WALKIN', WRITIN', WIT & WHIMSY

Wow – it is the third day in a row for stellar early Fall weather.

I took my camera along once again today, even though I took loads of Halloween and harvest décor photos on yesterday’s trek. Probably only about 10 of those photos will eventually end up featured in this blog.

On the first leg of my trek, while headed east on the Boulevard toward the Detroit River, the past few weeks the sun is always at the wrong angle for me. At times it is so glaring that I can’t see a thing and have to just walk blindly.  If I didn’t enjoy this neighborhood so much, I’d find a destination so that I could head west first … at least for the next few weeks anyway ‘til the time changes.

Emmons Boulevard keeps beckoning me though. There are cheerful songbirds along the way, screeching jays, inquisitive squirrels, a cheery “good morning” from the mailman, and, best of all – no big dogs.

So, it has become my chosen route and will remain so.

I’ve had to shed an extra layer of clothing after retooling my wardrobe last weekend, and, I sure didn’t need that heavier coat I wore this past Tuesday. While rifling through the coat pockets Tuesday morning, lo and behold, I found a Ziploc bag, half-filled with peanuts in the shell.  I knew I’d find some takers to gift them to … after all, who wants a steady diet of acorns?

Of course, one toss of a couple of peanuts and you’ve got a furry pal for life … I know that from my days at Council Point Park, as well as years of feeding the squirrels in my own backyard. They see a sucker, so they beg and do a lot of cute antics for a small reward of peanuts, and you’re happy to accommodate them.  I searched for the pair of squirrels that always play together that I wrote about earlier this year, but they were nowhere to be seen.  However, I did find this chubby-looking fellow with no tail.

He got the entire booty of peanuts and happily ate a few, then soon he was working his paws furiously into someone’s lawn to bury the rest of his treasures. Oops!  I hope the homeowners were not looking out the window and watching these antics or they’d be shaking their fist at me.

Fast forward … yesterday, as well as today, there was my little friend as I strolled down Emmons Boulevard. In one instance, he was overhead, and, just as I walked under a tree, I heard the rustling of leaves, and then sharp nails descending the bark on the tree trunk.  Soon,  he had scampered out in front of me.  Of course I recognized him right away … from that short and stubby tail, to the notches in his ears, plus his fat rolls, all which are evident in the photo.

But, I had nothing to offer him.

Same thing today … he was present and accounted for as I neared his “tree” … he has a pair of sharp eyes and is probably hungry as well.

Going forward, I’m sure my little peanut pal will be there to greet me on my daily walks, and, I hate to be empty-handed and let him down. So, now I guess I must hightail it to Meijer – not only do I need to bulk up on peanuts to help my faltering memory, but, I guess I will get an extra bag for my little furry friend as well.

Remember when we used to acknowledge National CB Radio Day every October 4^th ?  It was known as “10-4 Day”.  I never heard anything about 10-4 Day today … perhaps we are too immersed in the upcoming election and endless sparring by the candidates to notice, or, we’re celebrating National Taco Day instead.

At any rate, I was glad to restore my CB “handle” to “Walking Woman” instead of “Woman Wistfully Peering Out The Window” … thank goodness for that! I took the car for a wee spin, it having not escaped the garage in almost a week, and, its owner likewise had not left the house, having dealt with rain all those days, and the HVAC tech who stopped by for a furnace check Monday morning.

I was rarin’ to go, so I slipped out the door and noted the dregs from the earlier dense fog still evident everywhere. The sun was piercing through the clouds and made me have to squint a bit plus shield my eyes with my hand to see anything.  I hustled along, and the fog dissipated by the time I returned from my walk.  I got in about three miles, so tomorrow, with camera in tow, I’ll stop and get some photos of the harvest and Halloween décor I saw today, which somehow escaped those torrential rains unscathed.

I’m glad to be back to the routine again … maybe I’ll be a little less cantankerous now.

That’s a Big 10-4 Good Buddies.

Well, October is here – a month of witches, ghosts, monsters and bats, just to name a few things.

Oh, and candy corn too, those sugary little pellets guaranteed to give you a sugar high about five minutes after you eat them.

I think this “witching season” brings about a little bad karma as well – the weather for starters.

