WALKIN', WRITIN', WIT & WHIMSY

The ideas for this post have been simmering on a back burner in my noggin for about a month now.

That’s because I had decided I really should commemorate the second anniversary of my WordPress blog “Walkin’, Writin’, Wit & Whimsy” which I began on February 11, 2013.

As to today’s post, I had a few ideas in mind and several catchy headlines as well. I debated – shall I entitle it “Words with Friends” or “Noodling Around” ? Well, I finally settled on “Alphabet Soup” because eating Campbell’s Alphabet Soup was one of the first ways I learned to create words. The rest is just history.

Before I ever walked into kindergarten, I had several years of schooling under my belt, courtesy of my parents – mostly my mom. I don’t remember there ever being a school program called preschool per se back in the late 50s. I know I never attended preschool; I started kindergarten at age five in September 1961.

But my mom taught me a wealth of information about the three Rs long before I started my formal education via daily afternoon reading, writing and math sessions.

As to readin’, well – both my parents were avid readers, and I would sit alongside them on a small chair, legs straight out in front as they didn’t yet touch the ground. My head would be bent over while reading one of my “Golden Books” which I kept in my book basket next to my chair, while my folks would be immersed in a newspaper or a paperback. Growing up it was a little like being in a library sometimes in the living room at our house.

As to writin’, Mom expanded my vocabulary by writing out a daily word list every afternoon. I had to learn that group of words and how to spell them. Sometimes she’d make it even tougher and I’d have to learn synonyms or antonyms for each word on my vocabulary and spelling list.

And, it was my mom that really readied me for school by teaching me ‘rithmetic by using matchsticks or an abacus, and … occasionally, even candy-covered chocolates called “Smarties”, to learn math fundamentals.

There was clearly no rest for the weary.

But her diligence paid off once I started school. I was reading and writing above my grade level and I have my mom to thank for that.

As to words – even though I like throwing an unusual word in a post every so often, I am not as committed to learning new vocabulary words as my boss. Being a wordsmith has been a hobby of his since his youth when his father forced him and his brothers to memorize pages out of “The Oxford English Dictionary”. To this day, Robb goes out of his way to use the most arcane and even archaic words in his writing and speech.

I like the Merriam-Webster site to learn new words and take their word quizzes. Sometimes I’ll shoot over to that site and give it a whirl when I have a few minutes, or, I like to check out their trending word of the day to see if I know the definition.

At year-end, alot of organizations compile and circulate lists of words . I get a kick out of perusing the year’s most popular, or overused and abused, or outrageous words.

I usually pick up a new word or two from my college alma mater, Wayne State University, whose WSU Word Warriors annually circulates their chosen list of words that should be re-introduced into our spoken and written language. For example, I learned that one of my favorite pastimes was to “obambulate”. Well “obambulate” is something I try to do as much as possible and document it in this forum. Hint … it has nothing to do with our 44th president. It simply means to walk about.

The Word Warriors suggested another word, which I’m dying to use, but haven’t had the occasion yet. That word is “flapdoodle”, which is a fun word meaning nonsense (though it sounds more like a surly rooster). It’s kind of hard to insert “flapdoodle” into a conversation around the proverbial water cooler. Maybe it is true that you can teach an old dog new tricks … if you become an opsimath, then you will study and learn new things in your golden years.

The most I learned about new words, English or otherwise, was when I studied French through the years. Immersed in a foreign language, I learned alot about our own English language, especially grammar, and I had a class where we spoke no English at all for two semesters. I hardly remember much French now though – you really have to use it on a regular basis and besides … I never got the hang of trilling my Rs.

Alot of new words are to be gleaned by reading. I used to read a book a week back when I commuted to school and to work in Detroit by bus for some three decades. I was a literature minor in college and I also took the bus while attending school, so reading and riding were synonymous for me.

Now that e-readers and their digital libraries are so popular today, turning the pages of a real book in your hand may one day be a distant memory. It is difficult now to even remember the joy of being in a book-of-the-month club, and the privileges of getting best sellers “hot off the press”. I once had a co-worker who belonged to Doubleday book club and she ordered hard-cover books to arrive at her home as soon as they were published. I think she was either a speed reader or she just immersed herself so completely into a book that she would not tear herself away from it until she reached the last page. With today’s e-readers, it seems incomprehensible to people that they would anxiously wait on the mailman to deliver a hot new bestseller to their door. My co-worker Debbie prided herself on her extensive hard-cover library. My mom and I subscribed to alot of magazines at that time, so we exchanged these for a read of each of Debbie’s hard-cover books.

Now that I’m not riding the bus, and working from home, I’ve fallen way behind in my reading. I’ve let all the magazine subscriptions lapse … except AARP. I cancelled the newspaper after my mom passed away as I had never read the paper – she would read it cover to cover daily. I even tried the e-edition, but having my eyes darting from side-to-side to read the pdf format was too much effort. I don’t even get the local paper anymore. Instead I get my news tidbits on the all-news radio station and the rest of the news stories from the national or local internet sites.

By not reading as much printed matter anymore, it made me wonder how I would keep my vocabulary “up” when I transitioned from working to retirement. But, since I started my blog two years ago, I’ve written 525 posts to date. I often muse how I have come up with that much chatter; I guess I’m certainly not at a loss for words.

