WALKIN', WRITIN', WIT & WHIMSY

Well, the way this weather is going lately, you’ve got to grab any dry day you can, that is … if you want to stay the course in your walking regimen. I’ve finally reached 300 miles walked in 2017, but my goal had been 350 miles walked by Memorial Day weekend. Oops! I’ll just blame my lackluster stats on Mother Nature’s soggy Spring.

Of course yesterday’s all-day soaker had me skipping a walking day, so, despite the gloomy sky and threat of morning raindrops, I headed out to Council Point Park to get in a few miles.

The prettiest part of Spring which we all enjoy – that balmy weather, sunny days and those beautiful blossoms, all have seemingly vanished, and, in their wake, they’ve been replaced by chilly weather, gloomy skies, spent flower petals, and now maple seeds littering lawns and sidewalks.

I hurried down to the Park, and, as I crossed the large parking lot, the first sprinkles and spritzes of rain arrived. Sigh … so, do I turn around and head home or just keep going and hope it blows over? I opted for the latter and was happy to discover they were just a few random “spits” and, in the end, it didn’t spoil my walk at all.

There were only four people on the perimeter path this morning. The squirrels were absent, but, as I rounded the corner on the first loop, I saw a huge gaggle of geese. Clearly there were at least three families, as each set of parents and their offspring tended to huddle close together as they grazed on the overgrown grass.

The grass has gone to seed, and the blades, with their frilly-looking tops, were so long, that every so often, when one of the goslings was grazing, the grass must have tickled its nostrils, as it shook its head back and forth a few times. Perhaps the young ‘un felt a sneeze coming on?

As I stood on the perimeter path, at a safe-enough distance back from the families, I noted that the parents were very protective of their offspring. They never left the goslings’ side, even though they are now nearly half the size of their parents. The goslings have grown in leaps and bounds since I last saw them on May 13^th. In the photos below, you’ll see how large they are and that they have reached that awkward and gangly stage, so they aren’t really cute and fuzzy anymore.

Oh well, I guess we’ve all gone through that gawky stage where only a mother could love us for our looks!

This past Sunday, having been cheated out of my walk by Mother Nature ‘s persistent downpours, I found another outlet for my energy and made a stellar job cleaning the house. Admittedly, it was a boring day, but at least upstairs passed the white glove test by the time I was finished.

As a reward for my efforts, I decided to treat myself and watch the very last performance of Ringling Brothers and Barnum & Bailey Circus. Yup, the circus was in town, but this time it wasn’t under the Big Top – actually, it was no further than just a mouse click or two away.

I logged onto the computer in plenty of time, checked into Facebook that was streaming the event, then settled in to bid farewell to the circus, an annual event that I attended many times in my youth and up to my teens. As it neared start time at 7:00 p.m., I realized that all that was missing was my fellow Brownie troop members and the candy floss.

However, all too soon I learned you can’t always go back and recreate those special memories, even if the poems and songs and wise quotations say you can.

The show began, just as I remembered, with a flamboyant ringmaster bellowing to the crowd. But, he quickly stepped aside and CEO Kenneth Feld, of Feld Entertainment, and his family soon monopolized center stage.  Feld began giving praise to the performers, even those behind the scenes, and thanking the audience, past and present, for enjoying 146 years of memories.

Mr. Feld droned on and on and I began to lose interest, when suddenly he and his family exited the stage, and soon the bells and whistles began. It was dark, then flashes of color up high and alot of razzmatazz followed.  I didn’t care for the act at all and was soon bored with it, and my eyes kept drifting from the performance to the comments being posted by Facebook viewers who waxed nostalgic about their special circus memories, as well as complaining about the politically correct persons who insisted the elephants were being mistreated and the circus should cease using them in their acts.

I had to agree about the PETA and those PC people, though I withheld my commentary on that subject. Yes, the “elephant in the room” was the lack of any elephants in the show.  And, the circus is not the same without them.  The animal acts were always a favorite of mine.

Slowly my eyes returned to the screen … the lackluster aerial act continued, and then I watched some horses galloping around the stage. Ho hum and where was the excitement of the tigers leaping through a ring of fire?  Or the magician’s tricks?  Even the acrobatic feats on the trapeze,  which were never my favorite act, were missing.

It was loud and raucous – not the circus I recalled from my youth.

I tuned it out in my mind and soon turned it off.

Were the PETA people and protesters correct stating that the big cats and elephants were mistreated? I guess I am not politically correct in wishing the circus had remained as I remembered it.