It is Day #3 of the wicked weather. Yesterday might have been okay for a walk, but the weather folks said it was drizzling, and it was too dark to tell.  When I scurried out to at least run the car, since rain is predicted off and on through Monday, the pavement was dry, but barely, and that was probably since the wind was raging which was drying it off … no thanks, I’ll pass on the walk.

So, I fired up the old buggy, and trudged right back into the house.

I’ve accomplished a few things, besides catching up on my sleep, since the walking regimen went kaput and my boss has been out of town in the UP the past few days.

I decided with a lot of sleep under my belt and some extra time on my hands, I’d tackle a few chores requiring some brain power on my part.

I know we live in a digital age, but that digital age sometimes confounds me. And annoys me.  Even though, were it not for the digital age, I would not be typing this blog post on this Saturday morning to moan about user manuals and machines behaving badly.

I really hate to tackle jobs involving manuals, and, that is why I deferred to the car dealership both times to fix the *&^% car clock. I looked at that huge manual, some 428 pages long, and also searchable online, but said “no thanks”.  I did try to fix it one time, but pushed the wrong button and had a blank area in my information window on the instrument panel, except when I opened the car door and the mileage appeared briefly.

I got the whole information display panel fixed a couple of weeks ago when I went in for the most-recent recall. Yeah for that, and I now know the current mileage and direction I am headed without guessing.

I have a new problem though. Whenever I put the car in park, the door locks open, instead of waiting until I take the key out of the ignition.  “Well hold on there young fella” I want to shout because I’m not ready to leave yet.  I’ll just deal with it … for now, as long as there are no more surprises down the pipeline.  As far as the car goes, the biggest surprise was to go out earlier this year and it was completely dead as a doornail, despite having a new battery just six months before.  It was revived by clicking the remote – I was dubious, but one click brought it back to life.  It should be that easy with humans, though coffee usually suffices in that regard.

I turned on the furnace the other morning to take the chill out of the house from all this rain. It turned on, was perfect for a couple of days, but has gone offline.  This morning at the crack of dawn, there I was downstairs, decoding the flashes and jump starting the furnace.  Thankfully, it is the beginning of the heating season.  When this happened last year, the furnace tech asked me where my manual was as it was missing from the side of furnace where they put it after installation in the Summer of 2012.  I said “I don’t want a huge paper manual that close to the furnace!”  “Ma’am, it’s the cold-air return, it’s okay … believe me” was his response.  So, at his request, I went upstairs to get the manual, usually in the file folder with the rest of the product manuals.  Missing!  I have no idea where it is and have scoured the house for it and it is still at large.

So, this morning, fortified by my large cup of coffee, fueled on several days’ worth of extra sleep, and feeling successful in jump-starting the furnace, I decided to tackle putting the new battery into my pedometer. Though I’ve memorized the length of my two favorite walking routes, I’ve had to cut my treks short due to the darker mornings, so, rather than “fudge” on the steps taken, I must resort to the pedometer to be accurate in tracking my mileage.

But, alas …a few weeks ago, the pedometer started flashing “battery low” … well, no problem, I had to buy a two-pack of special batteries a few years ago, so I’d just pop the remaining battery in before all my settings were wiped out.

Easy-peasy … if I only could remember where I put the battery?

Hmmmm. It wasn’t with the other batteries, tucked away in plastic boxes for safekeeping.

Well, I looked everywhere for that remaining battery, which I thought was tucked away in a safe place. Or so I believed.  I don’t have a clue where I put it.  Over the past two weeks, I’ve searched in all the hidey holes it might be in, to no avail, and, finally the last time I was at Meijer, reluctantly I purchased another two-pack of batteries.

The pedometer has been f-f-f-f-f-fading fast with just a glimmer of the date and time still evident in its “face”. I decided this morning would be the big operation.  I picked it up – dead as a doornail.

Ah well, I’ll just have to start from scratch programming it.

Sigh.

So, where did I put the manual for it?

Sigh.

I went to the place I store the smaller manuals – it wasn’t there.

Sigh.

So I had to fire up the computer to search for the model number to find out how to program it.

While cursing myself for my inability to find anything anymore, I found the manual and scrolled through it.

Then I saw the words glaring at me – the recommendation that you set the pedometer by using a knitting needle since the buttons are very small and hard to maneuver.

A knitting needle.

Then I remembered – the last time I installed a battery I had to use a knitting needle from my mom’s knitting bag … sure enough, I opened up the spring latch of the soft pouchy knitting bag and what was inside?

