WALKIN', WRITIN', WIT & WHIMSY

The title of this post is simply a twist on the show tune “Do-Re-Mi” which is featured in the “Sound of Music”. On the day after Christmas, you get the dough, and suddenly … it is all about you.  Now, this post could be construed as the shoppers who have bought gifts for everyone on their list and now find it is time to indulge their every whim, or, a whimsical tale about a savvy squirrel who is all about making himself happy and the heck with anyone else.

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Now that Christmas is over, once again the mad dash to the mall has begun anew. Before I even left the house, the newscasters were talking about the heavy traffic near the malls as everyone’s cash or holiday gift cards are burning a hole in their pocket, or, they are eager to swap a gift they don’t like for something that they really want.  The sales are also predicted to be spectacular today.

I took the car for a little spin before I left on my walk, and as I rolled along Fort Street, I saw that the line of customers waiting for Mickey Shorr to open, snaked along the front of the store and down the side street. Maybe they were hoping to get a remote car starter installed, sooner rather than later, since I hear these wonderful warm temps will soon come to a screeching halt.

In fact, today’s weather sure was a return to reality as to what Winter weather feels like. It was cold and gusty and I found myself walking more quickly than usual.

Today, I wanted to share a story about a savvy squirrel whom I’ve been monitoring the past few weeks in my treks down Emmons Boulevard.

The first time I saw this squirrel, he was sitting in a large, empty flower pot underneath two bird feeders that were hanging on a shepherd’s hook. The placement of the pot and the proximity of two, fully loaded squirrel-proof bird feeders was ultra-convenient to this furry critter.  He sat right in the middle of the pot, then I watched him shimmy up the pole, reach over to tip each feeder to the side, and then shake out birdseed through the holes where the perches are situated for the small birds to eat.  I actually stopped to watch his actions.  He had it down to an art:  shimmy, shake and enjoy.  Someone please plug up the pot’s drainage hole to make it easier for this poor critter to eat.  And … once he had his fill of birdseed, then he ran like heck down the sidewalk and out of sight.

On that particular day, I didn’t take the camera with me as it was foggy and misty out, so I left it behind. But, I was determined to get a picture of him in action, since his antics really gave me a laugh and were a shake-my-head moment.  I wondered then, as I do now, if the homeowners believe the birds are filling their faces on the birdseed in the squirrel-proof feeder?  I wanted to knock on the door and tell these kindly souls “guess what?”

So, every time I’ve walked past the house, my head would swivel to this same scene and I always had the camera with me. Nine times out of ten when I walked past, this chubby squirrel was either shaking the cage around the feeder, inside the pot chomping on birdseed, or down on the ground eating the fallen seed.  Of course, the birds are always nearby and watching him devour their food.  Perhaps I should have entitled this post “The feast:  the birds and the beast!”

There’s one in every crowd … whether it was at your holiday dinner yesterday – you know, that fat uncle who bullies everyone with his long overreach for the extra-large scoop of mashed potatoes and gravy, or whining for that second piece of pie, even though he’s already undone the top button on his pants. I know I’ve seen that in my day, too.

I chocked up another four miles walked today as I hustled down the Boulevard. As you might suspect, I glanced over to the Creek, just as I crossed the footbridge and a handful of ducks were on the opposite side, but not a single Canada goose was to be found.  I think they vamoosed to warmer climes – they heard the same weather forecast I did.

Well, the big holiday has finally arrived. Of course, despite the fact that it is Christmas Day, you cannot help but notice that the landscape doesn’t resemble a vintage print by Currier and Ives, but instead, the grass is lush and green and still scattered with leaves.  Shortly after I set out on my walk today, I saw a couple of young girls on pogo sticks bopping  along the sidewalk, and, nearby, in Ford Park, a young man was shooting hoops.  This year, skates and sleds under the Christmas tree would be worthy of a snicker or two.

