WALKIN', WRITIN', WIT & WHIMSY

Well, there are treks, and there are trudges …

A trek, to me, is an adventure, whether I am heading down to the marina in Ecorse, or enjoying the nature nook at Council Point Park, or, maybe just tripping along Emmons Boulevard.

And, then there is “the trudge” … slogging through the rain, or the snow, to get to your destination.

There is no joy to be found in a trudge.

In fact, during the past two Winters, it seemed like my daily trudge outside encompassed trying hard not to land on my butt on the icy patches, dealing with the snow, snapping off those lethal-looking icicles and checking how large the bulbous-looking ice flow that was spewing out of my downspouts was that day. Oh yes – I would also run the car in the garage as it sometimes stayed in there for weeks at a time.  So, it seemed like all the days ran together and my posts were merely a compilation that could be entitled “The Daily Trudge Report”.

We were so spoiled this Winter season though – up ‘til now that is. I personally think that Winter has worn out its welcome these past few weeks.  It snowed again last night and just as finished shoveling this morning, the snowflakes started coming down fast and furiously, settling on my coat and on the concrete.  It was a little disheartening to say the least.

But, not everyone feels the same way about the Winter. My boss for instance.  He is up in Newberry, in the Upper Peninsula, for a few days on a mini vacation.  He drove some 360 miles to stay with friends up in God’s Country.   The snow up there is measured in feet, not inches, and the wilderness is so deep, that he had to drive 40 miles into town to call me to check for messages.  He had been snowshoeing and was singing the praises of the snowy forest and the nature he had seen.

I told him that it sounded fun, though it was really difficult for me to get enthused about any kind of snow, no matter how pretty it was, or how much fun it was to meander deep into a heavily wooded area wearing contraptions that look like tennis rackets bound onto your feet. In the past, I’ve received his Christmas cards that show him smiling, with a snow-encrusted handlebar moustache, bright red cheeks and head and neck bundled up with a heavy wool cap and warm scarf.  The backdrop for the pictures is usually exquisite.

To me, the only positive part of the recent spate of snowfalls has been exploring the various animal tracks in the backyard. In the newly fallen snow, the tracks are clearly visible, whether they are hops, steps or jumps.  I saw delicate hops by our feathered friends on low bushes, or on the patio or window ledges where they seek refuge from the elements.  Then, there were steps taken by squirrels as they walk around the backyard, searching for long-buried peanuts or other food treasures after they have had their fill of seeds from the birdfeeders.  Finally, there is the long jump – those big hops by the rabbits in the yard.  I caught sight of one in Marge’s yard yesterday and again today.  Its soft brown fur was glistening with snow and there was no camouflage to help him remain hidden in the all-white landscape.  He glanced at me, twitching his ears and was clearly scared.  I talked to him softly, but in the blink of an eye he bounded off.

While you’ll never catch me giving a ringing endorsement to the Winter season, I knew today’s post needed to boast about the beauty of this bunny in the snow.

The photo credit today goes to my friend and neighbor Marge Aubin whose camera captured this furry fellow in her backyard, then she sent me the picture. We’re not sure it is the same bunny I saw and it is not worth splitting hares, er … hairs, over.

I detect a little March madness in the air, even though college basketball’s annual rite of Spring is a few weeks away.

Last night, I was lamenting over the weather when I set the alarm just before I hopped into bed. My boss was going to be out of town, which would have afforded me a day to myself, but being the Winter driving weenie that I am, I knew I would not even pull the car out of the garage.  The icy roads and sidewalks put a kibosh on any walking as well.  So, with those odds against me, I figured I’d treat myself and sleep in late and enjoy the respite from the routine.

Well that was all good, except at 3:00 a.m. a noise startled me. I heard low voices.  Well, what the …?  I sat straight up in bed and listened for a minute or two, my heart pounding.  Then, there was a commercial break and I let out a deep sigh of relief.  I scrambled out of bed and headed to the kitchen where the table top radio was on, as was the bright red alarm button icon on the digital screen.  It was an AM station I’ve never heard of. Now, I’ve owned this radio for years and never used the alarm function, so obviously I hit the “alarm set button” the last time I used the remote yesterday.  Sadly, that little disturbance kicked me right out of REM sleep, and, by the time I walked back down the hall, and slid beneath the covers, I was wide awake and cursing my not-so-nimble fingers before I nodded off to dreamland once again.

