WALKIN', WRITIN', WIT & WHIMSY

During Tuesday’s walk, I saw a passel of cars loaded to capacity with teenagers hanging out every available window. Each occupant’s head was adorned with a blue mortarboard and attached orange and blue tassel swinging to and fro. It seemed each kid tried to out scream the next. I heard shouts of “we’re free at least!!!”, “no more school” and “we’re outta here now” plus similarly scrawled messages, including “Class of 2013”, were painted all over their cars. There was much maniacal honking in between the screaming – mayhem indeed. Lincoln Park High School seniors are ready to graduate. In fact, commencement is tonight. I may have wanted to plug my ears with my fingers, but it was not all that long ago that I indulged in the same crazy behavior. Ahem, well a mere four decades ago!! We had our clique of six inseparable school chums through the latter years of high school and we similarly celebrated the end of our LPHS days and were equally raucous and rowdy. Best buddy Sheila Howard borrowed her dad’s gold Montego and we collectively emblazoned every available inch of that car with LPHS’ school colors of orange and blue, splashed our school motto, our names, flowers – you name it, everywhere. We all kicked in for gas money and spent hours riding up/down Fort Street honking at all our class members – there was a helluva lot of honking going on because we had 613 in our graduating class … that was the June class alone. Our class had weathered six long years together ,three at Huff Junior High and the last three at Lincoln Park High School. We spent more time together as a group in the last week, then we probably spent in every assembly, talent show, school dance, queuing up on Bagel Day, etc., etc. There was Senior Skip Day on Friday, June 8th which was an all-day trip to Cedar Point; Baccalaureate on Sunday, June 10th in the school auditorium and lastly, the Senior Banquet was held Monday, June 11th . The Banquet was a chance to dress up in our finery, flaunt our best manners and break bread with our classmates in a grown-up setting, instead of the round tables in the LPHS cafeteria. Finally, the big day was upon us. We had so many seniors participating in commencement we had to go to Cobo Hall. It was a sickening hot evening and little if no air conditioning was present. I unzipped my gown a bit for some air as I awaited the “S” names to be called. Then the zipper got stuck and panic set in. Just before my name was announced, four people managed to put the zipper back on the track and I got myself together enough when I heard “Linda Schaub” to march across the stage in my three-inch platform shoes. (I needed those – I was already five feet nine inches tall.) After our graduation ceremony ended, with tassels flipped to the left side, the entire class headed back to the high school for our All-Night Party. We ate, we danced and we watched “Play Misty for Me” (us girls swooning over Clint Eastwood all the while). We were running on empty by then. Soon, after a night of cheers and a celebration of our years together, it was time for tears as the sun came up and our group gathered together to say our goodbyes as we uttered “Go Rails!!” on last time.