While strolling down Emmons Boulevard, I saw passersby, wreathed in smiles, who gushed “Merry Christmas” even though I’d never seen them before. Of course I waved and responded in kind … there are no strangers on holidays and it’s all good.

I took tidbits of old bagels and bread heels to throw out to any lucky waterfowl at the footbridge. As I approached the bridge, I suddenly was happy I had the camera with me, because not only were there mallards, but about thirty Canada geese as well.  I quickly positioned myself with the camera and my bag of treats.  To my dismay, however, the geese and ducks started heading in the opposite direction, once they saw the hulking human in the salmon-colored down coat lurking on the footbridge.  I quickly opened the bag and skipped some bagel chunks across the water.  They double-backed in a matter of seconds, so I offloaded some more treats which were greedily gulped down.  So, it was a lucky day for both of us, as they got an unexpected treat and I got a ton of up-close shots of them congregating in the Creek.

Finally, I tore myself away and next headed down to the River and over to the marina where it was quiet, save for a few ducks that swam in circles around the dock pilings. I lingered there awhile, taking some more pictures, and, soon a bicyclist came over and stopped to ask what got my attention.  “Just the ducks in this peaceful setting” I said.  He watched awhile as well.  He agreed that it was an idyllic scene, then wished me “Merry Christmas” and quite unexpectedly grabbed my hand and shook it before he quickly hopped back on his bike and headed off for parts unknown.  I began to feel warm and fuzzy all over, and it wasn’t just my Winter woolens.

I arrived home wreathed in smiles from adding more miles to my 2015 walking log, plus I had a definite glow from the walk in the chilly air as well as the glad tidings. The wreaths featured above, are just a few of the many beautiful wreaths that adorn the stately homes along Emmons Boulevard.

Christmas is the season for kindling the fire of hospitality in the hall, the genial flame of charity in the heart. – Washington Irving

Merry Christmas everyone.

… by stopping to pause and take a moment from your busy day.

 Of all the Christmas décor I’ve seen during my treks, I’ve admired this beautiful crèche on Emmons Boulevard the most. The whole nativity scene is only a couple of feet wide and sits on a porch.  It is just a simple wooden stable and the figures of Mary, Joseph and Baby Jesus inside are actually very small.  The day I took this photo, the sky was dull and dreary and the lighting was poor, so, I really didn’t expect much out of the shot.  I was pleasantly surprised … it might be the best photo I took all year.

Blessings to you and yours on this special night and best wishes for a Merry Christmas. – Linda

… and they won’t be settling down to any games or grog ‘til Santa delivers the last present in the wee hours of Christmas morning. This is because Santa Claus and his team of tiny reindeer are still travelling around the world and won’t be in North America for a long time yet according to NORAD (http://www.noradsanta.org/).  He’s a busy guy, that Santa Claus.  NORAD can tell you just how many presents he’s delivered since he began his long journey earlier today – Whew!  And, he only gets to spend just 0.0000325419 seconds at each household around the globe.  I’d say that’s very impressive for that jolly old elf.

And, I have some impressive stats for myself too. As to this old gal, she has already finished up her coveted 700-mile trek, though it was considerably less miles than Santa and his A-team will have accomplished.  Your roving reporter marked 700 miles walked in 2015 on this chilly Thursday morning.  I won’t give you my final tally until year end, just in case I can rack up a few more miles, if my tender tootsies don’t mind and Mother Nature continues to cooperate.

I woke up feeling very lucky since we were unscathed by the wicked winds that blew into Southeast Michigan yesterday, especially Canton Township where a tornado touched down. Across the U.S. people are picking up the pieces of their homes and vehicles … and their lives … on this day before Christmas.

On my walk this morning there was plenty of evidence that high winds had whisked into our neck of the woods. I passed several homes whose Christmas décor features multiple inflatables on their front lawn.  One home is filled with Disney characters and most of those decorations were askew.  I noted that Pluto’s oversized head was listing to the left (which might have just passed as a “head tilt”) and Mickey Mouse, wearing an oversized elf cap, was tipped all the way backward onto the lawn as if he was sleeping.  As I strolled down Emmons Boulevard, many of the delicate white wire trees and reindeer had rolled across the front lawns, some even dragging their long electrical cords with them.  The nutcracker soldiers, whose photo I featured on my December 22^nd  blog post, were face down in the muddy garden.

