with his ice pick and finally he shook the pipe and voila, a long piece of ice that resembled a half-popsicle without the food coloring emerged with a thunk. The surgery was a success, and the pieces were re-assembled and all is good to go until gusty winds blow more debris inside. Bill and I commiserated about the Winter and we parted. As I walked up the side of the house, once again my little friend crossed my path ready for another meeting of the minds. I quickly shook my head “no” … and we both beat a hasty path to our respective nests.

Coffee is my go-to beverage in rain or shine or when it is hot or cold outside. After giving up flavored coffee creamer last year for Lent, I do confess to having a once-a-week coffee indulgence of one cup of Hills Brothers Cappuccino. I save this treat for Sunday afternoons when I can relax and sip and savor each frothy mouthful. My favorite flavor is English Toffee, and while enjoying its exquisite taste and foamy bubbles, in my mind I am quickly transported to an outdoor café, nursing my steaming brew and watching the world go by on a picture-perfect day. The moment for me is always over too quickly. I’ve always enjoyed a good cup of joe and my love of coffee began when I was a little girl and my mom would dribble a couple of teaspoons of her coffee into my glass of milk – “beige coffee-milk” she would call it. Hey, it made me feel like a big girl, with my own grown-up drink. My father was a tea drinker and didn’t like coffee at all, and in later years my mom suffered horribly with heartburn so reluctantly her drink of choice became tea with alot of cream in it. I, however, never acquired a taste for tea – too weak for me and if you drink it white, I find it very blah and I really don’t like the smell of tea either. Every so many years I’ll see or hear a story about the benefits of green tea and once again I’ll buy a box and barely get through two or three packets then abandon the green tea project. My apologies for being a tea basher and disparaging that nice cuppa that all you tea drinkers out there so enjoy. When I worked in the Buhl Building, the downtown workers were elated when Starbucks moved into the ground floor of our building. Every morning when I got off the bus at the Buhl Building, I’d make a beeline to get my Grande, filled to the brim with one of their brews of the day – the darker and earthier roast, all the better. Never mind that I could get a cup of coffee from upstairs at the Firm for free, because it just paled in comparison and often tasted like a handful of coffee beans ran through the pot of water. Starbucks’ freshly brewed coffees were guaranteed to get you revved up and humming along until at least mid-afternoon. I never caught the fever for Starbucks’ popular signature beverages like the lattes, mochas, nor even their caramel macchiatos which my co-workers streamed downstairs mid-afternoon and queued up to buy on a daily basis. I found them way too pricey for me, and almost sickening sweet, even though I now look forward to my weekly cappuccino treat. The frothy taste reminds me of the same sensation of sweet sips of hot chocolate … the real stuff, made from scratch with cocoa powder and hot milk. It seems to me when I was growing up, Winter playtime always ended up with a steaming cup of hot chocolate. Post-play session, while I was casting off all my snow-tinged or wet outerwear, a saucepan was warming up milk on the stove. While my mom kept one eye on the bubbling milk, she was doling out an assortment of cookies to nibble on with that beverage, since I usually had built up an appetite while playing outside. As soon as I emerged in PJs or inside clothes, the saucepan was whisked off the stove and Nestle’s Quik stirred in. We’d each have a cup of hot chocolate and share the plate of cookies. The bag of mini marshmallows was handy, with marshmallows spilling out of the bag and rolling onto the tablecloth. I always insisted on layering a couple of dozen mini marshmallows on top of the chocolaty bubbles to make a sweet pillow. When I blew on my drink to cool it, the marshmallows would sway back and forth in the cup, creating giggles on my end, plus a sinkhole up top to dunk the cookies in, then watch them quickly dissolve and disappear into the bottom of the cup. I guess this is just another Throwback Thursday memory from the memory bank, though I wonder … didn’t they have Carnation or Swiss Miss in the large containers to just scoop out the powder to make hot chocolate back in the late 50s and early 60s? I know, after I got older, we never made hot chocolate from scratch, but merely spooned it out of the tin and added some boiling water from the kettle. Even the marshmallows were mixed right in the powder. My friend Carol makes her own marshmallows. I must be lazy as I’d never make any of these treats from scratch … it’s a good thing I never had kids.

… Baby it’s cold outside!