I’ve been thinking alot about high school the past month. Plans are in the works for our class’ 40-year reunion. I’m not interested to go at all. My five closest friends and I planned a five-year reunion of just us in the Fall of 1978 which turned out to be a debacle. In those days social media and cell phones didn’t exist and we soon lost touch with one another after being inseparable through school. During school, we had spent many evenings discussing how we would stand up in each another’s weddings or would name our first-born children after one other – I say this laughingly because three of the six of us were named “Linda” so it wasn’t an entirely impossible feat. At our reunion, we thought, rather stupidly, that we could duplicate one of our usual school-time Friday night events (dinner and a movie) as a great way to get together, reminisce and catch up. Sadly, we didn’t have enough in common to fill an entire evening of conversation. So, no – I won’t repeat that exercise by going to my high school reunion. In fact, recently one of my Facebook buddies who “friended” me last year posted an inquiry for all to see as to whether I would attend our reunion. I wrote him a private message back that I was not interested to see anyone and had not attended any of the prior reunions and he should not take that answer personally. Now, Bob and I had not communicated before now – we merely “friended” one another through Facebook, via old classmates. So we kibitzed a bit; Bob told me about his successful career, then asked what I was doing career-wise. Funny, but that seemed like an unusual question to me since most people who know me are aware I never fulfilled my dream of becoming a journalist (although perhaps this blog helps to fill that void – better late than never!!). No problem with the question – after all we had not been in touch for forty years. Well, I’m not embarrassed to say that I did not pursue my dream. You’ll not hear any apologies from me; no angst or inner turmoil exists in how I make my living, however, for some reason I did feel a little deficient when hearing about Bob’s career accomplishments versus mine. I am content with how my life has turned out – good health trumps wealth and is more important to me; all the money or prestige in the world cannot give you excellent health. As to school, you cannot put a price on education and no one can take your years of education away from you. That said, if someone were to ask me to impart some wisdom to the LPHS Class of 2013, it would be to follow your dreams and aspirations and never lose your spirit in the process. My spirit is still intact. At the end of this post are some of the highlights from MY commencement program.
Today’s walk marked the same trek I travelled circa 1970 to 1973, 2.4 miles round trip from home to my old stomping grounds and back. In fact, Huff Junior High was a mere stone’s throw away from the high school, so that round trip would have been about two miles. Six years, for nine months each year, I traipsed through snow, ice, rain, searing heat and similar inclement weather. No car ride for this kid. No wonder I was so skinny back in those days!! As I passed by LPHS today there was an aura of excitement in the air. The marquis touted tonight’s commencement. A few capped-and-gowned students were milling about, not clustered on the front steps as we might have done; now a six-foot high iron fence stands in the front part of the school. Times have certainly changed, but the exhilaration of new beginnings and the rest of your life stretching before you like an empty canvas has not. Also timeless – this morning I noticed the huge rock in the front of LPHS, which has had layers upon layers of orange and blue paint, still stands there festooned with the flourishes and comments by the graduating seniors….until the same time next year.
Class flower: Rose of Peace.
Class Colors: Navy Blue and Powder Blue.
Class Song: “Stairway to Heaven” by Led Zeppelin.
Class Theme: “Beginnings” by Chicago.
Class Saying: “Run through the fields, be happy and free, we’re the class of ’73.”
Class Motto: “A million tomorrows shall all pass away ‘ere I forget all the joys that were mine today.”

Today I went to church to light my June candles. I’ve not missed a single month since my mom passed away three years ago. I like to go early in the morning when no one is there – a few minutes of solitude after lighting a few candles, a little prayer and I am on my way until the next month. Sometimes I visit twice in a month … perhaps friends are ill, or having surgery or have passed away. In the past three days I have heard of two friends who passed away. We lost touch through the years, and though our paths might likely have never crossed again, I still felt a profound loss upon hearing they were gone. Sometimes I go and light candles for friends who appreciate my prayers for their loved ones who are suffering, or have passed away and on still other occasions I light candles when my heart is heavy from world events. Well, Christ the Good Shepherd Church was my morning destination, and I followed it up with a stroll through the memorial garden bordering the Church. The garden, like my own, has not reached its full potential as it is the beginning of the growing season. But even in early June, slipping through the gate into the memorial garden is like a little slice of Heaven. This morning as I rounded the street corner, tiny pink shrub roses just spilled out over the iron gate which surrounds the garden and there are already plenty of pretty perennials and flowering shrubs galore. By the peak of Summer a variety of hostas are in full bloom and the many types of rosebushes compete with one another for beauty with each emitting its own wonderful scent (especially if you go on in the early morning or after the rain). The parishioners of the Church tend to this garden and there are several concrete benches to stop and rest, reflect, meditate or pray; this tranquil place is here for you. A sign tells you the garden was blessed by the Archbishop. God’s creations are everywhere, just begging to be enjoyed. Life is over too quickly so take a minute out of your day today to bask in the beauty He has created for us. June is National Rose Month … stop what you are doing for goodness sake and bend down and inhale deeply – now that wasn’t so hard was it?