The circus revenues suffered after the elephants were removed and attendance plummeted. I guess I am conflicted, because I’m all for looking out for the animals’ welfare, but, in doing so,  as it pertains to the circus, you have destroyed a family event and there will be many children who never will know the joy of being mesmerized by three rings of performers at one time, all under the Big Tent.

P.S. – I’ve been feeling mighty smug because this year the robins skipped their Springtime ritual of building a large nest in the elbow of my coach light. I figured they finally got the message, when I repeatedly tore that muddy, lice-encrusted habitat down and filled the space with newspaper and pinwheels to deter any further building efforts.  However, as I write this, I have a family of sparrows that has made a nest in my outside blind box.  I heard noises coming from the box of late, but thought it was the wind, or an over-tall, thorny pyracantha bush that had new growth scratching the blinds and needed to be trimmed back.  But, imagine my surprise when it was very quiet in the house and I was dusting down the bathroom wall and heard a lot of tiny tweets . Oh-oh … we’ve had a hatching of baby birds.  The next morning I looked outside and nest fixin’s were drifting out of the area they have decided to raise their young.  A row of sparrows looked at me, chattering away loudly, as if daring me to wreak havoc with their home.  Thus, we have a moral dilemma:  to raise the blind would likely destroy the nest and the baby birds would go tumbling to the ground or onto the thorny bush below.  Well, I will bite my tongue, and refrain from mumbling about them, and cross my fingers there is no damage to the blind as a result of their nest-building efforts.  Soon the babies  will be fledglings and then I will bid them adieu and raise the blind.

Why?

Because that is the humane and politically correct thing to do.

Well, I’m sure you will agree that yesterday’s weather was nothing special. On the one occasion that I saw faint sun filtering through the blind slits, it was short-lived, and, in a matter of minutes, a huge cloudburst wiped out all traces of the sun’s appearance.

Mother Nature decided to rain on Lincoln Park’s Memorial Day Parade. The event had a 1:00 p.m. start, and, one of those many cloudbursts had just occurred before the parade commenced, making for a soggy trip by all participants. I intended to head over to Memorial Park and get caught up in the spirit of the parade and view the 2017 flag display, but the weather put a kibosh on that idea, so I stayed hunkered down in the warm and cozy house instead. I saw photos from the event on the City’s Facebook site and the honorary guests were the likenesses of President Abe Lincoln and Mary Todd Lincoln. Next year, hopefully the weather cooperates and I’ll be there as well.

I was really looking forward to a walk this morning, even though the weatherman certainly deserved no kudos for the gloomy-looking morning. It was downright chilly when I left the house and I thought I had piled on enough layers to walk, but oh … that breeze was brutal. There was a cool wind clipping along between 15-18 mph, and, I wished I had worn a hat and gloves on this brisk and breezy 22^nd day of May, which felt more like the 22^nd of March.

I meandered over to Memorial Park to check out the flags that were set up by the Lincoln Park Exchange Club. Way up high, I saw and heard Old Glory flapping from its flagpole, and the many decorative flags placed around the Memorial Pavilion and Park were similarly snapping in the stiff breeze.

I took some photos to use in today’s blog and for my Memorial Day post as well. Then, I checked out the wreaths commemorating the Lincoln Park servicemen lost in the WWII, Korean and Vietnam conflicts, plus the rest of the Memorial Park Pavilion area.

It was later than usual, and, in switching coats once again, I forgot to tuck a new Ziploc bag of peanuts into the pocket of the coat I chose to wear today, so … rather than disappoint my furry friends, I just walked laps around the entire Memorial Park which stretches over three city blocks. Three laps around the entire Park and meandering the Park Pavilion area bulked up my steps and I was ready to head home and get some coffee to warm up from my chilly journey.

It was not a typical May morning when I set out today … nope, it was 73 sticky degrees when I left the house. It’s way too soon for this hot weather and I am grateful we are returning to more normal temps tomorrow.

I headed to the Park, and, these days, due to construction on a nearby street, I am forced to take the long way to Council Point Park since two entire city blocks are out of commission. So, I visit more residential neighborhoods than usual just to get to my destination and then home again. Those neighborhoods have lots of trees. That wind was whipping around at 20-25 mph when I left and the many Maple seedlings were just raining down, lightly tapping me on the noggin as they drifted from the trees. Seeds were scattered everywhere and I even had to pluck them out of my hair once I got home. Between the seeds in my hair, my wind-ravaged ‘do and the specks all over my face from the dirt blowing around, I looked a little scary.