When the real alarm finally sounded right near my head, I was reluctant to get up. I listened to the news before venturing outside to see how cold it was since it’s just a short trudge out to run the car, so perhaps I could leave off a layer or two.  The local news was chock full of the GOP debate happening tonight here at Detroit’s Fox Theatre, as well as a slew of sound bites of vitriol being spewed by each candidate.  I waited patiently, though I barely made it to the weather before I switched off the radio.  Really?!  The campaign sounds more and more like bullies in a schoolyard every day.

I got dressed and headed outside to run the car. While I waited for the choking exhaust to evaporate in the garage, I eyeballed the street and sidewalks and there were many icy patches, so I knew my decision to skip the walk was indeed valid.

The porch was a sheet of ice, and the mailbox lid had frozen droplets of water hanging along the scalloped edge. It looked kind of unique, but that ice had once again sealed down the mailbox as if a layer of Krazy Glue had been applied.  I had to wrestle with the lid just to get it open.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a pudgy robin, who was huddled on the post of the split-rail fence. His reddish-orange breast was a brilliant slash of color in his otherwise drab-looking plumage … in fact, it was the only hint of color I saw outside on this dreary and sunless morn.  He wasn’t very big and wore a disgruntled look, either because he was cold or hungry, or both.  Even though I’m not fond of robins, I felt badly for him.  I’m sure there weren’t many grubs or worms lurking about on this frosty morning.  I had nothing inside the house to offer him – chunks of bread or bagel wouldn’t make his day, but I assured him that I shared his pain and Winter is not my favorite season either.

I shut the garage door, then started to head back inside. Despite my heavy lug-soled boots, I walked carefully, taking baby steps to avoid wiping out on the slick patches on the sidewalk.

I noticed a squirrel happily scamming birdseed from one of my neighbor Marge’s many feeders in the back of her yard. He sat beneath the feeder lapping up the spilled seeds that were scattered on the snow, while the disheartened sparrows silently waited in nearby bushes for him to finish and move on.

Suddenly, an angry blue jay started calling, and the squirrel, as well as me, immediately looked up at the big fir tree – me to admire the jay’s beauty, and the squirrel … well, he was savvy enough to know that a blue jay’s beak is a lethal weapon, and he might just use it when he finds a furry critter stealing his brethren’s birdseed.

It seems that everyone is angry these days.

As I closed the screen door, I glanced over and saw the squirrel was gone and a bevy of brown feathery bodies had descended on the feeders that were rightfully theirs.

Though his screeching filled the morning air, and he surely made his presence known, I never did see that jay, but I wondered if it was the same one I wrote about the other day. I’m sharing a picture taken by photographer Rodney Campbell, which he entitles “Blue Jay in Winter” – I know I’ll never be lucky enough to take such a beautiful shot myself.

Image and copyright by Rodney Campbell: https://www.flickr.com/photos/acrylicartist/8442677948

Be kind whenever possible. It is always possible. – Dalai Lama

Every four years we get a little something extra. Nope, not the presidential election, nor the Summer Olympics.  This is something unique – we get a Leap Day.

Now, wouldn’t it be great if Leap Day was a national paid holiday – an extra day to do whatever you wanted to? It wouldn’t be a holiday that must fall on a Monday, or one designated just for government worker bees, but for everyone.  Too bad it must be tacked onto February, as the weather is not conducive for much fun in a typical Michigan February.  I kind of like this idea and perhaps we ought to broach it to our next Prez – after all, he or she has a few years to get it implemented before 2020.

Well, this extra day on our February calendar also brought a quirky side effect and interesting phenomenon here in the Schaub household. Not so magically, when the clock turned midnight today, February 29^th, my landline phone rolled over to March 1^st.   While your Mac and Windows products and your smartphones all “got it” … my speaker phone did not.  I call this dilemma: “smartphone versus dumbphone” and now, this not-so-technically-apt person must find the manual to work on her “dumbphone” … I guess I’ll have to reset the time from scratch and hopefully that is all, because I sure can’t call upon the folks at RadioShack these days.

