WALKIN', WRITIN', WIT & WHIMSY

The ads have been nonstop for getting your holiday shopping done, online or otherwise, since the last drop of gravy was dabbed from our respective mouths on Thanksgiving Day.

But, the grocery stores dropped the ball.

Why? They should have reminded us to stock up on our favorite food fixin’s, so our holiday dinner would be complete.  During the past week I heard there is a shortage of eggnog and Reddi  Wip canned whipped cream.  No eggnog at the holidays? Or, no crowning your hot chocolate or mince pie with a perfect curlicue of sweet whipped cream on top?

If you hadn’t heard, leading manufacturers of eggnog underestimated its popularity this year. Apparently, sales for eggnog have increased 65% as people quickly abandoned their various pumpkin-spiced beverages after Thanksgiving, opting instead for that sweet and aromatic goodness of this creamy drink.  Not only do people love this lip-smacking beverage, but, apparently it has become a go-to ingredient for baking as well.  So, hopefully, you laid in your personal supply early, or you’ll be making your own.

Growing up, I can remember my mom making me eggnog, but it was not as rich and decadent as today’s creamy or custard-style varieties. I remember watching her crack a couple of eggs into a bowl, add milk, a splash of vanilla, and a dash of spices, then she’d dip that old rotary beater into the bowl and crank away.  Soon, she would slide a glass of that frothy treat across the countertop toward me.  Yum!

I was also surprised to learn that the canned whipped-cream topping was missing from grocers’ refrigerated cases because of the nitrous oxide explosion at a plant in Florida earlier this year. Not only is canned whipped cream difficult to find these days, but dentists are finding their stock of “laughing gas” in short supply as well.  Yikes!

In the end, it doesn’t matter what food or beverages grace your holiday table, because it is all about the family and friends with whom you are lucky enough to be breaking bread with.  Hopefully, it is just one or two items missing from your traditional fare at the 2016 holiday table, and not a treasured family member, or lifelong friend.

Back in the Summer of 1972 I had my tonsils taken out, but the surgeon did not remove the “root” of one tonsil. So, after fifteen years of enduring endless bouts of strep throat and colds, I consulted with a new ENT doc, and was told to get my tonsils out ASAP.  He advised that the older you are, the more difficult the procedure and the longer the recovery time.  So, I used accumulated sick bank time to be off work the tail end of the year.  Just three days before Christmas, I had a quickie mini-tonsillectomy.  While the procedure only lasted a few minutes – one little snip – it left me dealing with a diet of gelatin and ice-cream for nearly a week thereafter.  My mom joked that she received a reprieve from her usual holiday cooking duties, and, to be a good sport, she joined me for a Christmas “dinner” of red and green Jell-O, adorned with whipped cream.  (She did cheat and have some soup and a sandwich for lunch, which I sniffed appreciatively, but couldn’t even take a bite.)

So, remembering that Christmas Day 1987, here is my mom, posing by the near-empty dinner table, save for the get-well arrangement I received from work, plus two heaping dessert bowls that were out of range of the camera.

So, for us, the fare was forsaken, but family was foremost.

I hope dear readers that your Christmas is a memorable one, filled with family, fun, and, yes, good food too, because:

“Christmas is a bridge. We need bridges as the river of time flows past. Today’s Christmas should mean creating happy hours for tomorrow and reliving those of yesterday.” ~ Gladys Taber

Merry Christmas everyone.

It almost felt like old times today, as I was strolling through the ‘hood, with about 90% confidence of walking on dry and “safe” pavement – there were some melted ice patches, but when I came upon them, I walked out in the street, since there was light traffic. I guess most people were already at church or headed to grandma’s house.  My feet found the way to my old stomping grounds – Emmons Boulevard.  The sky was so gray and dismal, that many of the ornate light displays were still lit up … perhaps they were on because of a sensor, or, maybe just the spirit of the holiday.  So, it was nice to view the displays as they were meant to be.  Years ago, I can remember my dad taking my mom and me in the car after dark on Christmas Eve to see the displays in the neighborhoods where there were larger houses, so more property and thus elaborate holiday décor.  As I crossed the footbridge, I peered into the water – no ducks or geese today as the Ecorse Creek is still frozen solid from those two bouts of frigid weather earlier in the month.  Perhaps this little warm-up will melt that ice and get those waterfowl back to their rightful spot.  I was happy to be on the road again and added another four miles to my total … six days until I take a final tally.