Once at the Park, I stepped onto the trail and hadn’t gone too far when I noticed a young woman pushing a stroller on the opposite side. There was an inquisitive squirrel perched on a log nearby and the woman, whom I presume was the mother, was pointing it out to her very cute little daughter.  The little girl climbed out of the stroller while her mom had her smartphone ready to capture a cute pose of the two interacting.

On an impulse, I crossed over the grass and joined the pair. The squirrel saw me and jumped down from his perch and the little girl squealed in delight as the furry critter inched ever closer to us. Hoping to kick that Kodak moment up a notch or two, I opened the Ziploc bag, asked the little girl to cup her hands and I poured a pile of peanuts into them. I then showed her how to scatter the peanuts to entice the squirrel to come over closer for a treat. But she misunderstood and dropped the motherlode all at once, which sent that squirrel into overdrive and he bounded right over and glommed onto them.

Of course, he would not have that stash of nut goodies to himself for long, because more squirrels would soon be hovering about. So, I said “we’ll try it again” and her mom thanked me then spoke softly to the little girl, whose name was Fatima, in her native tongue. Beaming, the child extended her hands, then cupped them. I dumped another batch of peanuts into her cupped hands, then grabbed a few for “show-and-tell” since our squirrel waited (like he was starving), almost as patiently as Fatima’s mom who still had the phone handy to capture that perfect shot. This time, together we spread the peanuts on the perimeter path, and once again that squirrel ran over lickety-split for a treat. I don’t know who was more delighted … Mom, Fatima or the squirrel. I enjoyed making their day because that little interaction with the squirrels always gives me a smile as well. I know I helped make a few Kodak moments for them for sure.

I stayed a few minutes, then headed off on my walk. I saved a few peanuts in the bag for “my squirrels” so I didn’t disappoint them. As I walked along I mused about that little girl, thinking that the interaction with the squirrel was not just fodder for today’s blog, but might just foster Fatima’s love for nature today, as well as for many years to come, just like when my folks took me to High Park in my stroller many decades ago.

Just another Kodak moment about a girl and a squirrel.

In every walk with nature one receives far more than he seeks. – John Muir

Well, it feels like it anyway.

Unbelievably, just a week ago, we collectively worried about covering our flowers and hoping that a hard freeze would not wipe out the blossoms on the magnolia bushes and trees. The apple and cherry farmers crossed their fingers as they stewed over the cold snap and what it might do to their crops, especially after two million pounds of asparagus were lost here in Michigan.

But now, here I sit, tap-tapping away on the keyboard, and shivering from the chilly air that is gushing non-stop from the register near my feet.

If only we could have a happy medium in this confounded weather.

I liken our weather to the bowls of porridge in the fairytale “Goldilocks and the Three Bears” – there are temperatures for everyone’s taste … cold, hot, or in between, when you live here in Michigan, and usually they are found all in the same week.

I tried to figure out what to wear before I set out on my walk this morning, knowing that even though I’d listened to the weather portion of the news, I’d either be too cold, too hot, but never just right.

On top of it, there was already a good breeze blowing and it’s always windier at the Park.

So, a sweat suit it was and no coat – first time with no coat and I had to tie a Meijer bag onto the fanny pack so I didn’t have to carry the Ziploc bag of peanuts in my hand.

Off I went, and glanced over at Marge’s big thermometer on the deck – yup, it was already at 72 degrees and it wasn’t even sunny. I wended my way through the neighborhoods, and people were leaving the house in shirtsleeves … of course, I obviously had overdressed once again, and, it was the same at the Park. Most everyone I passed on the perimeter path was in short sleeves and carrying their coat.

The industrial mowers were hard at work when I was last at the Park, this past Monday. They have tamed that jungle-look and chomped down most of the long grass and weeds, but one entire field is still full of those gangly dandelions that have already gone to seed. I never knew until today that the geese like eating them. In fact, they grab them by the beak and tear them right out of the ground, roots and all. (Wonder if they’d like to follow me home? The only time the lawn is free of dandelions is right after it is mowed.) Since no bright-yellow blossoms remain, whatever nourishment they get is from those rubbery-looking stems – to each his own I guess.