In the spirit of yesterday’s Gran Prix on Belle Isle, I endeavored to complete a few laps of my own this morning. It was a beautiful day – only 45 degrees when I left the house at 7:15 a.m. This is my kind of weather. I needed to take the car for a spin, and get some groceries, so the only way to do that and get my walk in is to head to Meijer. I did six laps around the perimeter of the store before grabbing a cart and starting my shopping; then I left my cart in one location and sprinted to each aisle to pick up my items and just kept re-visiting the cart. Factoring in lugging everything into the house, according to my trusty pedometer, I managed to rack up 1 1/2 miles this morning. Just call me a multi-tasking machine, though considerably less revved up than that of your average race car. I was looking at the photo gallery of pictures from both Gran Prix days this past weekend– the track at Belle Isle looks beautiful. Years ago, when Detroit hosted its first Gran Prix in the early 80s, they ran the race in the streets – they had Friday Free Prix Day and you could walk in downtown Detroit and mix and mingle with drivers (and their groupies and pit crew) as well as get up close and personal with their cars which were sitting right out where you could touch them. The photo ops were wonderful. Open-wheel racing conducted in the streets outside your office was very exciting! Round and round they went, brightly colored vehicles looking like different crayons from the Crayola box, as they passed the Ren Cen, or negotiated a hairpin turn at Cobo Hall and then sped along the River. The event had the Goodyear Blimp floating around and it seemed you could reach out and climb aboard. For weeks before the streets were blocked off and buses re-routed so that the heart of the downtown Detroit business district could be re-configured into a racetrack, complete with piles and piles of rubber tires for bumpers at each dangerous turn. The noise was near-deafening during Friday’s time trials; the high-pitched whining of the engines and tires as the Formula One drivers and later in the day, the mini F-1s, whizzed round and round the track, made it virtually impossible for business to be conducted so most office workers were given Friday afternoon off. Detroit was in its heyday then and I am sure a Gran Prix in our downtown venue rivaled any other exotic locale back in the day.

It’s been a long week. First, it was the rain. Then, it was the heat. Followed by the humidity. Then, I got behind at work due to shutting off my laptop each time it was storming so badly, so I had to catch up before the next storm happened, or was threatening to happen. Today it was the wind. I went to take the garbage out at 8:00 a.m. sharp, all intent on taking a walk. I haven’t walked since Memorial Day – weather and work issues encroached on my special “me” time. I looked out the window at 7:00 a.m. and the sun was shining brightly beckoning me to come out. I don’t like to walk too early on a Sunday – not enough people out so I decided 8:00 was early enough. In the meantime, a dark and brooding cloud settled overhead and the winds whooshed all around me. Too often this Spring I’ve set out on a walk only to abort it a few blocks later as it started to mist or drizzle. As disgusted as I’ve gotten with the weather thwarting my walk, I still feel blessed so far I’ve been spared the ill effects of Mother Nature’s fury as evidenced all over the country. Tornadoes are everywhere, from the humdingers in Oklahoma to lesser ones, like the one in Flint last week. Three Weather Channel tornado chasers were killed when a 160 mph winds twister picked up their supposedly safe car and had their way with them – they were only researching tornadoes to better understand how they work. Yesterday was the first day on the calendar for hurricanes – forecasters are predicting a volatile season. There was even an earthquake this morning. I cringe when I hear the people recounting the scenes of the wildfires in California. All natural disasters … angst-filled days for mankind and Mother Nature’s way of reminding us she is in charge, not us mere mortals. I’ll live with the inconvenience of a few days’ worth of rain (though I’m expecting slugs to make their merry trails any day in/out of the hostas). As Annie sings: “The sun’ll come out tomorrow. Bet your bottom dollar that tomorrow – they’ll be sun!”