It could have been worse I guess, but everyone will need to scramble quickly so Santa isn’t disappointed in the decorations which will herald his arrival tonight. I, too, need to impress Santa, since my decorations are a little lame this year, so, I’m off now to get dinner done and over with and head to bed early, long before his anticipated arrival.  Santa will find some cookies and strawberry milk and a few handfuls of carrots for the reindeer at the Schaub house.

There’s no harm in still believing, right?

Backward, turn backward, time in your flight; make me a child again … just for tonight. ~ Elizabeth Akers Allen

Well today is the official first day of Winter, though you wouldn’t know it … not that I am complaining mind you. While the tail end of December would usually find a Michigander swiping snowflakes off their nose and creating a pathway with a booted foot or large snow shovel, we are enjoying Spring-like temps once again.

When I left for my walk on this murky morning, it was 50 degrees. I was happy, because, after a solid day of rain yesterday, it promised to dawn dry this morning.  It was a different story, once I got suited up and outside though, as there was a fine mist and it was a mite foggy too.  Well, I had my heart set on getting to that 700-miles-walked goal, so I just went out anyway.  But, walking in the rain has never been my shtick and, though 50 degrees was mild, I felt a little silly muddling along in the puddles for the sake of a personal triumph, when we have another nine days left in 2015.

So, no slacking on my part, just turning back toward home and hoping for better weather tomorrow, along with a vow to keep soldiering on.

This pair of nutcrackers are the Christmas decorations on a porch on Emmons Boulevard – since I took the picture last week, they now are front and center in the garden, guarding the front door with their grinless and stalwart gaze.

Just like this vintage picture above, I’ve been feeling a mite nostalgic these days.

Well, there’s nothing wrong with that – after all, that’s what the holidays should do – evoke a lot of nice memories from yesteryear, as well as creating beautiful moments today to cherish later.

Last night I was listening to WJR’s 50^th annual Christmas sing.  Members of the radio station’s staff gathered at Campus Martius in downtown Detroit to sing Christmas carols.  Their group, plus the large crowd, were not exactly like those traditional Victorian carolers, but, the somewhat off-tune voices made me a little nostalgic nonetheless, since that singalong triggered a few nice memories from my past.

For years, as a member of a Brownie troop, I’d pin a big sparkly Christmas corsage on my drab-looking uniform and accompany my fellow Brownies to entertain the seniors at the local nursing homes. As a student who attended the Ontario Conservatory of Music, all of its pupils practiced long hours together on their various instruments, in order to give polished holiday recitals also at local nursing homes during the holidays.  I could play a mean “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” on my accordion back in the day.

I know I often take a fond lookback at memories, Christmas or otherwise, in this blog. Many of those fine moments center around my family … and food.  Often, just a whiff of a particular food will evoke some pleasant thoughts – look at the apple and cinnamon smell story I told you last week.

I was in Meijer a few weeks ago picking up a few items and getting my walk in around the store. I resisted the urge later that day to write a post about how the trending gifts for kids this year seemed to be all Star Wars related.  With fondness, I remember getting a new dolly and a wardrobe for her every Christmas; later, when I was older, it was Barbie and friends and their outfits and accessories.  Sometimes, there was a make-believe shopping cart or an Easy Bake oven to pretend you were like Mommy.  Back then, little boys coveted trucks or trains or a stick horse to play “Cowboys and Indians” and getting those types of gifts made them giddy.  So, lightsabers and LEGO Star Wars Death Star™ Final Duel toys just don’t seem very Christmassy to me.

But enough of me – I sometimes think that I belong in another era and that I’d like to jump off this world as it spins too fast for me.