It seems rather counter-productive to spend fifteen minutes doing some serious layering up for a five-minute foray outside, only to reverse that procedure once again in relatively short order. Of course, sometimes the unbundling process goes much more quickly if that blasted heat is going when you return indoors, or you drank too much coffee before heading outside. For me, it is not only getting ready to go out in these frosty temps, but the maneuvering around in bulky clothes and boots on the cellar way landing, a three-by-four foot area which space is precariously close to the stairs going to the basement. I keep my boots in a tote box on the landing so that when I come inside I can do some fancy footwork and step directly into the box and remove my boots while doing a pretty good balancing act. This way I avoid getting snow anywhere near the door where I will stack the rolled-up rag rugs to block the draft from outside. But that procedure is lengthy and adds another five or so minutes to the routine. Once outside I did my usual Winter Deep Freeze chores and discovered one of the drain spouts was blocked with solid ice. We replaced all the drain spouts last Summer after the decades-old gutters were starting to show their age and multiple ice dams in the past few years had caused their seams to open. The large trees in the house behind me have not been maintained in years and the many gusty days cause small branches to go airborne and land in the gutters, even after the last Fall cleaning. To thwart the ice dams which occurred the past few years, metal mesh was inserted at the top of all the drain spouts – well evidently that didn’t work. Just as I heaved a huge sigh, then grumbled aloud about whether to take further action or hope for a thaw (fat chance of that happening over the next week or so), a tiny bird sitting way up in the plum tree started warbling, albeit very faint and rather pitiful notes, but a song nonetheless. Perhaps he was in tune with my aggravation and thus seized that moment to help me forget my troubles just as the Winter doldrums threatened to rear their ugly head. I heard that sweet sound and my heart just melted. I wanted to dash into the house and get something to share with him, but surely he would have moved on by the time I went through the rigmarole in the cellar way and returned outside. There was certainly no sun to speak of, so perhaps he was calling for his mate or rounding up his family. I prefer to think he wanted to offer up some cheer on a rather bleak, bitter cold morn. I thought of my little munchkin inside, swaddled under his many blankets, lucky to be warm, safe, spoiled and very loved. I wished I could give this little guy some treats and comfort as well. Once again my thoughts turned to the critters at Council Point Park and I wondered if they stray from the Park regularly to a reliable food source which will sustain them through this cold snap. I recalled my conversation with Todd, the runner who had been going to the Park over twenty years, when he told me about how picturesque the Park would be once Winter arrived. I immediately planned to steal down there on weekends or free workday mornings, bundled up in my warm outerwear and camera in tow, to capture on film a wily red fox meandering through the trees and reeds on the banks of the Ecorse Creek or perhaps the massive gathering of ducks, which, according to Todd, will converge beneath the sewer drain where they live, while seeking shelter from the elements. Those mallards will stay put until some duck whisperer, like me, lures them out with soft words and tidbits of stale bread, and then they come out en masse. Sadly, that trip is destined to be tabled for a very long time. On a happier note, did you notice how the sun is getting up earlier these days? So, yes, we are inching toward Spring ever so slowly, but we are getting there. Keep your fingers crossed the Groundhog does not see his shadow a week from Sunday, guaranteeing us an early Spring, but I wouldn’t bet the farm on it folks.

Wow, this Winter weather just makes me ravenous. A quick trip outdoors and I come into the house hungry and cold and ready for something warm and tasty right away. It seems all my recent posts have been about food, and I guess I am waxing nostalgic more than usual about comfort foods of days gone by. Well, if you can stand more reminiscing … today, while I was standing at the stove slowly stirring the saucepan filled with canned condensed soup, I was recounting wonderful soups I’ve supped on back in the day. Nothing like a steaming and simmering cast iron pot of soup on the stove and the promise of that tasty soup coursing through your entire body after a long, cold commute home. For years I took the bus and brutal Winter temps or snowy days like we’ve seen throughout January are just despised by people who take public transportation. Though I only had a few houses to walk down the street to catch the bus in the morning, when the bus showed up in the a.m. or p.m. was sometimes another story. After the end of the workday, my bus buddies and I would often queue up for extended periods of time, huddled together in a bus shelter built for about ten people tops, peering down the street for the next SMART bus. You were grateful to see that big white bus with its orange stripes as it rounded the corner and you’d quickly pile on and settle in for the long commute home. Often the bus would groan along the snow-covered roads or the engine sometimes would whine and sputter in fits and starts in the cold weather as you made your slow journey home. Crossing Fort Street after hopping off the bus was an adventure, especially when huge banks of snow or slick roads made it difficult to cross, even with the streetlight. I’d arrive home, Winter weary and oh so glad that I had a warm house to spend the night in. Many times I’d be so happy to be home for the night, I’d leave my keys in the door in my hurry to shuck my warm weather gear and sit down to the aromatic dinner that I smelled just as soon as I opened the door. Oops! My mom loved to experiment with different soups and would try several new recipes during the course of the Winter. She usually always stuck with her favorites though: Sweet and Hot Italian Sausage with Spinach Tortellini Soup, Mary Ruggles Kielbasa and Cabbage Soup, Pauline’s Pot Roast Vegetable Soup and the more traditional Split Pea and Bean soups. The latter two were chock full of Honey Baked Ham pieces left over from our holiday meal. Often she’d send me to the butcher shop to get a soup bone to simmer all day with each new pot of soup. Once each Winter season, Mom would also make her Chicken Noodle soup laden with big, fat doughy noodles made by hand and which resembled cauliflower chunks. It was a recipe her grandmother passed down to her. My great grandmother lived on a farm and when she wanted to make chicken soup in the cold months, she’d trot out to the coop, pick out a chicken, sharpen the axe and … well you can guess the fate of the poor chicken, but he made a tasty broth. My mom’s soups were always enjoyed in hearty brown earthenware French Onion soup bowls with their stubby handle and heavy lid, ladled right from the pot and enough soup was saved for the following day, then the rest was portioned into Tupperware bowls and tucked up in the freezer. By March, there was a nice variety of soups to pick from and merely pop into the microwave. The highlight that accompanied the homemade soup was hot garlic bread slices. My mom would have the small bread slices sitting on a cookie sheet until she saw the whites of my eyes, then popped them in the oven. I couldn’t get out of my work clothes fast enough. Today, I thought of those delicious homemade soups that I just sort of took for granted through the years while I sipped my canned Cream of Tomato soup from an over-sized mug and munched on my grilled cheese sandwich, which oozed Havarti cheese from each end. Well, this soup fest sure was not the same, but I must concede, that I agree with Campbell’s proclamation that “soup is good food” … oh yeah.