There were geese galore at the Park this morning and they were grazing and walking all over the path. They have this attitude that they own the Park, so it is you, not them, who must get out of the way. Of course, you don’t want to mess with them because you will be subjected to histrionics like wing flapping and hissing where they will stick their bright pink tongue out at you. My friend Ann Marie lives near a pond and she tells me that walking past one bully goose means you must carry a big stick and don’t get too close, or risk an attack.

The entire Park was abuzz with birds on both loops – not just the geese, who are quiet when they are feasting on spent dandelions, but, in a heartbeat those geese will create a ruckus with their honking. They honk when coming in for a landing, or, at no one in particular, but just to hear themselves honk.

It is the songbirds that make the two-loop journey so pleasant. Whenever I hear the strains of the male Red-Winged Blackbird, I picture myself walking barefoot through a meadow on a Summer’s Day, a crown of daisies resting on my head.

Perhaps the ambiance of the Park takes my imagination to a whole new level?

Well I’m glad I enjoyed all those warm and fuzzy moments at Council Point Park yesterday, because there were zero doses of cuteness today.

And, speaking of warm moments, the weather was not as stellar as Saturday. When I left the house this morning, it was overcast, dismal looking, and even chilly with a breeze.

Thankfully, my car behaved and did not trigger the alarm on its own, thus disturbing the peace in the neighborhood. I still don’t know what caused that Twilight Zone moment yesterday.

I passed many lilac trees and bushes en route to Council Point Park, and, this morning’s breeze helped to carry the scent of those beautiful flowers straight to my nostrils. Ahhh – breathing in was like inhaling the finest potpourri.

Even though I left later, once I arrived at the Park, I discovered I was the only one there. Perhaps the walkers and runners were taking Mom out to breakfast, or they were at church. Even the ducks, geese and squirrels were tucked away in some hidey hole, spending quality time with their respective kin. I never stopped to chat with a single soul, nor interact with any critters, or even take any pictures. My mouth, pockets and camera case all stayed zipped shut.  That’s okay, the camera got a big workout yesterday.

I kept an eye to the sky and it looked kind of ominous, so I walked kind of fast. I got my steps done in record time and was soon back in the house sipping coffee.

Today is devoted to honoring our moms and even their moms if you so desire. Though my mom and maternal grandmother are no longer here, I think of them every day.

Photographs and memories, and … even writing about them in this blog, all help to keep them alive in my mind.  I am grateful for the family photo albums that are crammed full of pictures of each of them through the years, and, though I treasure our three-generation picture taken in a photo studio, I similarly cherish those pictures of Mom and Nanny together, or the occasional candid shot from back in the day.  After my mom passed away, I went through all the photo albums and digitized my favorite photos.  Next, I bought frames for some of those same photos and set them out around the house.  It was a Pollyanna effort on my part to remember the smiles and the happy times, and to help erase the mental picture of both Mom and Nanny’s declining health in the years before they died.

If you’re a mom, I hope your day was special, and, if your mom is living, I hope you told her you loved her today … and always.

I’ll leave you with Sophocles’ wise quote:

Children are the anchors that hold a mother to life.

It was peaceful and quiet when I slipped out the door this morning … just pure bliss.

A treeful of birds warbled daintily, filling the air with their sweet song, and there was absolutely NO street noise.

I intended to take the car for a spin to Council Point Park and then walk two full loops. I drove my usual route and soon I had arrived at the Park and started on the trail.

There was only one other person there – Todd, a runner who is there only on Saturday mornings. Several times we passed one another, like two ships in the night, me breathing at a normal rate and he, huffing and puffing as he zoomed past me.

The bright-yellow dandelions have all gone to seed and they were everywhere, standing up straight and tall like soldiers in the field, their wispy heads wiggling slightly in the wind. There were some portions of the grassy areas that have not been mowed, and the dandelions almost obliterated two Canada Geese who were grazing and lazing around there. One goose had dandelions that reached its knees. The head of the resting goose looked eerily like a periscope coming out of the white filmy landscape.

The first lap around the Park was unremarkable, but, the second go-around was chockfull of the magical ambiance that draws me there as often as I am able to visit. By that time a few walkers and bikers were on the perimeter path and there were some Kodak moments to be had – by me anyway.

As I began my second lap around the Park, I was walking parallel to the Ecorse Creek, when I saw a huge mute swan coming out of the sky for a landing on the water. I saw that wingspan, and anticipated the big splash once its massive body hit the surface. I heard the noise and hurried to peek between the trees and bushes to find that swan and get some pictures.