I’ve learned alot of words and their meanings since writing a blog. In fact, some words, expressions or phrases that I THOUGHT I KNEW, it turns out I was badly mistaken. I might have misspoken many times through the years. Oops!! I only thought I was using the word correctly beforehand. Thus, the Merriam-Webster online dictionary has become my friend so I ensure I’m using the proper word, or, occasionally to fact check something that just doesn’t look right. Occasionally I even check out “Urban Dictionary” – there I often find I am waaaaaaaaaaaaaaay off base and have to abandon my chosen word (much as I like it) and find another word.

My friend Marge recently got a new dog – a Chihuahua mix. I quipped to her that I had to look up the word “Chihuahua” in the dictionary to ensure that the spellcheck did not go wacky and give it an off-the-wall spelling when I wrote her an e-mail about her dog Woody. I said “when you’re young people encourage you to look up how to spell words in the dictionary … query: how can you do that if you don’t have a clue how to spell it?”

This blog has been a real learning experience for me – from my fledgling efforts to the longer posts I write like today’s. Who knew all those years ago after Mom would say “look at your spoon Linda – can you form a word?” That *&^% soup got cold but I learned alot of new vocabulary words that way back in the day.

As to the soup aspect, as I said this blog post idea had been simmering for a while. I added some words, and thoughts along the way – now it’s finished. Sit down a spell and I hope you enjoy it.

Today began a new era for this wanderer – I have a walking partner besides just my shadow.

My friend and neighbor Marge’s daughter has just returned to Michigan after spending a year and a half in Phoenix where the warm and sunny days make it easy to enjoy a year-round walking regimen.

Kim was born and raised in Michigan, so she is familiar with the Winters here in “The Mitten”. After she settled in, she was eager to resume her walking regimen before having to start from square one again in the Spring to avoid shin splints from overdoing it.

So, off we went … two souls, traversing the snowy streets and braving the cold to get a little exercise, when we both could have been fast asleep in our cozy beds in our respective homes.

Yesterday’s post reflected how the signs of Spring, and even Summer, were lurking in the aisles at Meijer. Just the sight of the bright-yellow and green Miracle-Gro canisters and the Burpee burpless cuke seed packages had me hankering for the long, sun-filled days of Summer. In reality, these Summery items taunt us since unfortunately here we are simply existing day-to-day, immersed in a snowy and frigid February.

I was eager to show Kim my favorite walking place, so as we headed out with no particular destination in mind, we decided Council Point Park was a good choice. Sadly, our trip there, however, was a reminder of how the Winter languishes on and the Park was looking a little unloved and not so accommodating for its visitors.

For all our efforts, after picking our way around the neighborhood’s slick ice, pitted sidewalks and slushy streets, we were greeted by huge masses of snow, but, undaunted by all those frozen crystals, we looked at one another and said “let’s do it” – so, in tandem we marched on, high-steppin’ over nearly two-foot high snow piles where the wind had swirled and whirled the white stuff into snow dunes.

I figured at least the parking lot would be plowed and we could walk some loops there, unencumbered by snowdrifts, ice or cars … but the parking lot had a plethora of snow too.

It was very pretty, but not so practical for walking. Well, silly us, because we thought it would be very easy to follow the footsteps of those who tread there before us. Well, we were sadly mistaken. The longer we walked in the deep snow, where the trail would usually be, the harder the journey became, and we were getting winded (especially yours truly … ahem … the more senior of the duo).

We ended up surrendering and turning around, to double-back over our same tracks made just a few minutes earlier, muttering from frozen lips that we wouldn’t make that mistake again any time soon. “See ya in March or April” I called out as we huffed and puffed, clambering over the remaining high snow banks, before we eventually headed home. While we await better weather, pictured above is my collage of the gateway to Council Point Park during each of the four seasons. I’m even ready for the onslaught of dandelions. Well, a few more calendar pages to turn, and days to “X” out and suddenly we’re there.

We managed to rack up three miles and came home needing to have a second breakfast, and maybe even a nap, before accomplishing anything meaningful on our respective Saturday agendas.

now I have to reset the car clock again.

Winter woes reached an all-time low yesterday when I went out for my daily trudge to run the car. I suited up mightily since the actual temps were in the sub-zero category and it was still early, not that the sun was going to cast many warming rays on me anyway had I waited.

Feeling overburdened by my bulky down coat, I stood on one leg like a flamingo while putting on my high boots with the heavy lug soles … groan … lifting one foot, then the other. That accomplished, on the every-so-tiny cellarway landing, I slid my mitts on and then started to open the screen door and prepare to head out onto the frozen tundra.

Big problem – the screen door was frozen to the stoop. Well, that was a first …

Three hard pushes to no avail. I hesitated to push with all my might lest the door and me go flying and end up face down in the snow. Finally it opened. Whew!

But I needn’t have been so aggressive in my efforts to hightail it to the garage, for when I got inside the car and turned the key, the car battery was dead. It had made several gurgly sounds the last few weeks when I started ‘er up leading me to believe something wasn’t right but I took it for a little spin last week and it seemed better. The battery was not even three years old. Sigh.

I came in and reversed all the clothes piling-on process and called my go-to auto repair shop, not my auto club, and asked if someone could come Friday morning with the portable jumper. The portable jumper is necessary since there is only two inches between either side of the car and the garage frame and absolutely no room to move in the garage to access the battery. They said they’d send Leo as he’s been here several times when my Regal had electrical issues galore.