Once dawn arrived, through the peephole in my front door, it didn’t look half-bad outside. I didn’t see any snow or ice in the driveway, and I was wearing my radio headphones and doing some kitchen chores, so I didn’t hear that wind gusting. The WJR weatherman said it was cold – well, of course it’s cold, it’s Winter! While I checked the fridge to get the garbage ready to go outside, my mind toyed with the idea of bundling up and going for a walk since I was headed out anyway. Well that bright idea soon vanished when I opened the screen door and it went flying and I had to grab the door with both hands to pull it back. Next time, I opened the door cautiously then slunk through the narrow opening and quickly pulled the door shut behind me, knowing my foray would be brief. As I stepped outside, an Arctic blast of air blew icy crystals off the awning over the door, whipping those frosty bits back at me and stinging my face. The wind gusts drilled right through the open weave of my wool hat and nipped at my ears and head as well. I decided all this bleak and dreary day would see of me was depositing the garbage bag and a quick trip to the garage to run the car. I opened the garage door and a whoosh of cold air and ice crystals streamed past my booted feet, swirled around the back of the car and then continued heading underneath the car with a vengeance. I started the motor and sat for a few minutes surveying the assorted pots and planters and colorful yard ornaments, thinking that this will be a long four months before they vacated their space on the shelves and migrated to their usual positions around the house and yard. While waiting for the fumes to clear, I grabbed my broom in search of icicles to whack, when another cold shot of snowy air blew in my face. Enough already! Of course this brutal and blustery day is just a harbinger of the next few days’ weather events, and further Winter maladies that ol’ Mother Nature has tucked up her cardigan sleeve. The weather folks are calling this next Deep Freeze event a “son of the Polar Vortex” … well, I don’t care what type kin or shirt-tail relative this new weather disturbance is, I already don’t like the sound of how it threatens to wreak havoc with our week. Time to hunker down as much as possible inside with some comfort food. It sure is easy to gain weight during the Winter months. You don’t have to wonder why Kraft proclaims they are running low on Velveeta cheese and a “Cheesepocalypse” is imminent. Not only are people gathered around watching football games and dipping their chips and crudités into smooth and creamy Velveeta, but bring on the baked macaroni oozing with Velveeta cheese and topped with a crispy baked-on crust. Kraft Dinner just is not the same, even though I close my eyes when I stick my spoon right into the pot and pretend, it isn’t made-from-scratch mac-and-cheese. My personal comfort food was always piping hot bread pudding with a dollop of ice cream. Well, today I heated up some chili to chase the chills away and had a crisp apple and slice of cheddar cheese as a chaser, but a girl can dream of comfort food from days gone by … those memories of good eatin’ warm my heart and fill me up to the brim and get me through these long, cold Winter days.