Speaking of Leap Day, and the topic of leaping, yesterday’s weather would make you leap for joy when it shattered that 1880 record of 60 degrees. The BBQs were out as were the motorcyclists that were zooming around the neighborhood once we hit 63 degrees!  But today was not so special weather-wise.  Those gusty winds and brooding clouds weren’t geared to make you, or me, jump for joy and this overnight freezing rain and tomorrow’s 3-5 inch snowfall may make me turn the alarm off altogether.  Suffice it to say that March will come in like a lion.  It seems that Winter sure took its sweet time getting here, and now this season is somewhat conflicted – it reminds me of that old tune by The Clash – “Should I Stay or Should I Go?”

Well, I didn’t meet my goal of 100 miles walked to date as of February 29, 2016, even with the extra day, but then the weather was funky a good part of February as well, so I shan’t whine about it (in this forum anyway). Plus, with the impending snow and freezing rain, I decided the car needed a run more than I needed the walk this morning, so we drove up and down Fort Street and tooled around town a bit to give the buggy a good run since it won’t be out of the garage for a few days.  I’m sorry to say that the miles walked and miles driven are now neck-in-neck at 87, so I need to get out there and walk more miles, probably next weekend when the temps climb to the 50s and 60s and all the snow will melt again.  Anymore, I’m confused when I suit up – do I wear the walking shoes or the lug-soled boots this morning?  Guess I have to peer outside first.

I just Googled “when does the time change and we Spring forward?”  That will be March 13^th.  Just as the sun is rising earlier every day and I could set out for a longer walk during the workweek, the time change will occur and I’ll have to make the adjustment once again.  Grrrr.

As we inch ever closer to Spring and warm and sunny days, we are buoyed by these interludes of shed-your-coat-and-hat days … they help to banish the blahs from the cold and snowy weather that we are accustomed to here in Southeast Michigan.

[Image “Leap Year Symbol 2016” from Jhnri4 at openclipart.org]

With last Wednesday’s snowstorm just a distant memory, I set out on a walk this morning. I needed that walk to get the kinks out.  For the second day in a row, I woke up feeling like a steamroller ran over me, the result of shoveling that heavy snow on Thursday morning.  On Friday, I e-mailed my boss, Robb, when I checked in, and said “every muscle feels sore – is it because I am getting old or from shoveling all that snow yesterday?”  I figure he’s been around nearly a decade longer than me, thus more worldly and would provide me with the answer.  He merely answered “Yep” … well that was a noncommittal lawyer’s response so I’ll assume it was all that heavy lifting!

Yesterday, when I went outside to run the car, I toyed with the idea of taking a walk, but I could see icy patches and snow-covered sidewalks as I glanced up and down the street, so I took a pass on that idea. Today, however, it was much better … especially on the sunny side of the street.  In fact, I was surprised to see for those many homeowners, that had not shoveled their snow, the sun had done an admirable job of clearing away the white stuff and even the ice.  Hmmmm.  Of course, I live on shady side of the street so the sun is basically no help to me.

The streets, however, were clear as a bell, but the sidewalks, as I mentioned above, were dicey in some spots, so I took my trek to the streets most of the time. On a busy weekday morning, that’s not a great idea, but on a sleepy Saturday morn, when very few people are out and about, it works well.

It was a beautiful morning and the sun was shining brightly – that sun makes all the difference in the world, no matter how cold it is. It just makes you feel good.  The sights and sounds along the way suggested that if you weren’t so bundled up, those songbirds twittering from way up high, several woodpeckers with their rhythmic rat-a-tat-tat on the trees along Emmons Boulevard, and many wind chimes tinkling gently in the breeze, might just make you forget it was February and you’d think that Spring had arrived.

Well, almost … sometimes you must use your imagination just a little.

I did not see a single soul while walking, but I passed two good-looking snowmen on the Boulevard – both were roly-poly and quite large. The first had red candy eyes, a long and very crooked carrot nose and skinny twigs for arms.  The second man of snow had been pumping iron as he had much larger, thicker twigs for arms.  He was sporting a black wool scarf wrapped tightly around his “neck”, but he was wearing a rather blank stare because the creator of this snowman left off the eyes, nose and mouth.

I was surprised to see that the Creek was not frozen over and the Canada geese were enjoying a morning get together. They were squawking, and in the still morning, the raucous sound seemed even noisier than ever.  As usual, one or two of the geese feel the need to “shout” over the others to get their point across.  And, if the shouting doesn’t work, wing-flapping and hissing is a sure way to get the other’s attention.

There’s one in every crowd I tell you.