So, I was dressed and similarly suited up and ready to receive visitors at 8:00 a.m. this morning. I thought I’d try the side door so I could run out when I heard Leo pull up in the driveway. Again – frozen to the cement and this time it was unmovable. Nice! I ran to the front door, realizing I was going to have to be rescued at the side door since I was afraid pushing the door much harder on my side would tear the door from its hinges.

Leo arrived and he tugged a few times and rescued this poor damsel in distress so she didn’t have to come back into the living room in snowy boots. He told me to spread table salt on the pesky door stoop and the ice would melt quickly.

He assured me before we opened the garage door that all this week’s snow shoveling had worn him to the bone and he went to bed a few nights without eating dinner so for sure it would be a cinch for him to slither to the very back of the garage. Not so … he could flatten his body enough and thus had to push car out through the narrow door. He assured me he parked his van at the end of the driveway so the car would not travel into the street. Gulp. I watched as he put the car in neutral and it slowly coasted out of the garage on its own volition. He caught it in time, and zapped it. Voila … it started up right away. Whew!

He told me to drive the heck out of my car or else the battery would go dead again. I didn’t like those odds since I don’t like to drive in the Winter time, so, I drove down to the repair shop and got a new battery installed, thus thwarting any new Polar Vortex events down the pipeline wreaking havoc with the car … or my nerves.

I glanced at the car clock as I pulled out from the auto repair shop – oh for goodness sake – wrong, wrong, wrong! You might recall I dallied for 2 ½ years after the last new battery was installed to re-set the car clock, finally prevailing upon the dealership when I took the car in for the ignition switch issue in November. Now it is messed up again, thus I jinxed the battery by changing the car clock to the correct time.

Next, I went to Meijer to buy table salt and Prestone Ice Melt determined to make the door stoop smooth as a baby’s bottom instead of mounded up with bumpy ice. The people behind me at the U-scan were eyeing my purchase of six boxes of salt and probably thought I must eat alot of French fries.

Throughout Meijer the holiday of love was being celebrated – chocolate Valentine candy was everywhere. I gave up sweets five years ago, yet those gaily wrapped packages brimming with chocolate goodness beckoned me with their “come hither” look. I passed them by without batting an eye, though that chocolatey goodness would have assuaged this long week of travails and could have been downed in a heartbeat.

While looking for some ice melt product (a/k/a Plan “B” in case the Morton Salt didn’t do the trick). I noticed that once again Meijer was rushing the seasons just a bit. The shelves seem to bely how bitter cold the temps are, how high the snow is and just how ready we are to move into Spring. Instead of Winter products like shovels and snow melt pellets, it was birdbaths and Burpee seed packets. Rows and rows of gardening gloves and kneeling pads were across from the bug and weed sprays.

Who whispered in these fine folks’ collective ears that soon Spring would arrive?

Well, it wasn’t the Groundhog – that’s for sure.

On January 1st, I might have sagely proclaimed that I would walk more and write more in the year 2015 … but, it seems I might have been all talk, and not so much action.

The walks have been infrequent and the posts have sloooowwwed to a crawl.

Well, ‘tis the season, and, though I had good intentions, I figured once Mother Nature started cranking up the snow machine, that would put the kibosh on the walks. Ol’ Mom Nature has really had her way with us this week, and, even the Groundhog was flummoxed by the snowflakes and declared Winter ain’t over! We knew that already.

So pounding the pavement has taken a back seat, as has pounding the keyboard for pleasure.

Yes, perhaps I have been pounding the keys too much all these years, though not all for fun stuff like my blog posts.

Do you ever stop to think just how many letters your fingers glide over during a day of traversing the keyboard?

With a laptop, just a feathery little touch is needed as your fingers fly across the low, flat keys, while those ideas are streaming directly from your brain to your fingertips.

For those of you who used a typewriter back in the day, do you feel you have the same rhythm typing on a computer keyboard, especially a laptop, that you enjoyed while hammering out a document on a non-electric typewriter?

No way!!

Once you had that cadence going and your fingers were in tune with your old Royal typewriter, too bad you had to break the rhythm at the end of the sentence to hit the carriage return. (Younger readers are scratching their head saying “what’s a carriage return?”) It was a chance to get one-on-one with the machine … the pings of the keys striking the foolscap paper, the bell signaling the end of the line, smacking the carriage return and when the typewriter jumped up every time you hit the “Shift” key … now, those were the sounds of the old portable typewriter.

Well, I’m here to tell you that I’ve pounded many a typewriter in my day, starting with college term papers. Late at night, down in the basement, typing away on the old portable Royal, left over from my mom’s business school days, I’d hope I guessed right on the amount of space to leave for the footnotes during a book report. I’d be pounding away so hard that the typewriter cover, which flipped back like a suitcase lid, would be bouncing up and down on the table.

I remember wanting to kick myself for hitting a stray key and making a mistake, because out came this chalky white paper which you had to position just so to take the offending letter off your page. If you couldn’t remove it, you had to type the page over. Oh, the horror of it all.