That same day I was in Meijer, I decided to pick up a few treats to enjoy at the holidays. I don’t eat sweets anymore, but I usually pick up a quart of custardy-rich eggnog and get a few boxes of Jell-O pudding in their limited-edition holiday flavors.

But first, I needed to pick up a can of Pam cooking oil spray to coat my new snow shovel which I christened in that freak snow storm we had back on November 21^st.  It was a little frustrating when the snow refused to leave the blade, and, then I remembered an old trick of spraying Pam cooking oil on the blade and the snow will slide right off.

I strolled over to the baking section where I saw almost everything was on sale. I snagged a bag of mini marshmallows to make up some ambrosia salad, and noticed the raisins were on sale for a song, so I tucked a few boxes in the crook of my arm because I eat oatmeal with raisins every morning for breakfast.

Next, I hustled over to the cooking oils and sprays where I quickly perused the Pam … it used to be simple, one type of cooking oil spray, but now it comes in butter spray as well as oils like coconut, canola and olive. Sighing, I reached for a can, when a woman came rushing up next to me and said “oh good – they’ve still got plenty of Pam because they’re on sale you know?”  I said “I didn’t know ‘til now and I just needed one can” whereupon she proceeded to tell me, somewhat breathlessly, just how many batches of cookies, and what types, she would be making over the next several weeks.  I didn’t want to be rude, so I smiled and said “sounds delicious – your family is lucky they have you” and then she asked what I would be baking.  “Um,” I stammered, while thinking I was no match for this Martha Stewart wannabe.  I found myself blurting out “oatmeal raisin cookies” which truthfully sounded a little lame next to her Christmas cookie aspirations.    She just said “that’s nice” and which condescending statement left me feeling like I was truly devoid of any domestic genes in my body.

I started to walk away, when she saw the marshmallows peeking out from between the boxes of raisins which I still cradled in my forearm. She decided to try a cooking conversation again and pointedly asked “what do you do with the marshmallows?” as she gestured with her finger at them.  I just blurted out “Rice Crispy Treat Christmas wreaths for my little boy” crossing my fingers that the answer pacified her, and then I said “gotta go – happy holidays to you.”  So, I left the conversation somewhat dejected and feeling inadequate as a cook, which is basically how I feel most of the time, which is why I don’t subject myself to heavy lifting in the baking or cooking department.

I returned to the pudding section where I forgot all about the holiday Jell-O flavors after I spied a box of tapioca pudding. Suddenly, I had a colossal craving for that creamy taste and imagined what a special treat it would be on a cold, blustery and snowy Winter day when I was hunkered down in the house.  I checked the ingredients and the preparation … it looked easy enough, so I snatched up that box of tapioca beads in a heartbeat.  What fond memories I have of a glass dessert dish filled with “fish eyes and glue” with a red or green maraschino cherry on top.

To me, pudding is like comfort food. My mom used to make rice pudding that’d be brimming with raisins and full of spices, or, perhaps there was bread pudding, with its delicious scent wafting through the house while it was baking as I came through the door after school or work.  One special treat about being an only child is that you always get handed a tablespoon to finish up the dregs of pudding in the saucepan; you always get to lick the beaters; or, my personal favorite … you get to enjoy the crispy au gratin crust on baked macaroni or shepherd’s pie that Mom peeled off and slapped on a dish and said “blow on it first before you eat it.”  Yup, the pure joy of no siblings clamoring for these goodies, so there was no need to share.  It is a wonder I was not a roly-poly child.

Today, I awoke to sidewalks and streets filled with crispy precipitation. The reports of traffic incidents on black ice-slickened side streets and expressways kept me on the inside looking out – why risk walking on icy, snow-encrusted sidewalks?

I decided that today was the day to make that tapioca pudding.

I gathered my ingredients together, salivating at the thought of that creamy goodness. Perhaps I would segregate one serving for tomorrow and eat the rest of the pudding out of the pot … just like old times.