Memorial Day has arrived with all of its reverence and solemnity – the first three-day holiday in 2013. What’s it all about? Patriotism and parades? Or beaches or backyard bar-b-ques? This morning I strolled through several neighborhoods and saw many flags, rustling ever so gently, in the light breeze. Yards of bunting festooned some of the older, large homes. I was humming the Pure Michigan ad theme song; I enjoy all their radio ads and it was the last music I heard while I still had my radio headphones clapped to my ears before I left for my walk. The background music in the Pure Michigan ads is “The Cider House Rules” movie theme. There is a video on YouTube featuring woodland scenes interspersed with birds and animals and the sweet strains of the “Cider House Rules” song – the scenery is so breathtaking, the music is very mellow. I try to watch that video at least once a day; it truly keep me grounded. Here is the video – it will take you to this special place in a heartbeat: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=csnUV3Gz4Pk

One of the Pure Michigan ads is called “Simple Sunrise” and I went on the Pure Michigan website to hear the ad again and I jotted down the words … the concept from “Simple Sunrise” is pretty simple and straightforward:

25,000 mornings, give or take, is all we humans get.
We spend them on treadmills,
we spend them in traffic,
and, if we get lucky, really lucky, it dawns on us to go spend them in a world where a simple sunrise can still be magic.
25,000 mornings.
Make sure some of them are pure Michigan

25,000 mornings – is that all? Sobering thought isn’t it? How many days have YOU used up already? How many days were unforgettable? How many days have you simply frittered away? There is a website where you can tell how old you are down to the very second. Have a look here – see how old you are in seconds, minutes, hours – even days: http://www.mathcats.com/explore/age/calculator.html

So, how old are you really? Well, I am 57 years of age, (although a day after working in the yard for four hours, I feel more like 67). The chart says I am 20,862 days old today. Wow! Following the logic of “Simple Sunrise” I only have some 4,000 odd days left to fill my life expectations, to meet my life goals or to complete my bucket list? Gee, and I was feeling old since my 40-year high school class reunion is this year!

Life speeds by. Make your moments count – be they second, minutes, hours or days.

And today for Memorial Day, remember our soldiers who died for their country. So many of those brave men and women died much too young – lives snuffed out leaving thousands and thousands of days unfulfilled.

It began as a low, slow, rumbling growl which was magnified by the still morn of the first day of a long weekend. Not many folks were out this morning; they either left for the north country last night or were sleeping in. The chilly 41-degree temps were not too conducive for sitting out on the porch sipping coffee in your jammies and bare feet. I am, what you would term, a “wary walker” – on Fort Street you must pay attention to drivers who are often oblivious to a walker crossing their path. Traversing through the neighborhoods on an early weekend morning, I am overly cautious and forever looking for someone lurking about. So, the sudden growl startled me. It intensified. I knew a rumble that loud belonged to a very large dog. The sunlight filtered through the trees, hitting my eyeglasses at such an angle that I felt momentarily blinded by the bright rays. In desperation my eyes darted from side to side, scanning the street for the owner of this ominous snarl. Then I saw him – a massive German Shepherd standing on the corner lawn. Was he growling at an errant squirrel or me? Perhaps I was not the object of his attention, but nonetheless I dashed behind a large tree and stayed put, heart pounding. If I were to cry “help”, there was absolutely no one out on the street to come to my aid. I quickly tried to remember what I heard or read about being confronted by a dog. Look him in the eyes? Look down? Speak to him? When I walk, I never leave home without my lanyard on which pepper spray and a huge whistle dangle. The “Storm Safety Whistle”, which I ordered from a sporting goods catalog, is recommended for underwater emergencies because its shrill sound is THAT piercing and intense. I had several pet dogs growing up and I’ve never been afraid of dogs, but this one just spooked me. It looked to be part-wolf. I stayed motionless for what seemed like hours behind my “cover” and finally the dog trotted off in another direction. Five minutes later I sheepishly stepped out, not knowing whether I had ever been in any danger. Still shaken, I switched from my regular route and went the opposite way from where he was headed. Soon I came upon a corner lot with a tall, old, stockade fence running the length of the property. By now, the sun was shining brightly and through the fence I could clearly discern the visage of a very large pit bull terrier; there it was – the unmistakable bent-over ears and square jaw. The dog was pacing down the side of the house, a very menacing shadow puppet which caused renewed fear in the pit of my stomach. I quickly backtracked and sped down still another street where thankfully I met up with nothing more than a few squirrels clambering up, down and around some trees. I let out a deep sigh as I entered the grounds of Council Point Park. There were many walkers on this cool, crisp morn and I passed a young couple and the woman was pushing an umbrella stroller. To be sociable, I glanced inside where I saw a small dog … they explained that they liked to walk but the dog couldn’t keep up, so they brought the stroller along. Well, that was different. After turning the first curve on the perimeter path, I was on the lookout for the pair of geese and their goslings. An elderly gentleman was peering through the marsh grass and told me he had seen the family yesterday. We walked along companionably and I told him my morning had gone to the dogs thus far. He mentioned that he has often seen leashed and unleashed Dobermans and Pit Bulls running around in the Park before. Well, so much for my safe haven. The goose family must have been tucked away somewhere but several brazen gaggles of geese meandered near the pathway. Though I never saw one songbird, I was able to identify five birdcalls – I’ve been listening to a website of birdsongs during the week. All too quickly one complete lap around the 1.9 mile Park perimeter was over. The trip home was thankfully uneventful. I plucked several maple seeds out of my hair and pockets when I pulled off my sweats, the remnants of my Saturday sojourn. Those little “helicopters” were flying everywhere – twirling and whirling and settling onto the sidewalks and streets, Stewart Avenue included.