I’ve written before that all of the classes I ever had in all my school years, the typing class has probably proven to be the most useful. That was in ninth grade and big rings were all the fashion – the more rings you could wear, the better. I wonder how we waved at one another without our hands being weighed down? Our old school marm typing teacher walked around the class to ensure all the girls removed their rings before positioning their hands on the “home keys”. Then we had to type. Soon, all you heard was the clickety-clack of keys being pushed down and the shrill ring signaling the end of the line and a hand swiping the carriage return bar back to the other side of the typewriter. There was no wraparound text on that old Royal typewriter. I wonder if we had lessons from Mrs. Miller on how to type on carbon paper, also a joy back in the day.

Yup, it was the good old days for sure.

Today, I bring up the subject of typing and pounding the keys because I had to return to the immigration office to have my fingerprints retaken so that my green card could be processed. You might recall I went there in mid-October for my fingerprints, signature and picture to be digitally taken to renew my green card. My electronic fingerprints were no good and we had to resort to the good, old-fashioned ink fingerprints like the police use. Each digit, then a thumb on each hand, then all four digits together … wow. And then a good hand scrubbing to get rid of the ink on my fingers and under my nails

I got a notice – the fingerprints were not clear. I have no discernible prints because I have been typing for eons – pounding a typewriter all through college and then in the workplace, all the way through to the early 90s when I switched over and used my first computer. And, it’s been about 23 years on a computer keyboard.

I now use a laptop and am dismayed to see on the keyboard, not yet six months old, there are black blank keys for the letters “E”, “S” and “T” … I’ve clearly worn them out and the key is bare. Good thing I was not absent the day Ms. Miller told us how to sit at the typewriter … back straight, always place your fingers on the home keys … then type.

I think I have two choices here – become a U.S. citizen or use voice recognition software, because at this rate, if I keep up the fast and furious typing, when I return in ten years to renew the card again, my fingers will be bloody stumps and my fingerprints forevermore will be lost.

The sound of snow blowers keeps looping incessantly. The brigade of blowers has infiltrated the neighborhood noises, otherwise muffled somewhat by the snow. Meanwhile the snow just keeps comin’ and comin’ like there is no tomorrow. Someone made Mother Nature angry I guess and she felt she had to super-size the snow.

I am happy to have a home and be on the inside looking out, just as complacent and comfortable as this teddy bear pictured above. I sure pity the people who hefted shovelful after shovelful of snow and might just fall asleep from all that exercise at a crucial point in tonight’s big game – beware of landing face first in your bowl of guacamole dip.

The traffic reporters and weather forecasters have been cautioning everyone to stay in and stay off the road. Most cities have declared a state of emergency and you can’t park your car on the street. Most of the schools in our tri-county area are closed tomorrow. On the weather sites I follow on Facebook, in the comments section there is much rejoicing over this snow event and some are asking for even more snow. Meanwhile, I’m tapping my foot, hoping the end is in sight soon. I’m not a fan of the white stuff, despite my heritage.

I skipped a walk, and caught up on my sleep instead, though it was pretty out and might have made for a few good pictures. I decided with all that extra energy, and, since I was hunkered down in the house anyway, I was going to tackle a task I’ve put off for forever it seems.

I know there is not a domestic bone in my body, and if my mother is looking down she is clucking her tongue and saying “well, I told you so …” but cooking and cleaning are not my strongpoints.

Neither is hand sewing.

Well, darn it – I just hate to mend or sew by hand. I have never had the patience for it. But, I had amassed a pile of clothes with missing buttons and a few open seams. Plus, there was the pair of silly sweatpants from the debacle where the string gave way and I nearly lost my pants on the third loop at Council Point Park about a year and a half ago. Oops.

So, I decided that today would be the day to tackle those sewing tasks.

When I took Home Economics class, way back in 8th grade, that class was supposed to prepare us girls to be future homemakers. We learned how to prepare such delicacies as cheesy weenies and the perfect grilled cheese (really?!). We also learned how to iron a man’s shirt and we used a pattern to sew an apron and a simple shift dress. So much for life skills back in the late 60s translating into a modern-day world. But Home Ec was a mandatory class for girls, and the boys had to take shop class.

Our teacher, who had the patience of Job, gave us hands-on lessons on how to thread a needle and do different types of stitches for hand sewing before we ever sat down at the sewing machine. My efforts were abysmal – it seemed I was all fingers … “no Linda, like this” our kindly teacher would coax (probably thinking ‘is this child uncoordinated or what?’).

In between fiddling around with sliding cheese in between pastry-wrapped wieners, I managed to complete two articles of clothing. My mom wore the apron, but that dress was destined for the rag bag. I got a “C-” on the project as I didn’t quite get the hang of “darts” and quite frankly, that spelled the demise of that dress.

But, back in the 70s they did not make clothes for tall girls. I understand my paternal grandmother was very tall – but those genes skipped a generation. My father was 5 feet, 3 inches tall and my mom’s parents were very short. My mom was a mere 5 feet, 2 inches tall. When I went out with my parents, even as a young child, people invariably asked where I came from. The standard response by my parents was “the postie”, which, expression eventually morphed into the American equivalent, “the mailman” once we moved to the States in 1966.

By the time I was a teen, I was 5 feet 9 inches tall and had about a 34-inch inseam. Jeans came in long lengths, so that worked, especially if you wanted them long enough so that you nearly walked on them. But for dress pants, I did not want to look like I was waiting for the floods and bare my ankles for all to see, or have my jackets not reach my wrist bones and look like my clothes belonged to a little sister, so I was forced to sharpen up my clothes-making skills.