The remaining battery and the pedometer manual.

Great, just great.

I fixed the pedometer, emerging victorious that I didn’t break it.

On the heels of the pedometer “fix”, I was trying to figure out why the new digital alarm clock I bought refuses to ring, even though the alarm is set? For years I had two alarm clocks, which needed no maintenance or bother,  just replace the battery when the alarm sounded weak.

Then one of the clocks broke.

They probably quit manufacturing that model years ago, as nothing similar was on the store shelf. I could have gotten a wind-up alarm, but I remembered my grandmother’s alarm clock.  She had it for years.  Whenever we visited at her home in Toronto, I shared her bed.  She had this most-annoying alarm clock on the nightstand.  Tick-tock, tick-tock … all night long, and, even me, the sound sleeper wanted to take the thing and toss it against the wall to make it stop that incessant noise.

I bought this digital RCA clock, streamlined and looking sharp, but it worked for a few weeks, now nothing.

For that, I had no manual – who saves the manual for an alarm clock? It appears nothing was amiss when I took off the cover.  I replaced the batteries and will give it one more try, then pitch it against the wall a few times to smarten it up.

So, I ask you – is it this “witchy season” or something that happens after you pass that magical time of turning 60 years old?

The getting older thing is a pain sometimes … this syndrome is much more than running downstairs to get something and then forgetting what it is you went to retrieve, until you come upstairs … ah, yes.

Maybe my brain battery is running down, like the car battery did when it had its big fail, on my 60^th birthday no less.

And, that annoying creaking feeling, when you step out of bed in the morning … well, maybe it is all the rain?

And, those wily grayish-white eyebrow hairs … I daren’t pluck them out, because then I’ll have either a quirky, or quizzical look going on, so I’ll just leave them be, for now anyway.

As to the brain fog, last week a friend of mine circulated an e-mail about amazing facts about your body. I read it with awe and was especially impressed with the segment about the brain.  It said:

“Your brain doesn’t stop working. It’s estimated that about 50,000 thoughts pass through it each day on average, although some scientists put the figure closer to 60,000.  That is a whopping 35-48 thoughts every minute.”

Now, I “get” it. I understand why it is so hard to remember things these days, and, I won’t despair about losing manuals, or going batty over batteries, or letting machines behaving badly get the better of me.

P.S. – Perhaps I’ll buy a big bag of peanuts next time I’m at Meijer because “elephants never forget”, or so I’ve heard.

[Image by Joyce Harkin on Pixabay]

It sure looks like I will be putting the walking on hold and hunkering down in the house for a few more days after hearing what Mother Nature has in store for us. Yesterday, my favorite weatherman, Paul Gross, proclaimed “Rain reigns” and he sure was not exaggerating.  I’ve been listening to the news and watching some videos of vehicles floating in eight feet or more of water.  I think I’ve counted at least a dozen separate waves of rain since I got up this morning, though I just checked at Wunderground, and we’ve received only 1.3 inches so far.

I’m a little bummed out by this spate of rainy days, as my boss is headed to the UP for a long weekend of leaf-peepin’ and R&R, while, I am sure that the only thing I will be peepin’ at will be raindrops when I gaze out the window. I guess it will be a time to catch up on long-neglected household chores.

Here is another picture from one of the local chalk artists. You’ll see the ark at the side of the house – good planning, eh?  But the sun is not correct because all I see are cats and dogs falling out of the sky.

I finally surrendered to the chilly morning temperature and donned a cardigan.

And long pants as well.

I’m putting on the record that I think bare arms and legs outdoors may be disappearing until about April 2017 … what do you think?

Pulling on full-length pants again felt a little weird, and, I had to laugh to myself, because I was just about ready to abandon the rolled-gauze wraps I’ve kept on my legs while the pesky blisters were getting completely healed up. Try as I may, I could not stretch my socks to reach the top of that gauze, thus, the bandage-filled gap between the tops of the socks and the bottoms of my capris made me look a little like Ruth Buzzi’s character, Gladys Ormphby, this past six weeks.

Before I departed on my walk, I tried to decipher this morning’s weather report, as best I could, since it was wedged in between the many, morning-after stories about last night’s Presidential debate. I needed to hear it to decide just how many layers to don on this especially chilly morning.

Finally, I heard it – 50 degrees.