(Not that I was complaining about those days, or even weeks, thus far this Winter season, that felt and looked like April or May.) I’m thinking that those six-inch flowers I saw at the corner house on Ferris Avenue must be rather confused right about now, between last weekend’s warm spell, yesterday’s all-day freezing rain, then snow, and now we’re expected to be back in the mid-50s this weekend.  Heck … even I’m confused.  Perhaps all those tender shoots have  been smooshed to smithereens from our “juicy snowfall” which was heralded to be another Snowmageddon-like event.

Here in my part of town, the big snowfall, projected to be between four to eight, and maybe even ten inches, really didn’t materialize. We got freezing rain, then only about three or four inches of heavy snow, making for much hefting to move it out of the way.   I now await the snowplow’s arrival to make my return trip to the end of the driveway necessary tomorrow.  Perhaps I’ll just wait for the big meltdown on the weekend instead.

I’m sure there were plenty of fingers and toes being crossed last night – schoolkids were hoping for a snow day, feeling gypped to have gone all season without one. I guess those kids have short memories because they got multiple snow and bitter cold days off from school the past two years.  I’m sure parents likewise had fingers and toes crossed … but for a different reason.  They had to make childcare arrangements or juggle around their work agendas.  Well, most schools ended up closing so it was the kids with a “W” in their column.

Stepping outside on this early morning, I had to admit, that despite the hassle of the snowfall, I was taken aback by the beauty of the heavy snow that was clinging to, and dragging down bushes and evergreens, plus piled up along the top of the chain-link fence. This snowfall was reminiscent of that two inches of heavy snow that blanketed our backyards back on November 21^st.

There was almost a hush as you stepped outside, as if the snow had hermetically sealed off all the grime of City dirt and grit and the noise of the passing cars . I stood there for a few minutes, hands propped on the handle of the shovel, while taking it all in as I admired the beauty of the peaceful morning and marveled at the mastery of Mother Nature’s handiwork.

I began to shovel and I was soon distracted by a City salt truck chugging down the street, kicking out salty nuggets in its wake. Soon thereafter it made a return trip, and I thought that task was wholly unnecessary since the snow was melting and the pavement was already bare from each shovelful of snow I had already scraped off.

In the din of the salt truck’s rumblings, a blue jay began angrily calling out to no one in particular. I quickly swiveled my head upward to the trees across the street to locate this angry bird and suddenly spied him in the tall Maple, a streak of blue with his identifiable crest, as he flitted from branch to branch.  His continuous squawking indicated his feathers had been ruffled by someone or something.  Finally, a flap of wings and whoosh … he was gone and the street was silent once again.

But not for long …

A dozen or so geese, flying in V-formation were the next ones to interrupt the solitude of my morning. They were honking loudly as they flew overhead, probably having decided the Groundhog had lied, thus they were getting out of Dodge as soon as possible.

I continued shoveling, taking that heavy snow in two layers – lifting the top half off, then scraping the bottom layer. As I made my way along to the backyard, the rhythmic swipe of the shovel blade against the concrete startled a squirrel in my neighbor Marge’s yard.  He had an annoyed look on his snow-covered face, as if I had interrupted his concentration that was obviously necessary to locate a misplaced peanut.  He sat smack in the middle of a grassy spot which he had cleared near the back of the yard.  That smart squirrel had used his paws like a paddle to push the snow aside to get to a prized peanut or two that he had hidden away for a rainy, er snowy, day.  I watched him out of the corner of my eye as I edged down the path, and he had no success finding his misplaced peanut as far as I could tell.

If there was a thought bubble over my head, it would say: “Mr. Squirrel with the surly look on your face – everyone knows that when you live in Michigan, you go for bread and milk and any necessities BEFORE the snow flies!”

The sun was up early – such a beautiful day and I was eager to get out for my walk. It didn’t matter how cold it was, because the sun was out and the sidewalks and streets were clear and dry.  I suited up and hit the road, knowing I’d better savor my stroll since rain is forecast for tomorrow morning and that rain will morph into snow by afternoon.  We are slated to get slammed with a four to eight-inch snowstorm!  What?  This past weekend, it was 63 degrees!

I thought of going to the marina but it was a little too far to walk yet, since I had a ten-day hiatus without walking, and only started back last Friday. I decided a trek to the tracks and back was just perfect for today.