To help launch my newfound sewing ambition and to enhance my wardrobe, my parents bought me a sewing machine and console for Christmas the following year. Soon, I began churning out simple pants and blazers that fit perfectly. However, all the hand sewing was accomplished by my mom. I could not baste on the machine either and setting in sleeves was a joke, so she would sew in the sleeves or do the gathering for ruffles on dresses to ensure that they fit properly. I’d work on the blazer and she had to turn the lapels and she always hemmed everything as I was deficient in that skill as well. If it was left up to me, I’d have probably used scotch tape. My finest effort was a ruffled gingham dress that looked like I ran out of material at the bottom – this was the 70s after all, and the skimpier your skirt or dress, the better. Of course, when someone congratulated me on my sewing efforts, I always smiled sweetly and said “thank you”, taking full credit for the creation.

Between reflecting back on my sewing escapades through the years, I finally finished my sewing chores, after stabbing myself with the needle a few times. Funny … I almost abandoned the whole project as I couldn’t thread the needle when I first started out. I had to laugh because my mom, in later years, would sit there at the table, holding her arms outstretched, with the needle and thread a foot or so away from her face, grimacing and cursing under her breath because she couldn’t thread the eye of the needle … so she always called to me to do it.

I probably laughed at her at the time – I’m not thinking it is so funny now though. It took me too many tries to get the thread in that little hole. Only I had to take off my glasses and hold it a few inches from my face. They just don’t make needles as big as they used to, I guess.

I’m so weary of the Winter already, and, as I write this post, we are on the cusp of a big snow event. Well, we’ve been forewarned, and, unlike the last two predicted snowstorms, this one is gonna happen.

This morning I thought I’d better get while the gettin’ was good and go for a walk while I could still find the sidewalk to do so.

I waited until later, hoping the sun would put in an appearance, but that didn’t happen until I was inside the house.

I donned my warm and wooly paraphernalia and set out despite the 15 degree temps outside, hoping the cold air would put some red in my cheeks and the ambiance of Council Point Park would give me a quick nature fix and restore my soul.

I left behind the Sherpa hat, but was toting my camera with fresh batteries and some peanuts in a Ziploc bag in case anyone wearing a fur coat crossed my path. Well, the camera I put to good use, but the squirrels stayed tucked in their nests out of sight today.

My goal was to take more Winter pictures at the Park, since I only got three shots last week, when the batteries died. There was one other person walking this morning and I didn’t recognize him. He had his hands stuffed deep down into his coat pockets and I could only see part of his head. He resembled a turtle, his neck all scrunched down as he huddled beneath his jacket. As we crossed paths on the trail, he never looked up – that’s okay, my lips were too frozen to make intelligible conversation anyway.

I should have taken my flip-top convertible mittens/gloves with me. My gloves were clumsy and I took them off to take pictures and soon my fingers were numb and frozen, so I didn’t take as many pictures as I would have liked.

The Park just seemed to stand still – frozen in time, reminding me a little of an old-time, sepia-toned, raggedy-edged photograph; the scenery was white and brown and rather blah.

It looked very desolate and I got some shots of the frozen Creek and the snow piles that were mounded up on the ice in places. The pavilion, the empty park benches and BBQ grills – all abandoned until warmer weather; they just looked stark and so forlorn.

I took this photo from my vantage point near Duck Landing. I didn’t scramble down to the ledge like I usually do, as a misstep might send me over the edge and onto the icy Creek. I did wonder where the mallards are these days and I missed their constant quacking. I was awestruck how quiet it was in the Park – there was not even a whisper of a noise; even the lowly sparrows were silent.

I trudged around the full loop, grateful for my lug-soled boots as I dodged patches of ice, and opted sometimes to just sidestep the trail and tread through the crunchy snow alongside that slick asphalt instead.

As I got ready to leave, out of the corner of my eye I noticed two new small flags on either side of the memorial wreath for Sergeant Di Pietro, the young marine whom I’ve mentioned in prior posts. I walked over for a closer look after I exited the trail. Since the last time I was here, someone placed two small flags into the ground – one an American flag and the other the USMC flag. The new flags bring some color to the drab Park, and I couldn’t miss them underneath the stately fir tree.

As I headed home I passed a few houses with paper snowflakes taped in the living room window. I remembered taking scissors to paper and turning out those pretty 6-pointed flakes and taping one or two of them with those of my classmates on the windows of our classroom. I was straining my brain trying to remember how to make a paper snowflake and vowed to check out eHow to see if the directions were there (of course they were – everything is on the internet!).

We don’t need paper snowflakes as it appears we will have our own share of snowflakes starting overnight – yesterday our local weather forecasters predicted 6 inches of powdery snow – today they say 6-12 inches of heavy snow for our neck of the woods. They are already calling it “Super Snow Day” instead of “Super Bowl Day” – the kids will be bemoaning that this snow extravaganza will occur on a weekend and not a school day, all the while keeping their fingers crossed that the predicted 24-hour marathon snow event yields them a snow day for Monday.

It was not a very memorable trip but I want to keep walking as much as I can so I don’t have to start from scratch in the Spring. I walked 23 miles in January and drove 3 miles.

… down memory lane.

It was a little look back, courtesy of Facebook.

I thought I’d share the experience with you for “Wayback Whensday”.

For some reason I’ve been feeling rather nostalgic the last few weeks.