But, surprisingly … that huge bird was nowhere to be found.

Next, I travelled as close to the edge of the Creek as I dared, and still no sign of that mute swan, so I ambled over to the concrete precipice because that open area gives you a great view of the Creek from either direction.

There was no swan.

Well, it was too big to just vanish into thin air, or hide behind some reeds.

But, it was my good fortune, to still be standing on that landing when Mama Duck and a passel of ducklings came paddling out from beneath the precipice where I stood.   They streamed out, one by one behind her, but they were soon scattered all over the place, and the male mallard was attempting to reign them in. I counted eight of those cute ducklings in the picture up top – how about you?

After taking perhaps a dozen pictures to ensure I got at least one or two good shots, I climbed back up onto the trail to resume my walk. I decided that the first loop was a happenin’ place this morning, so I’d walk it again – in fact I ended up walking it three times today. I was bound and determined to find that swan.

Within a few minutes, I discovered some goslings and their parents nibbling on the grass. My, how big and gangly-looking they were … all legs with stubby bodies. I wondered if they were the same five goslings I saw in the water, lined up between the reeds, hugging the Creek bank this past Monday?

Unfortunately, the family was in a shady area, but the goslings sighting caused a flurry of picture-taking nevertheless. They moved around continuously and within a few minutes, had finished grazing, and toddled after their parents down the hill, behind a tree, and out of my view.

Timing sure was paramount this morning.

I continued on my way and soon had a pair of squirrels waylay me. They had both scurried over to my feet, one approaching each shoe, clearly trying to get my attention with the mindset “perhaps if we climb over her shoe, she’ll feed us some peanuts?”   I realized then I was remiss in paying attention to my furry friends, since I was busy investigating water fowl, so, no doubt the squirrels were miffed at my lack of attention. I made up for my faux pas by offering extra peanuts and this pacified them, so there were a few more photos taken, and off I went once again.

When I was finally done with my steps on the perimeter path, I walked to the car so that I could drive home. When I pulled into the driveway, I heard music that was much louder than all that horn honking earlier in the day, when I disturbed the peace and solitude momentarily after my car alarm launched all on its own.  I craned my neck to see where it was coming from. In the next city block up, there were members of a marching band, dressed in Lincoln Park High School’s colors of orange and blue. They were playing excerpts from Queen’s “Bohemian Rhapsody” and Gary Glitter’s “Hey Song”. They even played the fight song for LPHS which I haven’t heard since the last home football game I attended circa Fall of ‘72. Maybe they were getting ready for next Sunday’s Memorial Day Parade.

My Saturday stroll was perfect in every way; glad you could tag along with me today.

As we creep closer to Mother’s Day, Mom is certainly on our collective minds, whether one must recollect Mom via cherished memories or photographs, or, if you’re lucky, Mom is reachable simply by calling, texting or visiting that woman who gave you life.

I often share the tidbits of my mom’s wisdom and “momisms”, both which were liberally dispensed through my formative years – heck, she was still giving me guidance and good advice almost ’til her dying day.

Those morsels of Mom’s wisdom and wit will stay with me forever. She was fond of giving predictions and warnings as well.  She often prefaced those cause-and-effect tidbits by saying “I will no doubt be long gone, but mark my words ….”  Amazingly, many of them have come to fruition.

You may recall that one of my New Year’s resolutions was to get my house in order for 2017. Disorganization ruled and I was sorely in need of getting a roadmap to every nook and cranny of this house.  I began in earnest the first day of the newly minted year and have finally concluded my long journey through every dresser and bureau drawer, every closet and cupboard.  Those recent rainy days helped fulfill that promise to myself, but, not the basement – oh no, that is too big of a project to tackle right now, but it is waiting in the wings for me.

Over the course of the last four months, I have taken every item out of said drawers and closets, perused them, even paraded around in each one. I have been revisiting clothes, shoes and accessories that I’ve not seen in nearly a decade.  Working from home has its obvious benefits – not only do you save yourself the hassle and expense of the daily commute, but you also save on dry-cleaning bills, lunch with the work bunch, morning stops at Starbucks (even though there is perfectly good coffee brewing in the office kitchen), shoe repair, makeup – the list goes on and on.