Whew!!! Mercifully, there is no apparent post-storm damage of any sort in the yard despite that wicked wind which was rattling about on Wednesday night; really, what an ugly collection of weather days this week has been for Lincoln Park. Yesterday morning I got suited up for a walk, stepped outside to feel mist and light drizzle, so instead I took a quick trip into the backyard to check for any weather damage issues. Everything looked good so I beat it back into the house again. Today, the sun belied how cold and blustery it really was outside (dare I use the words “cold” and “blustery” on May 24th?). I left really early, stepping out at 7:20 a.m. in sweats, a sweatshirt cardigan and I even hustled back to grab gloves and a light raincoat (I refuse to don a hat this late in the season). I was still shivering for most of my walk. I got 1 ¾ miles in and while I walked I saw alot of large tree branches laying in yards and in the street. The last few nights, my neighbors’ front trees were swaying wildly as the winds whooshed through them; didn’t like that at all. But all this inclement weather pales in comparison to the devastating E-5 twister that ripped through Moore, Oklahoma this past Monday. I live in fear a tornado will come barreling through this city and wreak havoc and I will be homeless. My fear seems to intensify as I get older. I watched the videos and still shots of the tornado’s aftermath on my computer and the devastation was so horrific. There were so many interviews conducted with people left with nothing more than the clothes on their back – cherished mementos, a lifetime of memories, just reduced to rubble in the blink of an eye. There were stories of bravery, some which tore at your heart. I wept as I watched the older woman reciting her tale of the tornado’s appearance and destruction in her house, and while she was standing amidst the remnants of her home and lamenting the apparent loss of her little dog, who should poke its head out from beneath some boards during the interview? The woman cried out and said she asked God to spare her and her little dog and now she was granted both wishes. The loss of her home seemed inconsequential to her; she had her most-treasured possessions: life and her pet. And, how refreshing to hear positive stories about people banding together to collect money and items to send to Moore; sometimes mankind rises to the occasion, but sadly ofttimes it takes a disaster for people to shine doesn’t it? The news headlines are full of negative commentary about how we treat one other. Sometimes a life is treated like it has no worth. So sad. Perhaps Mother Teresa said it best: “If we have no peace, it is because we have forgotten that we belong to each other” … I know that quote sums up my this writer’s feelings. The people in Oklahoma are determined to rebuild and will stay on in that state in the very area known as Tornado Alley. Sometimes our people in our nation are more resilient than you could imagine. The people of Oklahoma are such folk. On the topic of resiliency, on a lighter note – I made an amazing observation during my walk today. I saw many broken Robin’s eggs laying on the sidewalks as I walked. I figured that the baby Robins hatched and the cracked eggshells remained in the nest and the little ones either got too big and knocked them out of the nest, or they blew out with the high wind velocity. Robin’s eggs are so easily recognizable with their pretty blue shell but what astounded me was how many eggshells, cleanly broken in a zigzag fashion, were laying intact on the ground … just perfectly cracked open but no other breaks and clean as a whistle. How resilient those pretty pastel eggshells are despite looking so fragile like a English bone china teacup? Imagine falling from those tall trees and not shattering? Those delicate eggshells were scattered everywhere I walked this morning. So they are not so fragile at all. I stepped around them as I was not going to be the one to spoil their beauty. They reminded me of several English bone teacup/saucer sets my grandmother gave me for long-ago birthdays. I prefer a mug but my mom and I said for years we were going to have a lazy Sunday and make a good pot of English tea and sip our tea from these fine, very thin teacup/saucer sets, and of course crooking our pinkies while doing so. Sadly, we never took the time to do this together, so I think I will put Twinings Earl Grey on my grocery list and have teatime. Scones anyone?