I followed the instructions to the letter, and soon that intoxicating smell of vanilla extract filled the air with a wonderful aroma. But, something went terribly wrong when my tablespoon was sticking straight up in the saucepan, without any assistance from me.  The pearls were a little gummy and the pudding was the consistency of wallpaper paste.  I shook my head in disbelief.

Tomorrow, I’ll strain out the gooey “eyes” and use the pudding to seal down those pesky wallpaper seams that threaten to separate and try to curl up.

I’ve learned my lesson … next time I’ll leave the box at the store and the memories in my mind.

This morning was a rude reminder that we are nearing the first day of Winter, and, that despite being an average of 25 degrees above normal the past few weeks, Mother Nature likes to show you she is in charge.

Since it was at the freezing mark when I left for a walk, I switched to a down parka and added a scarf to my clothing repertoire, but I was still cold and found myself walking at a brisker pace than usual.

I noted, as I walked down Emmons Boulevard, that the pooches going for their respective promenades were sporting cold-weather garb. I saw a few dapper-looking hounds in plaid flannel jackets, cinched tight at the belly – they looked a little uncomfortable in my opinion, kind of like how you feel in tight jeans, where you want to unfasten the snap – ahhh, that’s much better.

Then there were some smaller dogs encased in warm, woolen sweaters, and not the ugly Christmas sweater variety. I cannot believe the story on the news today that ugly Christmas sweaters for dogs are a hot item this year – just what man’s best friend needs, a green-and-red sweater emblazoned with “Feliz Navidog”.  At least a half-dozen dogs I passed on my walk were decked out in their finery.  Only one dog was just relying on his fur for warmth, while looking with disdain at his doggie counterparts, those namby-pambies with their toasty togs.  Well, that’s because he was a large pit bull terrier, wearing a muzzle.  Well, ‘nuff said.

I love the holiday décor on the stately homes on Emmons Boulevard and I’ve taken many pictures over the last week. I hope to share them in future posts as we enter Christmas week.  One house near the railroad tracks has quite an assortment of inflatable ornaments that fill the entire front lawn of their home.  I really like Mrs. and Mrs. Snowman pictured above.  They are as tall as the roof at this home.  Their presence made me wonder if kids are missing the snow and the opportunities to build snowmen, pitch snowballs and make snow angels … perhaps they are content to get their snowman fix by watching “Frosty the Snowman” on TV.

I added another four miles to my total and am keeping the (snow)ball rolling as I strive to get to 700 miles, which hopefully is in the very near future. That feat of my feet will make me, just like Frosty, a very happy soul.

You already know my affinity for my feathered friends – I talk it about it enough in my blog posts. The ducks quackin’ me up as they play in the Creek, the sweet warbling on a sunny Summer day, or even the cheeping I hear up high in a tall tree on a wintry morning.  These sounds cannot help but make me feel good and I know that is all is right in my world.

This morning, with its not-quite-seasonal temps, dawned in a splash of color across the sky. I was grateful that it was not rainy like Monday morning, so I got ready quickly to scoot out the door … just in case Mother Nature changed her mind.  On cue, just like a choir serenading its congregation, the birdie babble greeted me as I walked out the door.  This time, it was coming from my neighbor Marge’s house where birds of a feather cluster around her many feeders.

And, here I am, all these hours later, still thinking about birds – in fact, I’m surrounded by them here in the kitchen. There are ducks aplenty on the corner cabinet, cardinals and blue jay trivets on the wall, mom and pop rooster grace the top of the fridge and a slew of wild ducks parade along the tip tops of the cupboards.  They are ceramic, and a little dusty … but I digress.

I am sitting at my computer and the sweet strains of Christmas music are in the background. I only wanted to hear the news – on one station was a basketball game, and soon the hubbub of still another debate took over the airwaves.  So, instead, I switched the stations, and Christmas music has filled the kitchen tonight.