Best wishes to you and yours.

… even though he still likes to hang out with the reindeer because he’s an old softie.

I managed to get in a petite walk this morning, and, I decided it’s a good thing I took some photos of holiday décor back in early December, since I never made it back to Emmons Boulevard after my last walk on December 8^th.  At least the weather might get milder, and the ice will melt, so I’ll attempt a jaunt or two in the next few days (hopefully).

I saw this Ho-Ho-Helicopter parked on a homeowner’s front lawn and decided it must be Santa’s Plan “B” for when there is not enough snow to land the sleigh and his nine tiny reindeer.

So, that got me thinking … is Santa’s more-modern ride electric or a hybrid?

Oh deer – do tell!

Actually, the homeowners’ holiday décor gives Santa many options for his sleigh and reindeer – I even saw an airplane. Well, we all need a little more mirth and merriment in our lives, so at what better time than Christmas?

Whatever Santa uses on his long journey tonight, he might want to have a Garmin or Siri handy to get him around the globe in record time, if he won’t be relying on Rudolph’s red nose. Sadly, my long journey can’t even compare to Santa’s, at a mere 735 miles walked to date in 2016.

Safe travels to you and yours and blessings for a Merry Christmas and Happy Hanukkah.

“They err who think Santa Claus enters through the chimney. He enters through the heart.” ~ Charles W. Howard

Ho-hum … indeed!

So, today it is officially Winter.

It seems kind of silly marking this astronomical and calendar event, since we’ve already endured our share of teeth-chattering and bone-chilling cold. Not to mention, after last weekend’s second measurable snowfall, the ambiance of the newly fallen snow has worn out its welcome and merely tried our patience.  In my opinion, snow should be limited to Christmas Eve only – just for effect, and then be whisked away shortly thereafter.

Today is the shortest day of the year, but take heart … the days will get longer as we slowly creep toward Spring.

With 16 inches of pre-Winter snowfall woes under our belt already, I leave you with this thought:  “Winter is not a season, it’s an occupation.” ~ Sinclair Lewis

I am trying not to bemoan this despicable weather … so, I’ll just say that a year ago we were enjoying temps that were 25 degrees above normal. Walking was a joy and happening every day.

Just sayin’.

I’m sure that you, just like me, complained at least one time during this past Summer about the endless days of hot weather, and, you probably said “another hot day – I won’t complain once the cold weather gets here!”

I’ll bet you are regretting those words now.

I thought about taking the sleigh, er car, out for a spin this morning, but “spin” is exactly what I thought would happen after a precarious trip backing out of the garage. There is only about a foot of space on either side of the car, and the driveway was a sheet of ice.  Even the street looked slick and uninviting for me, the already wintry-weather-weary driver.

So much for that idea.

Maybe tomorrow.

Good thing Santa doesn’t depend on plowed and salted roads to make his rounds on Christmas Eve. The reindeer have got his back and keep him on track, so he doesn’t disappoint anyone.

Speaking of Santa, WWJ’s health reporter was reciting a list of items that Santa should be concerned about pertaining to his upcoming journey. As a labor law secretary who has dealt with plenty of MIOSHA matters for clients over the years, frankly, I never thought much about Santa’s gig having so many occupational hazards … he probably hasn’t thought about it either, so perhaps he needs a new labor lawyer to look over his current contract.

These are some of the many hazards and pitfalls of Santa’s profession that I can recall:

First and foremost, Santa had better watch his weight, considering all those stops with delicious cookies washed down with whole milk that he is obliged to consume. The health reporter suggested leaving carrots or almonds for Santa instead.  (Great idea, but this might lead to a piece of coal in your stocking.)  She also suggested that the extra-jiggly belly fat could lead to heart disease, or even Type 2 diabetes.  (Sheesh … and I was worried about my annual personal indulgence: a quart of egg nog that’s been tucked in the corner of the fridge since mid-November.)