Perhaps this nostalgia kick began when I sent a link to a group of high school chums. Though we’ve not physically gathered together in over four decades, we’ve often reconnected through Facebook for an impromptu chat about “back in the day” … mostly we dwell on the good stuff – gossiping about former teachers or classmates. It is harmless enough banter, and it feels like we just continued a conversation we might have been having in the high school cafeteria, except amongst the six of us, we are spread out all over the U.S.

Well, I sent “the girls” a local news video of the old Park Theatre, the only movie theatre in town, and a place where all of us hung out at one time or another in our youth. For a buck we could see a double feature, the upcoming attractions, munch some popcorn and probably still had enough $$ left over to stop while walking home and have a White Castle slider and a pop. Such a deal. The Park Theatre’s biggest claim to fame was that Bob Seger played there when he first hit the music scene. But, through the years, the Park Theatre fell on hard times, became an adult theatre in the early 70s, then part of it was razed last year to make lofts. The lofts opened on January 15th, thus I sent the local news video and us six soon had a lively chat session about the good ol’ days.

As you know, there are sites all over Facebook where one can reconnect and reminisce about your school days, good times (or not) and our high school and middle schools are among those sites.

My nostalgic kick continued when I was thinking about the Italian family and their young daughter who lived next door to us back in Oakville, Ontario. They spoke very little English. On a whim, the other day I searched for that sweet little girl with the saucy sausage curls – Gracie Ann. I discovered she uses her maiden name and now lives in Italy. I noted she had several Facebook groups she belonged to – the City of Oakville, and the schools she had attended … one was the same elementary school as me.

I attended E.A. Orr Public School from the time I started kindergarten until my father was transferred with Ford of Oakville to Ford of Woodhaven in the Summer of 1966. On the last day of school at E.A. Orr I bade my classmates a tearful farewell and knew I’d never see them again. I was crushed – not only to leave my classmates and playmates, but to go to a new and different country where we had no family and to start anew. By late September, school – that place of learning where I had excelled, and, along with many of my classmates, was double-promoted from Grade 2 to 4, seemed like such a distant memory as school was no longer a place I desired to be. I was bullied relentlessly in sixth grade for my Canadian accent and pronunciation of words – by my peers and even my teacher who ridiculed me.

Fast forward to 2015.

For kicks, on Monday night I started meandering through a Facebook “group site” about E.A. Orr, my elementary school. Most group sites must grant you permission to access and view comments and pictures – but it was not so with this site. Within minutes I was fully immersed in the chatter between 167 former E.A. Orr attendees and I began perusing photos of individuals and classes from as far back as the early 60s. I discovered the school became a senior citizen residence in 1987.

I then stumbled upon some comments by a woman by the name of Maggie Rust. While her name didn’t ring a bell, she had commented on her kindergarten teacher and what year she had started school – well, bingo … it was the same as me. But I could find no photos of Maggie or her classmates. I searched through the entire site, reading Maggie’s comments … and decided to reach out to her on her own Facebook page. I sent her a picture of me in September 1961 on my first day of kindergarten with the message “Hey, this was me and I’m wondering if we knew one another?” … a few minutes later Maggie responded.

Well we got lost in time in a flurry of e-mails back-and-forth over the course of a few hours – catching up a bit, talking about school and the old neighborhood, though sadly my recollections were a little tarnished. I was disappointed in myself, since I could not recall alot of names of classmates, teachers, or even the streets that I probably encountered on an everyday basis for those five elementary school years, yet Maggie remembered every detail. She told me she has “friended” many of her former classmates so I attributed her great memory to this fact as well.

Today Maggie sent me the picture above. She simply said “our kindergarten picture – I’m positive you are beside me … I’m second row 3rd from the left; you are 2nd from the left?” Sure enough – there we were … some 54 years ago. Pretty little Margaret with her flowing hair and her big smile and I remembered her right away, just like it was yesterday. I hurriedly enlarged the picture and cut-and-pasted it into a Word document, and, as my eyes darted from left to right, I was able to recall over half of those kids – some, even their last names. There we were … seated with Mrs. Kellett, all wide-eyed and innocent, and for some of us the first time we’d ever been away from our parents – it was a whole new world.

Were we chatterboxes back then Maggie, like we were the other night? What did we little girls talk about way back then? Probably teddy bears and dollies, maybe our pets and penmanship. I remember along the front of the classroom was a line of letters “A” through “Z” and oh, how our teacher had us strive to make our letters hit both lines in our scribblers. We practiced cursive while we gripped our thick, number 2 pencils and tried to steer that pencil up and down and glide it along the paper to connect the letters. We needed to have perfect penmanship and receive that coveted “A” or “good” or “nice work” from Mrs. Kellett.

Thanks for taking me along for the ride on the wayback machine Maggie – it’s been a brief respite back to another era, when life was simple and sweet.

I changed my walking direction today and it made all the difference in the world.

I also swapped hats.

After yesterday’s headgear debacle, I opted for a knitted number that I’ve owned for eons. It is an Italian nubby texture, open-weave, knit beret which I bought to match a beige-colored storm coat many years ago. I liked it as I could tuck my long hair underneath and keep it dry while commuting back and forth to work on the bus.

I decided this morning to put that hat back into commission.