Buddy, my canary, is singing to the songs – the slow ones he usually passes up and goes for a nibble of canary food, toasted bagel or lettuce, or perhaps a sip of water to wet his pipes and gear him up for the next song. I could call him Ba-ba-Buddy as he sings in harmony with Bing’s bass-baritone – personally, I think Buddy loves the birdsong in the background more than the actual crooning in “White Christmas”.

He also really gets into “Sleigh Ride” with the whinny of the horse at the very end and “The Twelve Days of Christmas” … but, after all, that’s a song mostly about his brethren.

Buddy is a bird filled with joy and he fills the kitchen with his song all day long as I tap tap tap away over here on the keyboard. If the phone rings, singing accompanies my conversation and callers cannot help but remark on how happy he is.

It was five years ago today Buddy came to this house. He was a little nervous when he first got here, probably because of the big ol’ human instead of his brothers and sisters who all shared a cage at Feed-Rite Pet Shop.  He’d plop right into his canary dish to eat, until I told him that was uncouth, and there was no one else he needed to share with.  He doesn’t always listen though as you see above.

When Buddy was first here, he used to go to sleep every night after dinner because the pet shop closed promptly, with lights out, every night at 7:00 p.m. The first few weeks, I’d look over and see heavy eyes, then soon thereafter his mop-top head was tucked underneath his wing and he was standing on one leg fast asleep.  Buddy eventually stopped going to bed with the chickens and began to enjoy his high seat on the counter where he will check out what’s happening and get into the occasional mischief, all the while being loved and spoiled like crazy.  If I leave the kitchen and walk down the hall, I am serenaded when I come back into the room again.

To me Buddy looks and acts as if he is perpetually smiling … a bird so full of joy it is spilling over and he puts me in a better frame of mind – every day, and in every way.

A bird doesn’t sing because it has an answer. It sings because it has a song. ~Maya Angelou

… a shake.

So, how’s that holiday baking coming along? It sure is hard to spend the weekend inside baking, when the weather outside is so enjoyable, isn’t it?

The alarm rang – oh, such a shrill noise in the dark room. Quickly I reached over to silence it.  Ugh … it felt like I just went to bed.  Outside, it was drizzling; I could hear it on the patio roof.  I got up anyway, deciding it might stop and I could still salvage my Sunday stroll.  As I was eating breakfast and catching up on the news of the day, which alternated between the climax of the climate talks and the weather events that were happening right here in our own backyard, I heard them say the temperature was in the low 50s.  Wow … mid-December here in Southeast Michigan.  Perhaps I should pinch myself?  We broke records yesterday and today for our warm weekend.   As for today, the previous record of 60 degrees was 134 years ago, way back in 1881.

It sure is hard to think that far back – or maybe not, as you’ll see below.

The drizzle stopped just as I drained my cup of coffee, but dawn had not arrived yet. I waited and then went to the front door to peruse the peephole – no rain, no fog, so I was good to go.

I suited up and made a mad dash out the door … sure, there were a few sprinkles landing in the puddles, but I might have been dashing through the snow in other years on December 13^th, so I was not going to complain.

I didn’t venture to Council Point Park, but instead took my trek to the tracks and back. Along the way, the sprinkles continued, but not enough to turn around and head home.  I was enjoying the scent of the tall pine tree near the footbridge connecting the two cities, and that heady scent continued in my nostrils long after I was in Wyandotte.

That is … until it was replaced with the aroma of cinnamon and apples which appeared to be wafting from the house where the windows were up and the screen was visible. It instantly evoked memories of apple treats made with love by my mom.  There was her hot apple pie with a thin slice of cheddar cheese melting on top, or, her aromatic apple-dapple cake.  And, I would be remiss if I didn’t mention Mom’s extra-special, hot gingerbread cake with warm applesauce infused with cinnamon and nutmeg with a dollop of whipped cream on top.

Oh, how I wanted to linger, and have the scent envelope my clothes so I could keep on enjoying their treat vicariously, that is, until I shed my coat and hat when I returned home. But, alas … I decided to move on, lest they think I was loitering.