Just 50 degrees … clearly, there was no time before I left for any wool gathering, a/k/a that annual rite of Fall … going into the cedar closet and rooting out the light wool items to wear on my morning walk on that first really chilly day in September.

First, it is just the wool headband and gloves.

Then, once you can see a trail of condensation coming from your mouth or nose, AND your eyeglasses steam up when you walk inside the house after being outside … well, then it is time to resort to even-warmer duds.

Next comes a scarf, then a hat and finally, a heavier coat.

I had many years of practicing and perfecting this ritual, having taken the bus for decades.

I missed out on a walk yesterday thanks to the rain, and it looks like rain is in the forecast the rest of the week through Sunday. Ugh.  We’re still making up for that long, hot, dry Summer I guess.  The trees and bushes are happy for the rain –but me, not so much.

I don’t just miss the physical exercise of a walk, but I miss the woolgathering as I meander along as well. Walking is peaceful to me, a portion of time to let my mind be a blank, or absorb the goings-on, and, if I’m so inclined, to ponder my next blog post … or life.

Wool gathering … pure Michigan. Woolgathering … pure bliss.

This morning I was happy to step out of the house, and step away from my radio, where I’d heard the most-recent horrid news story, a shooting at a mall in Washington State. I was still trying to process the facts of this latest tragedy while eating breakfast and getting ready to go out.

It has been an especially tough few weeks for gut-wrenching news stories, both locally and nationally, so, it sure felt good to get out in the cool morning air and let the wind whoosh through my ears, to air out my brain a bit.

Once out in the chilly air, I almost dashed back to retrieve something with sleeves, but decided that once those dark clouds parted, the sun would erupt and it would get warmer. Sure enough, the sun started to filter through the mottled gray sky as I walked by Ford Park.  It was there that I watched a lone Canada goose standing in the middle of the little league baseball diamond at the park.  The goose was bathed in pale sunlight.  It didn’t stay still for long, because soon it was strutting (or perhaps goose stepping) around in the dirt.  There was no grazing done, so I guess it was waiting for the rest of the team to arrive and join him.

As I turned the corner down Emmons Boulevard, the sun got bright and I had to shield my eyes. I noticed the sewer restoration project was over, so the big trucks were gone, but the dirt piles and fresh cement cluttered up the sidewalks and made it a little difficult to walk.

I think every squirrel in the neighborhood was out this morning, and they were pretty bold and brazen in their quest for acorns, as they were dashing to and fro across the lawns and into the street. I couldn’t look a few times when they scurried out and escaped a car tire by a hair.

I was looking for the “Reward for Missing Tortoise” sign that was tacked onto a pole earlier this week. It is no longer there, so hopefully he found his way back home again.

I’ve had to shave off the last long block from my morning regimen the past few days, since the sun is rising so late. Now, I have to leave later for my walk, and still return home the same time to start work at a halfway decent hour.

So, I vowed to cover all my bases and try to make up those miles on the weekend.

As I walked along, my mind a blank, suddenly I saw the flag hanging limply from its pole and instantly remembered Sergeant Steil.

I followed the sad story of this police officer who succumbed to a blood clot shortly before he was to be released from the hospital, just one week ago today. I watched part of the funeral online and was moved by the crowd and the smart salutes by white-gloved officers as the casket went by them.  I watched the anguished look on his widow’s face while she held her young children close, as her husband’s casket was loaded into the hearse, just before he went for his final ride.

It was heartbreaking.

The crowds that lined the street reminded me of the funeral for three Detroit firemen who died in the line of duty, after a warehouse collapsed many years ago. From our office building, high above the street, coworkers and I stood at the windows and watched as the funeral procession travel through the streets of Detroit.  From our perch, we saw the firetrucks, three abreast, and each bearing the casket of a fallen fireman, as they inched down the street while crowds were milling about.

Before I sat down to write this post, I Googled to find a story about those three firemen, thinking there would be nothing online since it happened long ago. But I found some information, and, I learned that the three firemen perished and ten were injured in two large warehouse complexes while fighting a five-alarm fire on March 12, 1987.

Coincidentally, in an eerily similar incident, two firefighters died in an early morning fire this morning in Wilmington, Delaware, after a floor gave way.

But I digressed in mentioning Sergeant Steil and the three firemen, because I wanted to talk about the flag, which made my mind wander a bit as I passed it.