I must confess I love my fresh-scrubbed face sans the array of cosmetics that took forever to apply to look “natural” and I traded in my high-heeled pumps for moose hide moccasins with no regrets. Those heavy-duty-beauty pantyhose and underwire bras are a thing of the past, as are slim pencil skirts and form-fitting capris.  Shorts and tees, sweat suits, and even polar fleece PJs in the dead of Winter, had me embracing elastic waist pants and eschewing waistbands or button-up discomfort.  The sleek and coiffed hair has been replaced by a messy bun, and the hard contact lenses tossed in favor of eyeglasses.

But, revisiting my closets had me lamenting over these items which languish there, unworn, yet they brought such joy in the many shopping excursions I enjoyed with my mother through the years. Could shopping be a hobby?  I think it was. Maybe it was a habit – one I couldn’t quite kick.  Though Mom tried to instill the “buy something new but get rid of something old” rule many times, it didn’t really happen.  The house is small, the cupboards crammed … and still there was that one terrific top or perfect pair of pants that were begging to come home with us, and they did.

Through the years, when Mom kicked into predictions-and-warning mode, she often told me that clothing and shoe material was not made to last forever. I can hear her saying “eventually you’ll go to put on that beautiful coral-colored nylon raincoat and it will fall apart in your hands – wear the &^%$ thing … it’s a raincoat!”  I would look at her and reply “in the pouring rain – no, I’ll keep it for nicer weather as the rain will ruin it.” “You’ll see” was her retort.

Flash forward a few decades …

In going through every item in my closet … shoes and accessories included, I discovered she did have a point, and, yes, (as I look toward the Heavens), I’ll concede “you were right-I was wrong (again) Mom!”

For example, what about those bright-red patent leather rain boots I coveted to keep my feet dry when I waited on the bus on those torrential rain days, yet, hated to wear them in case they got ruined by that same rain? Silly girl!.  Well, I opened the box and the patent leather had turned from shiny to dull with a heavy film on them – ugh.  Not only that, they had shredded around the collar of the boots making jagged edges which rubbed against my ankles.  Yup, I did not heed Mom’s advice on simply enjoying your possessions and not tucking them away, or saving them for a rainy day.  The hat that matched those rain boots was similarly ruined … the brim stuck onto the hat where it was folded, and when “unstuck” took parts of the material with it.  Well, it made me feel kind of sad to be honest.

And then I spied a pair of two-toned flats that I always loved – they were soft leather with a color combination of cream, taupe and celery green and perfectly matched a light-green pantsuit. Admittedly, they were always a little tight at the back of the heels, but I kept them anyway – what price beauty, eh?  So, I lifted them out of their shoe pockets, slipped off the plastic bags, then slid them onto my nylon-stockinged feet.  Ouch!  I wore these? Well, I decided to traipse down the hall for old times’ sake, then put them with the other ill-fitting items destined for donation to the Salvation Army.

That trip down the hall was indescribable.

Why?

I got the feeling I was wearing flypaper on the bottom of my feet as I walked along. I was literally sticking to the carpet, and, by the time I’d walked that ten or twelve feet down the hall, there were dark-brown and cream-colored bits littering the beige carpet.  What in the world?

It looked like someone had been chomping on Oreo cookies and left a trail of big crumbs on the carpet.

I removed the shoes and saw the problem immediately. It appeared the original soles of the shoes were gone, and what remained had some type of coating, making me stick to the carpet, and the heels had literally crumbled and fallen off.  Disintegrating shoes!  Something like in a bad spy movie.

Next, I rummaged through my clothes closet. I took several tops  from their hangers and a spray of green gook dumped onto the floor and the garments as well.  It seemed that the foam that had secured those silky shirts from slipping off their respective hangers, had long since rotted, sending plumes of  green dust everywhere.  At least the clothes were salvageable, the foam hangers not so much.

Then, there were the brand-new black dress pants which I saved for years for a special occasion. I tried them on, checking them out in the dresser mirror.  I smoothed my hands down the front of them – a perfect fit.  I hung the pants back on the hanger and noticed my fingers and palms were jet black.  I figured it was from handling the metal hangers, but washed my hands and when they were dry, on a hunch, I patted down the pants again – once again, my hands were jet black.  What were they made of?  I’ve got to figure that if I wore them, my body, and wherever I sat, would be covered in black dye.  They didn’t end up in my closet, or for donations, but in the garbage.