I got to the tracks, made a quick about-face, and started on my trip home. Of course, I had to pass the delicious-smelling house once again.  My produce bin of crisp apples in the fridge at home suddenly lost their appeal.  Sure, it is easy to say you have given up sweets, like I have – but, that is because I don’t deal with that awesome smell of baked goodies filling up the kitchen and beckoning you to sample them.

The rest of the way home, I continued to enjoy those delicious smells that had clung to my clothes in the damp morning air.

For many years, our neighbors across the street had a huge apple tree, and every Fall we became the lucky recipients of apples. The tree yielded many apples, some which dropped to the ground, and others that were reachable only with a tall ladder whereupon the branches were whacked with a broom to get the apples to shake loose from the tree.  Both Mrs. Elmore, and my mom, would use an apple corer to get the most out of the harvest.  My mom would then slice apples until her hands cramped up.   Those occasional badly blemished apples were loaded into a plastic bag and toted to work where I gave them to one of my bosses – no, he was not a bad apple, but his wife had a horse, and that was a nice treat for him.

A whole lotta shakin’ yielded a lot of apples from the apple tree once upon a time. The Elmores are long gone, as is my mom, but the old apple tree remains.

This weekend, there was a whole lot of shakin’ going on with my own tree … my family tree, that is. Quite unexpectantly, a good friend of mine, Carol McCrellias, whom I’ve written a few posts about, delved into my ancestors on my mom’s side.  To our surprise, she discovered we are distant cousins from way back.  It seems my 9^th great-grandfather, Louis Pinard, is also her 7^th great-grandfather.  She traced everyone back and discovered this fact … who knew?

I’ve known Carol for over four decades, and now it seems we are related. Cookie cutter images – we are not; long-time friends – we are.  You know I want to comment now that “it’s a small world”, but I’ll leave you with this thought instead:

Family faces are magic mirrors. Looking at people who belong to us, we see the past, present and future.  ~ Gail Lumet Buckley

[Image by photographer Jenna Beekhuis at Unsplash]

When I left on my walk this morning, it felt and looked just like a Spring day. The sky was a beautiful blue and the grass was just as green and lush as it is in April.  Up in the trees, the birds were twittering and that sweet birdsong put me in high spirits as I walked along.  In fact, if it were not for the Christmas decorations festooning homeowners’ property, you’d  never know it was December here in Southeast Michigan.

Even the Siberian husky that was literally hanging out of a pickup truck, tongue lolling and front paws placed on the top of the rolled-down window, knew it was not your usual December. He loves the snow and cold weather, but he sure was enjoying that ride with his master.

But the funniest item to cross my path on this morning’s walk, was Rudolph going for a road trip. No, of course he wasn’t sitting in the back seat of a vehicle, all buckled up and wearing his shades, nor was he was pulling that vehicle with seven other reindeer.

Well what did I see then?

A compact car passed me while I was walking down the Boulevard – it had a large, red, fuzzy ball on the front grille and a pair of antlers mounted on each side window. It was pretty clear to me that Rudolph with his nose so bright was taking a road trip.

The holidays are full of mirth and merriment, so why not?

Amused by this holiday automobile, I waved “hi” but the sun was strong and the driver was fiddling with the visor and didn’t see me walking along. I’m positive this is the same bright-red compact car that had devil horns on either side just in time for Halloween.

The first time I heard of decorating your vehicle was a long-gone neighbor whose occupation was a visiting nurse. From Thanksgiving to Christmas Day, in an effort to cheer her homebound patients, she attached a beribboned wreath made of pine boughs to the front grille of her vehicle.  She wore a pair of felt antlers and a red fuzzy nose to greet her patients – some were youngsters, some were seniors and all were cheered up by her presence.

If you’ve already memorized the warning “do not veer for deer”, maybe the new trend is to “steer with your deer” … oh deer, it’s just too much sometimes!

Having had my morning chuckle from Rudolph’s road trip, I resumed my own road trip, adding another four miles to my total as I continue to stride and strive for 700 miles walked this year.