I did that four miles and returned home with rosy cheeks and an appetite as well from that frosty air. As I sat on the kitchen chair wrapping my hands around my mug of coffee in an effort to warm my fingers, I thought about the simple joy in savoring my morning cup of joe.  If you’re not a coffee drinker, it is hard to fathom the pure pleasure of that bold aroma, the warm liquid trickling down your throat and warming your innards, not to mention the taste.

Now I drink instant coffee, so it is not like I am enjoying a special Keurig cup or a pot of some exquisite brew, because my cup of joe is for the average joe – just instant coffee crystals, but, on a cold day, or any day for that matter, there is no finer elixir for me to get myself in gear and keep me going through the day.

I still remember my first Starbucks cup of coffee though. I worked in downtown Detroit in the Buhl Building, and the announcement of Starbucks’ arrival to our building had everyone all agog. Having never had Starbucks coffee, I wasn’t all that excited for their arrival, and instead, I wished the little bakery with the wax paper bags of warm chocolate chip cookies – three for $0.25, would have stayed instead.  (Though coffee was probably better for my waistline.)  Starbucks was just a place to have coffee back then, as it was long before internet cafés were big news.  No one was carrying devices around – you went online at home or the office, so, I wondered why Starbucks would even open a store in the heart of downtown Detroit?  Besides, in the business district, don’t all offices in these high-rise buildings have coffee machines?  One of the perks of working in an office, if you’ll pardon that intentional pun, is the availability of coffee and tea in the breakroom or kitchen.

Just before the grand opening, someone wearing a sandwich board that said “Starbucks is coming soon” was passing out free vouchers and handed me a few. I held onto those coupons for a week or so, for the fervor to die down, then one day I hopped off the bus, and instead of going to the elevator to ride up those eleven stories to the office, I explored Starbucks instead.

Well, it was Tuesday and they were brewing Sumatra, a very dark and earthy Indonesian roast. I always took my coffee black and this was a “Grande”, which was a fairly large-sized cup.  Whew!  It packed a punch, and after downing that cup of coffee,  I was sure my fingers flew over the keyboard the rest of the day … and I was still hyped up into the evening.  Where was this stuff when I had exams or had to type a term paper on the manual typewriter ‘til the wee hours of the morn back in my college days?

So, I decided I liked that experience, and it beat the Maxwell House we had at home and at the office, so, voucher in hand, I stopped in again. The next day I tried the brew of the day – not so strong this time, and, after draining my “Grande” cup of Columbian roast, I was ready to trill my RRRRRs and eat some paella.

I had one more voucher, and the next day Starbucks was brewing French Roast. Well, I thought I’d died and gone to Heaven and all I needed was a hot croissant to go with it.  I downed that “Grande” and had to stop myself from saying “Ooh La La” or some other silly French phrase, and, I was sure I’d be able to converse in French though it had been years since I took my last conversational French class.

Thus began my love affair with Starbucks, and, for my remaining years in the Buhl Building, until Robb and I left the heart of downtown, their coffee became the mainstay of my morning. I tried a few of their seasonal drinks for the occasional afternoon treat, but we had to exit the building and go through a separate door to get to Starbucks – not too fun to do on a cold Winter day.

So, some thirteen years after leaving downtown and now working from home, I find myself content to enjoy “Nescafe Clasico”, a bold and aromatic, dark roast instant coffee. It’s got some pizazz and I’d give it about an 8 on the coffee taste meter.

While I sipped my second cup of joe after returning home from my walk, I was musing over a story I heard recently on the radio about a wearable coffee product named “Joule”. I was a little incredulous, and wondered why anyone would take that pleasure one enjoys as they savor their cup of joe, by reducing it to a bracelet which sports a caffeine patch.  I made it a point to check it out – well, it’s a novel concept if you want that the coffee high without taking the time or effort to actually enjoy the brew, but choose to wear a caffeine patch instead.  Here, have a look:  https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/joule-wear-your-caffeine–2#/

I guess I don’t “get it” as I would prefer the real deal instead. I’m all for trying new things, but gone is the enjoyment of savoring that cup of steaming brew, in my opinion anyway.

But then, I tried reading “The Detroit News” as a PDF on my computer screen, and thought that was too much effort and took the joy out of glancing for the stories or regular features I enjoyed, and, I like holding a regular book or magazine in my hands, as opposed to using a e-reader.

Maybe it’s just me.

Too many novelties and inventions these days leave me scratching my head sometimes. Like the new toothbrush that you use with an app on your smartphone – it tells you where you missed a spot when brushing your teeth.  Really?!