Also, the jolly old elf should be advised that a cherry-red nose isn’t necessarily from zipping around the globe in the cold air, because it might signal an allergy to holly, mistletoe, or even the reindeer. (Yes, I feel sorry for Santa – my nose is red during Spring allergies when the trees and grass all make their debut at once – allergy shots will get you to “normal” though.)

Sliding down the chimney isn’t advisable either … all that soot and grime getting in Santa’s lungs sure is not healthy, so he ought to find an alternative and safer way to access each home. (Good point, and thankfully your sleigh doesn’t run on diesel Santa … the chimney’s sooty and grimy scenario sure sounds like downtown Detroit when I was waiting so many years in the “bus hub”.)

And, finally … Santa needs to quit hoisting that heavy bag of presents around, or at least learn proper lifting techniques. (Pay attention to this one Santa – I carried a schlepp bag on my shoulder for years while I took the bus.  My mom warned me “you’ll be sorry when you get older” … but, as you know, you can’t tell young people anything.  Now, I feel twinges from three decades of a heavy bag resting on my right shoulder.)

All those on-the-job woes makes you feel sorry for ol’ Santa.

I think Mr. Claus needs to revisit his contract and invoke a new clause or two, don’t you?

Once again, Ol’ Man Winter showed up early and uninvited, leaving behind his calling card …  just a few more inches of snow to pile onto the existing mess we dealt with earlier in the week.

Then, to rub salt into the wound, along came the snowplow which wreaked havoc at the bottom of the freshly shoveled driveway in less than one minute.

I’m sure the folks that waited until this weekend to get shopping and errands done , or a Christmas tree picked and hauled home, have been muttering under their breath bigtime. Conditions in my city have run the gamut from fog to freezing rain to snow or dark, dismal and drizzly – oh joy.

I’m glad to be sitting here typing this post clad in warm and dry polar fleece and on the inside looking out.

In just a week, the landscape has already become a desolate-looking shadow of its recent self … you know, that splendid Autumn that seemed to languish forever.

Above you’ll see a photo of my neighbor’s backyard. I wonder what animal made those tracks in their journey across the snow?

While this area of the yard may look bleak and barren, closer to the house, every morning there are dozens of birds frequenting the feeders and suet blocks, or partaking in sunflower seeds that are scattered on the deck and driveway. A variety of birds descend at once, and, of course, the squirrels are always waiting for handouts.  If no biscuits or peanuts are forthcoming, the squirrels climb aboard the feeders and make some mischief to get their fill of seeds, while the birds anxiously wait in the wings, or busy themselves with a dip in the hot tub, er … heated birdbath.

I was chatting with my mail carrier, Jenny, as she braved the cold in a snowsuit. Her face was ruddy and she tugged at a wool cap with a mittened hand as it kept sliding up off her head.  We often pass one another in the morning, so Jenny knows I’m an avid walker.  She warned me to be careful as she had a bad slip-and-fall yesterday.  She fell hard onto the sidewalk, even using YakTrax, a wire contraption with coils that you strap onto your shoes or boots.  The wire coils are guaranteed to grip the sidewalk to keep you from sliding on slick surfaces, but Jenny hit a patch of black ice and down she went.  Yikes!

I sure am grateful I met my walking goal on the first of the month, barely a week before that first dusting of snow gummed up the whole works.

Stay safe everyone.

I’ve never been a big fan of angel décor at the holidays, or otherwise. But, I may just have to re-think my affinity for angels now, because I think that someone might have been looking out for me – perhaps even a guardian angel that was perched upon my shoulder.

Whether you conjure up an image of your guardian angel as a petite figure that flits around in a silky dress, satin slippers and gossamer wings, or a Christmas tree topper , or even this sturdy holiday ornament that adorned a pole at a house on Emmons Boulevard, it’s nice to know that someone is looking out for your welfare, isn’t it?