I’ll admit it is a rather putrid color … gold and cornflower blue. The first time I wore it someone on the bus remarked that it looked like something a Smurfette would wear. Trying to hide my irritation with her comment (and because I had never heard of the word “Smurfette”), I raised my eyebrows slightly in a quizzical manner, then inquired politely what a Smurfette was. There was no Google back in those days. It was suggested I should watch the Saturday morning cartoon called “The Smurfs” … I took a peek, then I “got it”.

I was checking the furnace filter before I left since we are having another Polar Vortex episode later in the week, and the furnace will be cranked up to full capacity. I heard the wind whistling and howling outside while I was in the furnace room. Should I just stay inside … or venture out? I opted for the latter as it was the weekend and I had more time, so off I went at 9:00 a.m., camera in tow and pockets full of critter treats left over from yesterday’s fateful trip.

I glanced at Marge’s big deck thermometer and noted that the needle pointed to 25 degrees, but I sure felt that stiff wind and pulled my scarf up higher on my neck. One of Marge’s big fat backyard squirrels, with an insatiable appetite, had positioned himself in the nearby tree while chomping on some baked goods. He had one eye trained on the door wall as he patiently waited on a hand to emerge full of his primo treat – peanuts.

It was murky looking out and the sensor light was still on. I hesitated after stepping outside – there was just a trace of snow on the sidewalk, but that dusting covered up any icy patches. I figured I’d just walk in the street as it was safer than wondering if there was black ice underneath the snow. The sidewalks, trees and bushes looked like Mother Nature took her sifter and lightly dusted them with icing sugar – in fact, it looked rather pretty. As I dodged the potholes and craters in the street, the pavement looked like Frosted Flakes – bumpy and sugar-coated.

While I meandered through the neighborhoods, still walking in the street, a car came zipping down the middle of Pagel, just a mite too fast for my liking and so I gave it wide berth. I didn’t see anyone behind the wheel at first, until the car got right alongside me, then I noticed a very short, white-haired, little old lady driving that big Buick. She had a death-grip on the steering wheel and was hunched over it. I had to snicker … not to disparage her, but instead because she reminded me of myself. I despise driving in the Winter, having taken the bus for over three decades while my little buggy sat ensconced from the elements in the warm garage. But she looked my way and gave me a big wave (while inwardly I cringed, thinking to myself ‘keep those hands at 10:00 o’clock and 2:00 o’clock please’), and soon she was past me.

My feet were on autopilot to Council Point Park, and, by walking in the street it took me a little longer than usual, but I made it there in one piece. The parking lot wasn’t shoveled and neither was the perimeter path, but I was close to my intended destination – the Park’s gateway to the walking path, because I wanted to get a Winter picture to complete my four-season collage of that particular spot.

Before I could reach that destination, however, I heard chattering and a clicking noise up in the tree and saw a squirrel peering down from his nest. I wondered if he recognized me and I dug into my pocket and dragged out the bag of peanuts and wiggled the hard plastic bag for him to see and hear what I had for him. Well, that lazy bones seemed content to just look down at me from his hidey hole high up in the tree. He knew I’d make a “dropping” for him and maybe he wasn’t in the mood to get his feet cold and wet, or perhaps he was snugglin’ with the missus. No problem Mr. Squirrel. I accommodated him, spread some peanuts at the base of the tree, then moved on to get my intended shot.

I positioned myself where the two forks meet at the entrance to the perimeter path and took a few pictures. Great. But, then I zoomed in to take a third shot and the camera lens closed and shut itself off. Irritated, I turned it back on and the “Change batteries!!” message was in the screen. Nice timing.

I got enough shots anyway.

As to today, well …

the sky could’ve been brighter;

the temperature could’ve been warmer; and

the squirrel could’ve showed a sign of life … less disinterest next time please.

But, we are, after all, dealing with Nature, so life is about as good as it gets on a cold and dreary January day.

I trudged home and added another three miles to my tally.

… and I don’t just mean the temperature these days.

This morning I decided to brave the cold, deal with the icy patches and get out and just clear my head … perhaps air out my brain and get the kinks out of my legs while I was at it. I figured the usual jaunt to Council Point Park would not happen as we’ve had a few bouts of snow this week, so, rather than high-steppin’ around the piled-up snow on the perimeter path, I would just pound the pavement in the neighborhood and perhaps stroll over to Memorial Park as well.

I packed up some bread I took from the freezer. I don’t mind storing loaves of bread or bagels up there as they can be toasted and still taste good, but I had some pocket bread that got that funky taste and smell of freezer burn, and I knew the wild birds would be glad for it, so I shredded it up, grabbed some peanuts and off I went.

It turned out to be a trip filled with close encounters of the strange kind.

Even though I wanted to air my brain out, the wind chill was +15 degrees after all, so I donned my big Sherpa hat, even though it scares me sometimes when I look in the mirror at myself. It tends to slide down past my ears and the brim rests on my eyeglasses. Well, I’m walking for exercise and I’m not trying to be a fashionista, so I don that warm hat, despite resembling a sheep while wearing it.

I sauntered past the golden retriever at the corner house. While this particular breed of dog is supposed to be the friendliest and most mild-mannered of all canines, this particular one runs back and forth repeatedly barking at me the entire time, any day of the year, with or without the hat, I might add. I feel that the snarling and baring of the teeth is really a little over the top but I usually say “good morning” anyway when I go past him.