But, then again, even the old and familiar things likewise leave me bewildered. I love nature and trees, but I’m highly unlikely to hug my plate of spaghetti and meatballs the next time I have it for dinner, despite all the wood pulp the manufacturer puts into the grated cheese I liberally sprinkle on top.

Ugh.

The world moves just too fast for me sometimes.

It’s been a week of gains and losses. Ups and downs.  Highs and lows.  You win some, you lose some.

Anymore, it’s not just the stock market that’s up one day and down the next – though the market has been pretty abysmal so far in this young year.

Gasoline is down again – just $1.77 a gallon, but even with low fuel prices, the airfare is sky high.

We lost a Supreme Court justice, but gained a lot of angst to pick a replacement for him.

We’ve also lost a few of the presidential candidates along the way, but one is feeling TRUMPhant, er triumphant, right about now.

We gained temperature degrees by leaps and bounds … it seems like a distant memory that we huddled inside the house last weekend enduring a mini polar vortex and this weekend it over 60 degrees higher.

Last Saturday we were swaddled in warm woolens and yesterday I saw people in tee-shirts and shorts.

And snow – what happened to the snow that got shoveled three times this week? Now you see it – now you don’t.

We shattered the previous record of 61 degrees on February 20^th set way back in 1930, when temps here in southeast Michigan soared to 63 degrees yesterday.

And, how many times did you discuss the high winds that ravaged our area over the weekend? Some 110,000 people lost power when winds gusted from 45 to 55 mph two days in a row.  Some of those poor folks still don’t have power.  I feel for them, as well as the lineman working in such treacherous winds.  We no doubt lost a few shingles along the way as well.

The new normal for weather is kind of scary sometimes. It’s been a decade since Al Gore first predicted global warming.  It’s becoming very real – just ask the polar bears who are becoming emaciated as they can’t go ice fishing anymore … the ice arrives later and leaves earlier.  I hear they find humans rather tasty though.

Also scary, was a close encounter of the canine variety which happened to me on this morning’s walk. She was just protecting her turf in an odd sort of way – her being “Scarlett with the scowl” … or, maybe “Scarlett with the growl” would be a better description.

I was walking along the cross street, mulling over some of the facts and figures and goings-on this past week or so that I mentioned above, and just minding my own beeswax, as that expression goes. All of a sudden I heard a low growl.  I quickly looked around and saw no dog.  I’ve taken great care to find another route far away from the meanies I mentioned in a blog post earlier this month.  But, as I continued to meander along that cross street, the growling intensified.  At that point, I wasn’t too worried because there was a tall vinyl privacy fence and the growl was coming from behind that big fence.

But … suddenly a face appeared at the bottom of that high fence, a face with a furry snout with a full set of teeth and a whole lotta attitude. I was quite taken aback and quickly calculated the distance from the bottom of the fence, and the grass, and whether or not this angry dog could wiggle out through an six or eight-inch space before I could make a run for it.  I must admit that my heart was pounding like mad.  Even in this rather compromising position, it didn’t stop that dog from barking its head off either.  It was a good thing that it barked though, because the owner came out and said “Scarlett honey … what are you barking at sweetie?”  Slowly, the sleek black head withdrew from that small space and I heard the screen door shut a few moments later.

I breathed a large sigh of relief once I knew I was safe.

Gulp.

“Scarlett” – I scoffed at that name and muttered to no one in particular as I left the scene. She was no demure Southern belle … to be sure.

So, weighing the plus or minus factor for my walk this morning: well, it was a plus that I got to walk, but a big minus that I lost a few years of my life thanks to Ms. Scarlett and her haughty demeanor.

Note to self: must scope out another route before tomorrow.

[Image “Plus or Minus” from Cyberscooty at openclipart.org]

… unless you are channeling Mary Poppins, because that wicked wind would send you aloft and you’d have a bird’s eye view of the city in the blink of an eye.

I knew I could finally hit the road and get in a walk this morning since that nasty freezing rain didn’t materialize. There was no stopping me now and I laced up my shoes and grabbed my gear to get going, lest Mother Nature rain on my parade.