This is not a corny tale per se, but it is a tale about corn … creamed corn to be exact.

I never had siblings and my parents were 30 when I was born, and they were really kind of no-nonsense in their rearing of me. They followed the principle that children should be seen and not heard.  There would never be a temper tantrum – I sure knew better.

So, if a plate of food was set at my place at the table, I had better eat it, or else I got the lecture about “starving children in _________” (just fill in the blank here, because I’m sure you got that lecture too).

Even when I was a tyke, eating dinner at the kitchen table meant sitting up straight, no elbows on the table, and eating up all my veggies, though I got a little leeway on Brussels sprouts, only because my mom detested them. I was told to “eat around the clock” … clockwise, one bite from each section of food on my plate, until it was all gone.  Only then could I have dessert.  Plus, I had to drink up my entire glass of milk – white, no less.  None of that chocolate or strawberry milk crossed the threshold of the Schaub house.

So veggies are still part of my life – in Summer, it is fresh veggies – in the Winter, the canned variety.

I was hankering for some creamed corn, so I went to the downstairs pantry and got a can. No pop-off lid, so I had to drag out the can opener, then I plunged my tablespoon into the can to have a sizeable taste while getting the pot out and placed onto the stove.  While spooning the rest of the can of creamed corn into the pot, I spied something dark … and large.  I parted the corn with the spoon to get a better look – I’m sure my eyes bugged out as my mouth formed a big oval “Oh my God!”  It was a huge fly … not just a common housefly, but an enormous winged creature.  Even though it was bedraggled from the creamed corn, its wings were intact, as were its bulbous eyes.  I shudder now just thinking about that image.  Of course, I’d already ingested a tablespoonful of that creamed corn when I made the discovery.

Slowly I spooned the corn back into the can thinking I’d deal with it later. I lost my appetite for dinner, so I washed the pot and spoon (half a dozen times) and went back later and took some pictures of that huge creature to send to Del Monte.

Of course, you know I Googled “I just ate some canned cream corn and found a dead bug – will I live?”

Not surprisingly, others before asked a similar question, so, yes … I will live because consumers took a bite, then similarly discovered beetles in their Del Monte veggies … one even found a praying mantis inside their canned leaf spinach.  I don’t think Popeye would approve of that.

Linda, the customer service rep at Del Monte Consumer Affairs said “don’t worry, the can is sterile” … I said “the can is not the issue, but the fly that was in the corn that I took a bite of is – that critter was big enough to go to work!” Well, I got a little giggle for that quip, then she quickly hoped to calm me down by adding “well, I assure you the corn was already cooked” so I couldn’t resist asking “in the big vat with the fly in it, or did the fly drown in the corn when it came out of the vat?”

I told Linda I had taken pictures of the fly, the can and the three other cans of “Del Monte No Salt Added Sweet Corn Cream Style”, that I was now not going to eat thank you very much. In fact, I confessed that I’d probably never eat creamed corn again the rest of my life.  She took all my can code specifics and gave me a quality control number to send along with my pictures and synopsis of the event.  My reward for my food adventure was a reimbursement of four vouchers to be used for Del Monte canned fruits or vegetables.

Linda didn’t ask me to provide the drowned beast to them, and I sure didn’t volunteer to mail Mr. (or Ms.) Fly along with the rest of the holiday packages that will tax our U.S. Mail personnel in the next week.

So, the bottom line is, that I’m alive and kicking because I know somebody up there was definitely looking out for me … another big spoonful of corn and I’d have had a little extra meat for dinner that I didn’t plan on, not to mention the germs. Ugh!

Of course you’ve heard the story of the fly doing the backstroke in your soup … but in your can of creamed corn?

So, what is bugging you today?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Image by J. Monter on Pixabay]

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

But, that was not my agenda at all.

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

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

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

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

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

Well, we live in Michigan after all.

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

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

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

Chionophobia is the extreme dislike or fear of snow.

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

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

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

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

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

Yup, the world seems hushed all around.

That is … except for the songbirds.

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

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

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