Shin splints split my stroll in half this a.m. I knew I probably overdid it this weekend, logging in about 6 ½ miles over two days, but I was all caught up in the high that walking brings. This Spring’s erratic weather cheated me out of many walking days in which I would have built up my daily walking distance a little more slowly so that three miles by late May would be a breeze. Today and the future forecasts are predicting some sticky humid temps and severe weather over the next few days, so it’s just as well I am not out walking and will plant to be back at it Thursday.

Today I trekked three-miles roundtrip to Meijer to pick up fresh produce which I packed into my schlep bag and my shoulder is feeling it tonight as I write this post. For years I carried a purse and a tote bag on the bus, gradually paring down to one backpack, thus easing the burden on my right shoulder. I much prefer walking with my hands and arms free but this was a mini-shopping trip via foot power rather than using the car. Despite it being early morn, many people zoomed by with convertible roofs down or windows cracked wide open, music blaring. I heard Adele belting out “Rolling in the Deep” enroute to the store, and that was an earworm for me until I was nearly home, then I heard the harmonious strains of the LPHS marching band, in perfect tempo, and so I stopped in my tracks, did an about-face, then marched over to Memorial Park to watch the in-progress Memorial Day parade. The crowd’s enthusiasm was contagious as the drum cadence intensified, almost-deafening at times, and the beginning of the parade drew closer. Young children, perched on parents’ shoulders, were giddy with excitement from the noise and they waved American flags or clutched yellow bows in tiny fists. Many parade goers were dressed in patriotic colors. An impressive group of over one hundred flags, all on eight-foot poles, and called “The Healing Field”, honored fallen servicemen and encircled the patio “quiet area” where the park benches offer a place to reflect and remember near the war memorial, cannon and bronze soldier’s boots and rifle. It is good to have a Memorial parade in our City again – far too many years Lincoln Park had no funds to sponsor this event. Throughout high school, I participated yearly in the parade by walking with other members of the American Field Service. I remember toting a flag holster which helped balance my huge and heavy flag. Somewhere, in my vast collection of old photos, someone snapped my picture hoisting my flag. The Memorial Parade always has featured a performance by the LPHS band and many band members had been high school buddies. I can still see Drum Major Pete Tirpak, clad in his huge bearskin hat and rigid chin strap, waving his baton wildly. After the parade, we’d all gather at the Bandshell and “Taps” was played and the frivolity turned to solemnity as heads were bowed in prayer for those lives lost. The Memorial Day Parade was the unofficial start of ensuring the front yard was in tip-top shape until November – picture perfect and nothing out of place because our street was where traffic was diverted from Fort Street. As I walked home, I calculated that it was forty years since I attended the parade; probably the last time I marched in it for AFS. Tempus Fugit.