I stepped outside the door and the wind had already started kicking in, the precursor for the 45-50 mph gusts that are still raging outside as I write this post. Really, the walking conditions weren’t perfect but I wasn’t going to be choosy.  The freezing rain we had earlier in the week left salt-stained sidewalks and streets in its wake, and there were pebbly salt nuggets everywhere.  Many homeowners had not shoveled at all, which made it necessary to tread gingerly across the icy patches on the sidewalks or just walk in the street. At least it wasn’t freezing cold; in fact, I had to remind myself it is only February 19th … winds like March, temps like April.

On February 1^st, in my mind, I anticipated reaching at least 100 miles by month-end.  I kept that goal to myself, however.  The next day, the Groundhog’s proclamation of an early Spring bolstered my resolve for this goal, but I still kept mum on my aspirations, figuring I’d take it day by day and see what type of weather Mother Nature had up her sleeve.  I got in a week of walking when the inclement weather set in – snow, ice, then bitter cold, followed by more snow.

In between bouts of snow I took the car for a few spins to get the engine revved up, and, as I zipped along Fort Street, I noticed the odometer creeping ever higher. By yesterday, the car mileage had gotten precariously close to my walking miles, so … banish that thought!

As of today’s four-mile jaunt, I’m happy to say that it is now 77 walking miles versus 71 driving miles.

So, onward and upward … just don’t take me airborne like our favorite nanny!

[Image by photographer Adrianna Calvo at Pexel]

Must. Get. Out. To. Walk. Today.

Well, this was my mantra that I muttered for the third day in a row as I lay curled up in bed while listening to the early morning news, but … “greasy and slick roads” and “snow that just sneaked in” were the descriptions I heard from the traffic reporter and meteorologist, respectively. I willed myself to jump out of my warm cocoon and hit the ground running anyway, thinking I should at least try to put in a few miles on the exercise bike before trudging out to deal with the snow.

Mother Nature continues to be fickle while she ponders over what type of weather will be the “flavor of the day” … for a few days it was like a polar vortex, then she turned on the snow machine again. I wondered if she could not find the button to turn off that pesky snow?  I had an electric lawnmower like that one time.   Once you turned it on, and the motor started humming, if you shut off the mower, it was done for the day.  Finally, a neighbor suggested I tie the handle start button down so the mower would not shut itself off.  It looked funny, but did the trick and I could mow the front and back yards without shutting the mower off.  So, I had a pantyhose leg tied taut to keep the start bar button jammed down and turned on, plus another pantyhose leg to tie the grass catcher onto the mower, since it was missing a critical piece in that apparatus.  I must admit, it was a pain in the you know where, so, I finally put that Toro mower out to pasture after 25 years of service.

On a happier note, however, the temps will soar to the mid-50s on Friday, so hopefully a walk will happen for sure. In the meantime, we are still needing the muffler and mittens here in our state we fondly refer to as “The Mitten” – we Michiganders need to be flexible indeed.

After hearing those miserable traffic and weather reports, I figured that a walk was not in the cards, so I hightailed it down to the basement and did five miles on the bike. The scenery is not as nice but after hearing and reading last week about the correlation between lack of exercise and brain shrinkage later in life, I figured I’d better protect what gray matter I have left and get the ticker thumping and legs moving.

After hopping off the bike, I shot upstairs to make some breakfast and get cooled off before I went out to shovel … that ordeal is getting old as well, and I’m sorry I joked about the dust collecting on the shovel. Perhaps I am the cause of this incessant piddling snow we are getting?

Later, outside chores done, as I stepped back into the house, the cold air soon fogged up my glasses, and, while waiting for them to clear, I mindlessly unzipped my jacket to prepare to shimmy out of it as I’ve been doing for the past week or so since the zipper teeth suddenly got mangled up. The zipper unzipped like normal and I took it off, and it didn’t dawn on me ‘til I saw the coat hanging on the hall tree that the zipper was functioning 100% again (evidence of brain shrinkage already I guess).  So, suspicious of my good fortune, I zipped it up and down a couple of times and the teeth meshed together perfectly and it was 100% okay.

Hmmmm.

Now, to whom do I thank for the magical repair job?   The tooth fairy or the zipper fairy?

I wish my own teeth had moved into place that fast back in the day when I wore braces. It took forever, to get though a regimen of full “metal mouth”, two headgear and a slew of rubber bands to get those teeth aligned perfectly.

[Image by photographer P. Alexandru at Unsplash]

Today is the day that commemorates love, and nothing says “I love you” more than an old-fashioned valentine.