About a month ago, as I travelled down the Boulevard, I saw something new on someone’s porch. It was a large American flag, but it was very different.  The stripes were black instead of red; the background of the stars was black instead of blue.  Notably, there was a thin blue line running horizontally just beneath the stars.

I wondered if it was sign of disrespect or even blasphemy to Old Glory?

I took a long look at it and made a mental note to Google the image of this peculiar-looking flag when I got home.

But what do you Google … “black-and-white-and-blue flag”?

Then, a week or so later, I heard a public service announcement about the thin blue line flag and the organization associated with it. Only then, did it rang a bell with me that the flag was police-related.

I Googled and discovered that:  “the blue represents the officer and the courage they find deep inside when faced with insurmountable odds. The black background was designed as a constant reminder of our fallen brother and sister officers.”

I don’t think I live in a vacuum, and, while I have heard of the Thin Blue Line organization, I’d never heard of this flag.

I found some peace down at the marina, where the sky was blue, the waters were lapping near the docks and the gulls were screeching at one another high overhead.

The man pictured above, also at the marina, found peace in an early morning boat ride.

I sure wish there was peace for everyone in our world.

Well, if the above title happened to be the answer to a Jeopardy question, what would that question be?

I’d say “In Autumn, this is something that falls on your head and goes thunk, thanks to the squirrels who scramble around on the branches above where you are walking – what is it?”

In my humble opinion, those mischievous squirrels purposely pelt those acorns at humans, then wear a defiant look when you sneer at them after it bounces off your noggin.

Leaves are not the only things that are falling from the trees these days, and those acorns sure pack a punch sometimes.

Whenever I see an acorn, I am reminded of a book of proverbs and quotations that my mom bought for me many years ago. I’ve often mentioned in my blog posts that I circulated a daily quotation, which I entitled “Thought for Today”, for many years.  This was long before I had a computer at home, and our work computers were dummy terminals, which were networked within our office only.  We had an archaic-style of e-mail communication, but we had no access to the internet.  That would come many years later, after Y2K.  To produce my daily “Thought”, I’d peruse some of my collection of books that were brimming with quotations on different subjects.

One book in particular was chockfull of “country wisdom” and it contained a lot of proverbs. A good deal of the quotations were not attributed to anyone in particular, just sayings or wisdom passed down from generation to generation, like this little gem …

“Today’s mighty oak is just yesterday’s nut that held its ground.”

I see a lot of oak trees in my daily travels down Emmons Boulevard. It’s hard to believe that these magnificent and sprawling trees, which host their share of beautiful songbirds or sometimes-cantankerous squirrels, all began with a tiny acorn.

But, I’ve been around long enough to watch a few trees in my very own neighborhood, that once were tiny saplings, and now provide beautiful shade to dip under on a hot day. My next-door neighbor, for example, has a beautiful red maple, that one time was just a pesky “helicopter seed” which landed in some dirt and began to grow like crazy, just  like Jack’s beanstalk.  At first, it was a hoot to see how the former homeowners nurtured this maple seedling, first by staking it to a ruler, and putting a small wire fence around it.  I wouldn’t have given it much hope, but, today it is large and takes up most of the City property.  It is especially beautiful in Autumn when the leaves are ablaze in red and yellow tones.

The other day, as I wandered along Winchester Avenue, having been diverted by the detour for the Boulevard’s sewer renovation, I came upon a tall and skinny maple sapling. It was about six feet high, and the base of its trunk remained “planted” in some dirt within an old Folger’s decaf coffee can.  That can was literally rising out of the ground, listing to one side, and was split at the bottom from the expanding tree roots.  On a lark, someone must have buried the entire can with the maple seed inside, never expecting it to amount to much.  So, there was some grit and determination going on when that seedling sprouted and became a young sapling.  Some day it will look just like my neighbor’s tree.

So, are you thinking Fall thoughts as we usher in our new season, on a day where Summer is obviously still in overtime bigtime?

Autumn weather, and all its beauty, will be here quickly enough. Soon, we will be shivering and wishing for just a little of that Summer warmth that we complained about.

As we fall into Fall, on the calendar anyway, it is hard to believe that there are only 100 days left in 2016.