Another peaceful promenade in Council Point Park this morning. I was up at 5:30 a.m. doing household chores so I deemed I’d earned my “me time” and thus headed out at 8:00 a.m. for a walk. I use the word “sketchbook” today for this blog post because my path through the Park reminded me of some photos and passages from a book entitled “Nature’s Sketchbook” by Dutch artist and author Marjolein Bastin. Bastin was featured in many Hallmark collectibles and my mom and I had several cardinal Christmas ornaments and we bought her greeting cards exclusively through the years. She was a naturalist whose soft-focus artwork entailed scenes of wooded or marshy areas, garden delights — butterflies, bees, bunnies, and various birds and their offspring. So, today as I walked through the park the trail evoked memories of so much of Bastin’s artwork. As I began the circular pathway, Canada geese milled about in the two baseball diamonds cackling noisily. Then, the ever-present Red-winged blackbirds perched on fallen trees, their warbling songs filling the air as I strolled past them. A few bunnies went bopping by in search of clover and high grass and I later caught up with them munching contently. It was a little breezy and I saw a mallard duck swimming solo in the rippled bend of the creek. My eyes were darting back and forth in search of the Canada Geese mates and their goslings. I peered through a thicket of bushes which turned out to be the familiar scent of honeysuckle. I breathed in deep, drinking in the intense aroma – mmmmm, so nice and very heady. And, then I saw them – the pair of geese with their goslings tucked into a small brush-filled alcove. The little ones were strutting about as their parents warily watched me and their offspring as well. Thankfully, I immersed my head amongst the honeysuckle blossoms or I surely would have missed the family, I scurried back to the footpath lest I should disturb them more than I already had. One the way home, I thought again about Marjolein Bastin and her work and recalled myself as a budding artist. When I was in my teens, I took art classes and we went on many trips to various Downriver venues to hone our sketching skills. The only medium we ever used was charcoals/pastels. I got pretty proficient with my charcoal and pastel renderings and I enjoyed the classes immensely. I have not thought about sketching and drawing in many years. I packed all my sketching pads, drawing tools and art books into my powder blue briefcase my parents bought when I graduated from college, and at that time I remarked to my mom that it was a hobby I would resume when I retired. She kind of harrumphed at that statement, but nonetheless surprised me one Christmas with an exquisite coffee table book entitled “A Sketchbook of Birds” ; I have occasionally paged through this book which details how to draw every type of bird imaginable. She had faith in me that I would put the book to good use, so as I write this, I am silently pledging to my mom that the first sketch I make will be in her memory. For now, I’ll quell the urge to retrieve my sketchbook and charcoals since soon my presence will be needed out in the garden to tend to the roses and butterfly bushes and unfortunately will be encroaching on my walking time as well. Perhaps in the Winter when I am hunkered down in the house, peering out the window at the mounting snow, I will start up again. Perhaps being the “artiste” will be as easy and enjoyable to pick up where I left off decades ago as it was to start writing this blog so many years after graduating from college with a journalism degree which has never been used. In the interim, I will just enjoy Mother Nature’s offerings “in person”. When I got home I flicked some cherry blossom petals that had landed in my hair, but the picturesque images I saw today were not to be as easily cast aside, but instead cherished as an interlude in my daily routine and to be carried in my mind until my next trip there. Likewise inspired by nature as is Marjolein Bastin, I will close this post with her quote below:

Those who look with their eyes and heart discover there is so much natural beauty around us to enjoy and admire.
I see every day as a new gift, full of new discoveries which I want to share with everyone through my artwork.
–Marjolein Bastin