Yesterday, I searched in vain for a pair of genuine Victorian Valentine’s Day cards, that my mom’s great uncle Joe sent to us after he opened up an antiques shop in Victoria, B.C. back in the early 90s. Those valentines were three-dimensional, pop-up cards and very ornate looking with their curlicues, cupids, hearts and flowers.  There were even doves entwined by ribbons in their beaks.  We used to put them out with our Valentine’s Day décor and always put them away after the holiday for safekeeping.  Well, they are in a safe place all right – somewhere in the house, and, finding them is another project for next Winter, so I can scan them in to use with my Valentine’s Day 2017 post.

Ahh, well … I decided there were plenty of other cards I could use to lend an old-fashioned air and chose this one. The back of the American Greetings card says this is an American bear, manufactured by the Ideal Novelty and Toy Company, circa 1906, and part of the Yenke Collection.  Well, I noodled around the net a bit before writing this post and found the Yenkes were keepers and curators of vintage bears.  I was immersed in that site for quite awhile since I, too, am an avid collector of teddy bears, though none of my fifty or so bears are deemed antique or vintage.

My mom and I kept every greeting card we exchanged with one another, plus some received from other family members, through the years. Earlier today, as I rummaged around that big gift bag filled with all those sweet sentiments, while looking for the perfect Valentine’s Day picture to accompany this post, the years just melted away.  I saw “To Mommy” signed in a childish scrawl over and over again.  The well wishes eventually evolved and became “To Mom” with my signatures that ranged from flourishes dotted with hearts to my rather boring and hastily scrawled signature I finally settled on later in life.

Most of the birthday cards sent to my mom revolved around hearts and flowers because her birthday was on Valentine’s Day. She was born on February 14, 1926 and would have turned 90 today – it may be true, but it sure doesn’t seem possible.

I decided the theme of this Valentine’s Day post would be old-fashioned love, after two stories I read on that topic this past week.

The first was an article about Ali MacGraw and Ryan O’Neal, now in their mid-70s, pulling up to Harvard University in an antique MG convertible, similar to the one they rode around in during the movie “Love Story”. The pair had stopped in Boston to promote their play “Love Letters, which follows a man and woman who stay in touch through 50 years of letters.  That online piece took me right back to my teenaged years and how much I enjoyed that movie about the wealthy Harvard student named Oliver Barrett IV, a/k/a “Preppie”, who fell in love with the working-class Radcliffe student named Jennifer Cavilleri, a/k/a “Jenny” and their bittersweet relationship.  I remember reading and re-reading Erich Segal’s book, until it was tattered, as well as tear-stained.  Coincidentally, it was published on Valentine’s Day 1970.  Later that year, after the film came out, I went to the Southgate Show with my friend Debbie Varga.  Together we sobbed and sniffled throughout the movie and we were both weeping uncontrollably, as were many others, by the time it ended, no doubt after hearing the line “love means never having to say you’re sorry”, or, prompted perhaps by the sweet strains of the movie’s theme song “Where do I begin?”  So, while clutching a soggy Kleenex in my hand, still crying, and leaving the dark theatre and entering the lobby on that sunny Summer day, I walked right into the theatre’s front glass door when exiting to go outside.  It’s a wonder I didn’t break my nose.

Another love story that piqued my interest this week, was the non-fiction tale of a couple who were sweethearts some 70 years ago. Norwood Thomas was a 21-year-old paratrooper when he met 17-year-old Joyce Morris in London, shortly before D-Day.   Because he was ordered home before he could properly say goodbye, they wrote letters to one another, thus sustaining the relationship.  After Norwood Thomas proposed to Joyce Morris via mail, she misunderstood his proposal, thinking it was a “Dear Jane” letter, and never wrote him back.  They married others.  He became a widower in 2001 and she has divorced her husband of thirty years.  Hoping to reconnect (and maybe rekindle the relationship), Joyce Morris asked her sons to track down Norbert Thomas on the internet.  Bingo!  He was mentioned in an article about D-Day, and after a little detective work, the couple reunited in cyberspace via Skype last year.  Earlier this week, Norwood Thomas travelled some 10,000 miles, from Virginia to Australia, to spend Valentine’s Day with his former flame.

Now there’s a love story for you.

I leave you with a quote on this Valentine’s Day 2016:

“Love isn’t something you find. Love is something that finds you.” ~Loretta Young