Speaking of falling … Sir Isaac Newton’s Theory of Universal Gravitation does not apply to the acorn pictured above. No apples or acorns were harmed during this photo opportunity.  Nor did they harm a single human.  I saw this drawing last week and couldn’t help but take a photo of  it to use for the first day of Fall.

I miss glancing at the sidewalk to see what colorful renderings the chalk artist has created since I last happened by. I think the only renderings he or she is creating now, are doodles on a looseleaf page with a number two pencil once boredom sets in while class is in session.  I have a few more to share in future posts, because that chalk artist was quite prolific.

These Summer high temps and humidity hits just keep on coming, even though Fall is knocking on our doorstep.

It was cloudy when I headed out this morning, and it took forever for the sky to lighten and brighten up so I could leave. I was tapping my foot impatiently, as I knew I’d need to hustle if I wanted to get my regular trek done.

I ran the car and was shutting the door when I felt a few raindrops on my arm. Well, the sky did look like rain could spill from those clouds, and, after all, they had called for sprinkles.  I waited a few minutes and it stopped, so off I went.

Unfortunately, Emmons Boulevard was burgeoned by big trucks and work crews that were lined up and down the street for one solid block.  There were detour signs galore due to sewer restoration, so I had no choice but to zigzag and go down Winchester, where several homes were festive with harvest décor.  I must return with my camera and get some photos to share in later posts.

There was more sewer restoration work being done over by the footbridge, and, this time I had no option, but to either traipse through the dried mud and cement dust, or travel through someone’s sprinkler system across the street.

When I got home, before I went into the house, I stomped through the dewy grass to “wash” off my shoe bottoms, then waited for them to dry before going inside. I checked the soles, and lo and behold … I discovered a big hole on the right sole.  That kind of surprised me because I just “retired” my last pair of walking shoes in July 2015, and, at that time I wrote at length about those shoes, as they had served me well, having seen me through 1,650 miles walked.  The current shoes have a lot of miles on them as well, but nowhere close to 1,650.  I suspect it is because I’ve been walking on the sidewalks in Lincoln Park and Wyandotte, and that cement is often pitted or uneven, as opposed to the smooth asphalt perimeter path at Council Point Park.  I’ll return there again one day, but I took a break from that venue after the severe avian flu outbreak last year.  The Park is loaded with Canada geese who walk all over the perimeter path and grass, leaving an abundance of droppings.  I worried about my shoes picking up any avian flu viruses and bringing them home to my canary Buddy, so I’m on hiatus from the Park right now.

I’ve got another pair of brand-new walking shoes in my closet, bright white and ready to take to the streets in my quest to top last year’s 718 total miles walked. As of today, my year-to-date mileage is 550, but I know I will have decreased morning walking miles now that the sleepyhead sun doesn’t put in an appearance until much later.

Before Summer does its swan song, I wanted to share some more beautiful fleurs that have brightened my daily trek along the Boulevard this growing season. I wish I could claim they were from my house, but I’ve resorted to maintenance-free, realistic-looking silk posies because … it’s all about the walking don’t ya know!

Saturday was sooooo soggy and that wet weather put a kibosh on my walk.

Today was foggy, and even the dregs of the big ol’ harvest moon, did not make it light enough to leave as early as I would have liked. That ethereal setting and 100% humidity made it an easy decision to walk at Meijer this morning.

The first thing I noticed as I walked into the grocery store, was all the school supplies have been pushed aside and the harvest décor, Halloween candy and costumes have been hauled out.

Meijer was hopping this morning since they had some good sales, and I soon found myself weaving in and out amongst the shoppers, to try to get my desired laps in, and it got more difficult as time wore on.

The cider looked inviting, as did the peanut-coated caramel apples, and I spied something new – gourmet chewing gum, flavored like Fall food offerings … caramel apples and kettle corn. If you were thinking Summery thoughts, there was even gum by the name of “Front Porch Lemonade”, something that we could certainly be downing today.

Seeing those seasonal and unique flavors of chewing gum, made me think of the Teaberry, Clove and Black Jack chewing gum I used to enjoy years ago. That gum always arrived in special displays right around Halloween. I was never allowed to chew gum when I was growing up, but, when I got older, and my allowance was larger, I remember loading up on my favorite of the trio, Black Jack, with its unique, licorice-flavored black gum sticks.  Of course, I couldn’t pull one over on my mom who knew right away I had been chewing it, since my mouth reeked of anise flavoring and my tongue would be all black.  She would admonish me by saying “ladies don’t chew dark-colored gum because it looks uncouth … chew Chiclets instead!”