… since they have been duly peeled, sliced up and then buried in cups of cottage cheese with covers in the fridge. But now the house reeks of the sickening smell of overripe bananas. I went to the grocery store mid-week and laid in more provisions in case the wintry weather keeps me housebound until I dare venture out in my car again. As you know from reading my posts, snow gets me frenzied and fractious, so every year I stock up on pantry items when the weather is favorable and just go to the store occasionally for fresh food all Winter. Meijer did an admirable job of remodeling their produce department from top to bottom, but on the day I was there, the large counter was brimming over with bright green bananas … every last one of them. Well, I brought home a bunch anyway and snagged a large brown paper bag when I was packing up my groceries, having remembered my mom’s old trick of tucking a couple of oranges along with green bananas into a paper bag to speed up the ripening process. Once home, I broke apart the bunch of bananas and tossed them in the bag and loaded two of my Cara-Cara oranges into the sack and crumpled down the top and put it into a warm and dark hall cupboard. I peeked into the bag on Thursday night; they were gettin’ there, but still tinged with green so I fastened the bag up tight once more. I peered into the brown paper bag this morning and had one moldy orange and a large bunch of speckled bananas meaning they would be overly sweet … and mushy. Well, so much for momisms. I suppose if the bag trick didn’t work out for Mom, those freckled-up bananas would be relegated to banana bread batter and in record time a loaf of moist banana bread was creating a delightful aroma in the kitchen. I’d have a treat for breakfast or lunch of generous slices of banana bread with a half-inch layer of peanut butter. Yum! Well, I am no Betty Crocker so making banana bread was not an option. I generally peel and slice all my bananas at one time and plop them into cups of cottage cheese so I have ready-made treats for snacks – less muss and fuss that way. While I am slicing, I steal the equivalent of one or two whole bananas in bites as I am preparing the cups. I do hate to waste food, so I set to work on my task today, almost expecting fruit flies to magically appear and buzz around the kitchen. Well, after I peeled all those sad-looking bananas, while they were laying like logs on the paper towel awaiting my knife, I now know how Joey Chestnut feels when he gazes down at the pile of hot dogs just before the annual 4th of July Nathan’s Coney Island Hot Dog Eating Contest. There was absolutely no a-PEEL at all.

I hustled out to do some errands before the snow, ice, bitter cold or freezing rain returned, thus thwarting any car trips for this Winter Wienie. The buggy got a run and a bath, and I picked up a few groceries. I must admit my meals are rather boring since I’ve given up fried food, fast food and sweets, and there really is not any type of fare that beckons me, that is, except fresh bread. At Meijer, where I do my grocery shopping, I never stray into the freshly made bread area; I simply avoid it and head to the cheese section via another route. But a stockperson had their cart and multiple cartons in my way thus I bravely marched right through the artisan bread area. Big mistake! Oh those delicious-looking boules looking ever so crusty beckoned me, but I looked away. Then, I strolled past the demi-baguettes and full-sized baguettes standing up like soldiers winking at me from their wicker baskets, the smell of freshly baked bread wafting from their wrappers and I succumbed right on the spot. Those baguettes called out to me and I cast aside my sensible whole-grain tortilla wraps in favor of a harvest multi-grain demi-baguette from Ace Bakery. I envisioned it slathered with a wee bit of buttery spread, then lavishly topped off with a huge dollop of Jif crunchy peanut butter. I think my mouth was watering so before saliva droplets landed in the bread aisle, I quickly grabbed one and stuck in my cart, in case reason and sensibility overtook my olfactory perception. So that was my lunch today – the entire thing. I guess I over-indulged but I’ve never made it a point to punish myself and go on some type of binge after one little slip-up. I could say something cute like “I can’t believe I ate the whole thing” but, hey, I wasn’t going to let that sucker get stale and perhaps wreak havoc with my spanking new crown. Put it in the freezer? Nah, I hate that freezer-burn bread taste after it defrosts. I was mature and had an scrumptious Opal apple for dessert, however. I try to take care of myself and live a healthy lifestyle … luckily I am not tempted by treats or sweets on an everyday basis. And how are your New Year’s resolutions going as we enter mid-January?