There were no more clothes calamities to speak of, but of note …

I tried on all my dress pumps, and, as each pair pinched or rubbed me the wrong way, I groaned, not just from the potential blisters that I felt were erupting just by virtue of slipping them onto my feet, but, also because Mom’s dire predictions about my ugly white “Earth Shoes” bought for waitressing back in 1973 were ringing in my ears … “Linda, if you wear those wide shoes with the stupid heels, you’ll regret it years from now – your feet will spread like a Clydesdale horse and you’ll be sorry!”  But, you couldn’t tell me anything – besides everyone wore those ugly shoes.  Yup, my feet did spread and the wide walking shoes and soft moccasins haven’t helped much either.  Quietly, I replaced all those high-heeled, and even mid-heeled, shoes back in their shoe pockets for another time.

Though I have a whole drawerful of hair baubles and ornaments from when Mom would French-braid my hair, or she wound my long locks into a French twist, most of those hair doodads, like their owner, are past their prime. I must say that Mom outdid herself when coiffing my long hair – it looked nice from early a.m. until I was ready to go to bed, no matter the humidity level, even during a Summer storm. Personally, I just think that she was trying to make up for having me endure those horrible-looking bangs she and my dad created when they teamed up with scissors and scotch tape and snipped away between regular haircuts.

Mom, how could you?

My mom had as many warnings through the years as those soothsayers did for Y2K, and, just like that anticipated catastrophe never happened, many of Mom’s predictions never did either.

But this clotheshorse should have heeded her advice.

I’ll check out that coral coat downstairs later this Summer and hope for the best, and, by George, I’ll wear those clothes and accessories again, and hopefully they don’t self-destruct while I am wearing them – that could be mighty scary!

That’s the facts folks …

I’ve been walking through Council Point Park the past week or so, looking left and right for nests where the Canada Geese might be sitting on their eggs. About a month ago, I searched the past year’s blog posts to refresh my memory when those goslings may be visible and Mother’s Day seemed to be the target date for their debut.

Well, it looks like I get a big goose egg for my estimations, since we are beyond mere goose eggs …the young ‘uns have done hatched, and left the nest for goodness sake! This morning I glimpsed one set of proud parents, with five fuzzy goslings in tow, near the banks of the Ecorse Creek.  I barely saw them since they were nestled near the dried up reeds, which provided an excellent camouflage for moving their youngsters around.  That is, except I heard some honking that quickly grabbed my attention and I was lucky enough to see the whole family.

I got the camera ready, but they remained close to the banks of the Creek, and, due to the recent rain, it was a little muddy in that area, and I sure didn’t want to lose my footing and land in the cold and murky water.

But, I was persistent and kept the camera handy, and my patience intact, while silently sliding behind a tree, still hoping to get a good shot for today’s blog post.

However that idea was quickly quashed once a couple of squirrels came bounding over for peanuts. I whispered “shhhh” but those words would not quell their enthusiasm.  After a few cute poses, sitting on haunches and wistful looks, they were ready to scale up my ankles in their quest for a treat, so I was forced to dig into my pocket, fumble with the Ziploc zipper and grab some peanuts to toss out to them.  I quickly resumed my stance, but those squirrels had blown my cover once the plastic bag had rustled and startled the parents.  One goose looked right at me as you see in this picture.  Unfortunately, the goslings were lined up along the reeds at the Creek bank, clearly out of sight.

I’m sure there will be plenty more opportunities to see those goslings and get some cute photos of them.

Meanwhile, there are (or soon will be) babies again at my neighbor Marge’s house, and, if she doesn’t already know this fact, she will after she reads this post.

After my walk, as I was opening the door to go inside, a wren’s sweet warble pierced the quiet morning. I listened appreciably, as their birdsong is one of my favorites since it is so melodic and strong for such a tiny bird.  I saw a pair of wrens perched near Marge’s decorative birdhouse.  Those wrens were so tiny and delicate, and, if I’d have blinked, I might have missed the one that disappeared right into the hole near the roof.  Soon thereafter, another wren followed suit, but this one had some dried grass hanging from its long beak.  Home sweet home!

It sure may not feel like Spring to us, but to Mother Nature’s critters, it is a season for starting a family and raising a brood, whether that locale is a rustic nest by a murky creek, or a tall, white wooden birdhouse with a half-dozen entry holes, a mere six feet from a homeowner’s door wall

All things bright and beautiful,

All creatures great and small,

All things wise and wonderful,

The Lord God made them all.

[excerpted from Mrs. Cecil Alexander’s “Hymns for Little Children”]

Brrrrrrr. This morning dawned brisk and bright, so that forecast was all I needed to set off on a walk.  Thank goodness the rain has finally departed, probably all week the weather folks say.