I did some shopping while at Meijer, as I’ve been loading in pantry items for the long Winter ahead, though it sure doesn’t feel much like Fall or Winter out there today. When I came out of the store, it was downright hot.

So, here we are, on this last weekend of Summer. In my recent treks down Emmons Boulevard, I’ve noticed so many pots and hanging baskets are now bedraggled-looking with shrivelled-up blooms, courtesy of the drought-like conditions which prevailed week after week earlier in the Summer.  But , so many of the Boulevard’s houses that rely on sprinkler systems or daily hand watering, still have  blooms, as pictured above, that have weathered the heat and are clearly not ready to yield to the jewel-toned chrysanthamums that are already gracing our local nurseries.

On this sweltering hot day, in the midst of a torrential rainstorm that just popped up, it seems hard to believe Harvest and Halloween are the next events as we soon usher in Autumn.

It was another coolish morning and it’s sure starting to feel more seasonal and hard to believe that as of today, September is half over already.

On this second full week of school, the dread of returning to the grind, and the anticipation of showing off that cool lunchbox to your friends or wearing all those new duds has quickly worn off.  School “daze” has now settled into school days and the rigor and ritual of school has become old news.

Yesterday, when I was on my walk, I watched a little boy dash out of the house, backpack strapped on, as he headed for the car which was purring gently in the driveway awaiting his arrival. But he made a pit stop first, as he scuffed through the wet grass and his dog jumped up on him … twice.  His mom called out the window “don’t get dirty today of all days!”

Right away I assumed it was probably the annual “school picture day” as he was in dress pants and a nice shirt. That made me think way back about my own school photos over the years.  I remembered I had some of those old school pictures digitized, so I dug up this one from fifty years ago.  Talk about Throwback Thursday!  This was my sixth grade school photo, taken in 1966, the year we moved here to the States.  My pals on Facebook and I had a lively discussion and shared some laughs about this photo, because we all remembered wearing a velveteen bowed hairband or those awful cat eye glasses.  At least my furry little mink dog pin was cute and I still have it after all these years.

I’ve been people watching during my treks through the neighborhoods.   I don’t see as many  kids walking to school anymore, so I figure they either have their own wheels or get a ride with mom or dad.  But, the ones that I see walking with their buddies sure don’t remind me of us middle and high school students back in the late 60s and 70s, respectively.

No, everything is all different now … from the clothing, to the backpacks used instead of carrying books in the crook of your arm. And now kids walk along, their heads bowed and shoulders hunched over their phones while reviewing texts or checking social media.  They are moving as a group, but barely communicating with one another.  I couldn’t help but think about my high school days back in the 70s when I made that daily morning trek to school.  This was long before social media of course, and the entire time while my close girlfriends and I were walking, we were talking.  In fact, our mouths were going a mile a minute about the minutiae in our lives, sharing nearly every detail since we parted ways or last spoke on the telephone .

But, that was then – this is now.

So, I was kind of feeling my age … that is, until I saw a much younger girl walking alone, dressed in a short, flippy skirt and wearing knee socks. I thought – well maybe there is a common denominator after all …that would be knee socks.

But, a quick glance at the young girl told me these were no ordinary knee socks like I used to wear way back when. This girl was wearing knee socks that continued above the knees!  Huh?  Something to keep your thighs warm while wearing that short skirt when there is a chill in the air?

Well, I really was feeling old pondering that style.

Knee socks and loafers … now that was a real fashion statement when I was growing up. It was important to color coordinate your knee-high socks to your “poor-boy sweater”, that style of pullover sweater so popular with girls and stylish young women in the 60s.  Poor-boy pullovers were a stretchy ribbed material, with short sleeves that nearly touched the elbows.  They fit like they belonged to your younger sister quite frankly but were a must-have in all colors.  They coordinated nicely with wool plaid skirts and hounds tooth check jumpers (like I was wearing above) plus those matching knee-socks completed the look.

So, that was our back-to-school style a half-century ago (now I am feeling really old).

I’m enjoying that crisp feel when I first set out on my walk, despite feeling a little warmer on the return trip once the sun gently filters through the clouds. I’m savoring these trips because I know Summer is on the wane and Fall officially arrives one week from today.