I continued on my way, mumbling “whatever” and shaking my head, causing my hat to slip down just a little further and so I hiked it up with a mittened hand. I bent my head down a little more as the wind whipped up suddenly and stung my face. It was just as well, since I needed to scope out the sidewalks which had some black ice and pools of water which had frozen in the uneven parts of the pavement. So, walking was a little dicey as I hopscotched around the icy patches and crunched down on salt pebbles that were strewn by anxious homeowners hoping to avoid a slip and fall on their property.

It was then that I heard the heavy breathing and looked up … I saw that “Fade” spotted me at the same time and shot me a look that could kill.

Fade is an old and ornery pit bull that lives in the next block. I often see her owner walking her as I wend my way down to Council Point Park. I try not to cross paths with that pair while they are out for their daily constitution – Larry is okay, but she has a rather surly disposition, and despite the fact that she is so fat that she waddles, she always gives me “the look”, like she’d pounce on me in a heartbeat if Larry wasn’t on the other end of the leash. Larry says “don’t mind her – she won’t hurt you” but I step back a foot or two while I chat with him each and every time. Please understand that I like dogs and I’m quick to stoop down and pat one or scratch behind a dog’s ears if speaking with its owner, but there is something eerie about her eyes. She just doesn’t like me … I know it.

I wished Larry “Happy New Year” and gave the same salutation to Fade, who was resplendent in her navy wool coat that could not even buckle beneath her belly as she is so heavy. But don’t let that girth fool you. I bet she could chase you down and up a tree – you would be the one in the tree shaking and clinging on for dear life. As I chatted with Larry, she stared me down and started to growl again, that long and low growl that a dog does when it doesn’t like you. I stepped back another foot or so, just as Larry said “you know Fade ain’t gonna hurt you” (despite her growling at me the entire time). He pointed to my hat and said “she is scared of your hat” so I said “I’m leaving anyway” and turned on my heel and left, muttering to myself that I was not going to be her breakfast snack.

I hightailed it to Memorial Park, angry that I fell prey to this dog’s orneriness and cut short my neighborhood jaunt … in fact, it made me ornery as well.

I strolled through the Park, happy to be freed of that critter with the penetrating eyes, pink spotted snout and perpetual pout. I pulled my camera out from my coat and slung it around my neck, and got my bag of goodies ready to dispense as needed.

First, I saw a few sparrows and walked to their tree, scattering the crumbs for them to come down and feast. They took one look at me and flew away – “your loss” I called out as they landed at another tree, then realizing how stupid that might have sounded if there were any humans within earshot, I looked around, then added “there are other hungry birds around here who will be more appreciative of my treats” … but there were none.

I strolled one complete lap in the snowy grass and then came upon a pair of squirrels – they were running up and down and around a huge tree chasing one another, rather frivolous behavior in the cold, but maybe they were trying to warm up or getting the kinks out as well. I tossed them some peanuts – they took a look at me and beat it across the expanse of Memorial Park.

Okay, I can take a hint.

I came home and removed that hat – was it the pompom, the wide brim and high Sherpa pile that somehow tarnished my usual good karma?

I left the house wearing a grin and toting treats … I returned refreshed from the walk and rebuffed by the critters along the way.

Next time I’m going to Council Point Park where I am appreciated for myself (and my treats – of course).

When did you say the first day of Spring was? Not quite two months – well, not soon enough in my opinion.

As I’m peering out the window all I see is snow … we have the “snow globe effect” going on and have since early morning.

Sunday it was balmy enough to break out the shorts and I could walk in shoes and felt as exuberant as that little penguin in “Happy Feet”. But by nightfall, we had freezing rain, then snow … and soon the world outside the confines of the cozy house was all ice encrusted.

The continual whirr of snow blowers and the scrape of shovels on the cement has been prevalent all day – almost annoyingly so. It reminds me a bit of the first day in Spring where everyone has to drag out their lawnmower at the exact same time.

I sometimes wonder if I should be permitted a license to whine about the weather since I don’t have to drive in this mess, or, wait on the bus while snow collects and piles up in the nooks and crannies of my coat and woolen paraphernalia donned for a cold, snowy trip to and from work.

These days I only have to get dressed and plop down at the kitchen table and I’m at work … a far cry from the days when the commute sometimes seemed as long as the workday.

This Wintry weather makes me lazy … I want to shirk any of my regular routines and head back to bed. This morning I even abandoned going out to run the car after I took one look outside and said “maybe not” then shut the door and came back and had another cup of coffee. I toyed with the idea of going down and riding the bike but said “maybe tomorrow” … maybe I need that “happy light” I bought for Buddy last Fall to shed some light into his corner of the kitchen.

My friend Marge’s sister-in-law is spending 10 days with her here in Michigan to break up the monotony of the same-old, same-old weather in Florida. Marge reports that Anna is enjoying the change of scenery, even that below-zero cold snap we had last week, plus she loves the snow.

We here in Michigan are glad we could accommodate Anna’s desire for a change of pace because we’ve run through at least three of the four seasons since her arrival last Tuesday!

But, if she has room in her suitcase, Buddy and I would be glad to squeeze in and return to Florida with her – just say the word and we’ll start packing.

“Spring passes and one remembers one’s innocence.
Summer passes and one remembers one’s exuberance.
Autumn passes and one remembers one’s reverence.
Winter passes and one remembers one’s perseverance.”
~Yoko Ono