Yesterday was devoted to errands and I needed to go to the mall. Though I’ve often popped into Best Buy over the years, I only access that store from the parking lot, so I’ve not been inside Southland Mall in almost a decade.  I figured since it was gloomy and cold, I’d be a “mall walker” and check out the stores, so I got there early before the crowds arrived.

If you plunked me in the middle of that mall, I would not have recognized where I was, although I was a regular shopper at Southland for years. Most of the stores I frequented in the past were gone, and, there were tons of kiosks and stores that I had never heard of.  I wasn’t going to have a Cinnabon  Bakery cinnamon bun, but that store had simply vanished, and, in its place was Pretzel Peddler and Dinky Donuts.  Hmmmm.  How I loved the smell of cinnamon wafting through the mall and up my nostrils when I walked past and the bakers were taking hot cinnamon buns out of the oven.  I did smell a rich roast of coffee brewing and sure enough, I discovered a Starbucks.

Well, the mall walking was great, and, if Southland Mall was closer, I’d probably consider doing it more often, especially if we have a scorching Summer like 2016 was.

But today, it was back to Council Point Park. I knew the squirrels probably missed me since I’d not been there since Wednesday.

I was on a mission of sorts … not just to follow the perimeter path and gain some steps in the process, but to deposit my rock along the way.

There is a new craze Downriver that is called “Downriver Rocks”.   The idea is people paint small or flat rocks with pictures and sayings and then hide them where people will find them.  On the back of each rock is a note to post a picture of this found rock on a Facebook site called “Downriver Rocks” and then you either keep it as a unique paperweight, or hide it again so someone else can find it to make their day.

Downriver is not unique in that there are similar groups in Florida and Washington who started this trend. I asked my friend Evelyn who lives in Richmond, Virginia if they have this craze there.  She replied “no, but we have yarn bombing.”  This is knitting or crocheting colorful huge woolen coverings and wrapping them around tree trunks on a tree-lined city street, or, draping historical monuments in the middle of the night.  That was news to me.

I found out about this new craze just a few weeks ago when I met a pair of women who asked me if I was on Facebook, and, if I had discovered “Downriver Rocks” yet? Melissa and Cheryl were members of the group, which today numbers 1,369 rock fans.  Melissa quickly whipped out her phone, found the site and scrolled down the page, then handed me her smartphone so I could check out what she deemed to be the best of the bunch.   I joined the group that day and it has been fun watching the slew of stones that are painted or bejeweled and ready to be hidden, then watching what stones are found and where.

There are real as well as amateur artists in this rock-painting-then-rock-hiding crowd, so the decorated rocks run the gamut of elaborate and ornate …

… to just plain fun or funky.

It all depends on the size and shape of the rock as to how many polka dots or thought-provoking messages you can fit on that sometimes irregular surface.

There are even painting parties where people pay a small fee to gather and drink coffee, with supplies provided, and they paint to their heart’s content, crafting stones like these. Still others  just collect or buy their own river rocks and painting supplies, then go to town, letting their inner “artiste” surface.  Just as soon as the paint dries, they hide their rocks, then wait … will their creation remain hidden, be found, kept or hidden once again?

I found my first rock last Wednesday at Council Point Park. I rounded the bend on the first loop, and there on the blue metal bench was something round and glistening in the dim morning light.  My curiosity piqued, I went over, and sure enough it was a decorated rock – a little whale.  I wasn’t carrying my camera that morning as it looked like rain, so, I tucked the rock into my coat pocket, then when I got home took a picture of both sides of the rock, and promptly posted it on the Facebook site.

In record time, the “hider” and the “creator” both came forth. It turned out the person who planted this rock is a regular walker in the evening at the Park.  Tami Jacobs found that rock in Wyandotte, where Laurie Bondy, who splashed the initials “L.B.” on the back, originally hid it.  Tami decided to hide it in Lincoln Park this time.

So, today it was my turn to re-hide that rock at the Park, but in a different place, and, I will now await if someone finds it.

Honestly, I thought this time of year I only had to keep my eyes peeled for goslings at the Park, and, now in my peripheral vision I must also scope out rocks along the way. Who knows what one finds hidden amongst the tall grass, dandelions and wild violets … perhaps a witty or whimsical treasure that will make my day.

So, who says a rocky road is just a flavor of scrumptious ice cream or a definition of one of Michigan’s many pothole-laden highways?