Well, I started my Winter exercise bike-riding regimen this morning. There were no excuses about a cold basement today, so off I marched at the crack of dawn. I did a handful of half-hearted stretches then climbed aboard. All was going well until the furnace kicked on then I stopped so I wouldn’t get overheated. (Good excuse!) I used to run oscillating fans in the basement in the Winter when I rode my exercise bike but I decided against it, hoping it would motivate me to pedal faster, get the miles done and head back upstairs. While I could never hope to accomplish the feat nor have one-quarter of the stamina of the riders in the Tour de France, I do hope to get some good cardiovascular activity going and keep my legs strong so I am able to hit the ground running when weather permits and I start walking again. So today, while the bike became my wheels of choice over a car, not far away Henry Ford’s creation puts Detroit into a favorable light during the North American International Auto Show which press previews began this morning. I was surprised to hear the NAIAS is already in its 25th year as an international auto show … wherever did the years go? I know from working for decades in the City, the regular downtown Detroit workers regarded the auto show as an annual annoyance. The attorneys, especially, would grumble about it because they could not find a restaurant to eat, especially during auto show preview week, and parking became a real pain, even if you were a prepaid parking garage tenant. We used to have to ask the Buhl Building parking garage to block off a certain amount of parking spaces if clients or other counsel were expected at our office, otherwise the parking was at a premium and they often could not find a place to park. If our attorneys left the office for a few hours, the garage attendants would put a barrier across their vacated spot because parking spaces were that dear. The auto show is indeed Detroit’s jewel, especially the Charity Preview Night this coming Friday evening, and the event will not even pale in comparison to all the glitz and glam of last night’s Golden Globe Awards festivities. At least people can see the revitalized Cobo Hall and our beautiful auto show and witness Detroit in a different light then the barrage of blight and bankruptcy photos that tarnish our fair City.

Since I stopped walking, and before embarking on the bike-riding regimen, I’ve treated myself to sleeping in later than usual, and it’s a real treat when I don’t set the alarm, like last night. It felt good to know I had nowhere I had to be and could log in some extra hours of snoozing while the rain pitter-pattered outside and the snow quickly melted into rivulets and headed down into the sewer. The wacky weather this past week has been great fodder for blog posts and the number one topic for national and local news alike. When I awoke this morning, after just curling up contentedly a few minutes, I put my radio headphones on so I could snuggle down under the covers and still catch up on the news and the weather report. How many times this week have we heard the sentence “if you don’t have to go out, just stay inside” … well, this morning’s weather menu was windy, foggy, rainy and black ice; and, oh yes – steer clear of potholes.

I was thinking about the TV commercial about the man going out in the horrible weather and the cold preparation that was being touted which made the rounds several years ago. I looked it up on YouTube. I couldn’t find the actual commercial, but here was the song used in that ad. You might remember the phrase to “button up your overcoat ….” You’ll get a chuckle and this song will be in your ear for a long time afterward http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6UliCMEdTFE

Now, the newscasters can go back to focusing on the flu and how widespread it is. Every time I switch the news on, it seems more people have died or are on life-support with the flu. Well, that’s kind of scary, especially if you didn’t get a flu shot, but some people swear they’ve never received the flu shot, yet never got the flu either. Well, as a former Girl Scout, I am always prepared. I got the flu shot, eat alot of oranges and apples and am getting more rest these days so I hope to stay healthy. When I was a kid, I loved going to school and hated to miss it for anything. My mom used to order two gallon-sized bottles of cod liver oil malt from Eaton’s catalog every Fall and every morning my father and I would line up at the kitchen sink to get our daily dose. Although she wouldn’t touch the stuff, Mom would dip down with her teaspoon into the huge amber bottle of horribly fishy-smelling (and fishy-tasting) substance, and bring that spoon out, dripping with all its brown “goodness”. She’d twirl the gooey cod liver oil malt around the spoon, as if she were dipping molasses or honey, then she’d say “here” aiming it for our respective mouths. Yuck! A big glass of water for each of us was sitting on the counter nearby, ready to chase down that awful taste. But it warded off cold and flu germs for the most part, though, unfortunately, it didn’t stop me from getting both the measles and chicken pox in the same year, on my mom’s birthday and Mother’s Day, respectively. Nice kid I was! Take good care of yourself, get lots of rest and push away those sweets in favor of fresh fruits and veggies so the flu doesn’t slam you.

Once again the sunny sky belied the true temps and frigid conditions. Absent on this morning’s trip outside were the birds who must have decided they would find a human more in tune with their needs … I missed them. I almost pulled the car out to run it in the driveway, but it was way too slick at the entry to the garage. Years ago, I was pulling the car in and slid on a small icy patch thus nicking the passenger side-view mirror, so I decided against it. The car started right away and I had to leave the garage door up for a few minutes to get rid of the noxious fumes so I peered down to Fort Street where everyone seemed to be zipping along. Tomorrow the poor drivers will deal with freezing rain and a dusting of snow on their morning commute. However do you all do it? I would be a basket case by now! Do you think this pair is up to no good? Maybe they are looking for a snack to share. Perhaps we humans could learn a lesson here.

In the wilderness is the preservation of the world. ~ Henry David Thoreau