WALKIN', WRITIN', WIT & WHIMSY

Image and copyright by Rodney Campbell: https://www.flickr.com/photos/acrylicartist/13215247265/

… that elusive partridge in a pear tree. Even if you can’t remember the rest of the gifts in order in that Christmas song, it seems like the last four are easy enough to recall.

I guess I could have just as easily entitled this post “Today is for the birds” but since Christmas has so recently passed, it is worth keeping the Christmas theme just a short time longer, don’t you think?

After all, we are only at day #4 of the twelve days of Christmas.

It was foggy and misting slightly when I left for my walk early this morning. I was determined to get another 6 miles under my belt and got 6 ½ … well, I’ll sleep good tonight and might even end up face down on the keyboard having a petite snooze before the evening is over.

As I made my way down to the Park, the neighborhoods were oh so quiet. It was peaceful at the Park as well and I only saw one jogger on the perimeter path.

Something new was added on the trail since I was there on Friday. Some kindly soul had created heaped-up piles of wild bird seed every so many paces on the Park path. I suspect the good Samaritan who was dispensing those coarse seeds, which also consisted of black oilers and pieces of dried corn, was fellow-walker Diane. She told me a while ago she had bought bags and bags of wild bird seed when ACO went out of business this past Summer. Diane planned to store it in her car and scoop out a container of it to spread on the path daily for the birds at the Park.

At each pile of seeds on the pathway, several birds were gathered there feasting. There were many sparrows and chickadees but they were crowded out by the larger cardinals and blue jays, much bigger birds with bigger appetites. Even a squirrel or two was present at that “dinner table” … of course, where there is food to be found, usually at homeowners’ backyard feeders, the squirrels always make their presence known and feel entitled to help themselves to the goodies.

Well, those cardinals and jays were a sight for sore eyes. They were brilliant bursts of color in an otherwise drab and boring beige and ochre-colored canvas. They were immersed in their eating so much so that they didn’t even scatter as I approached them.

I didn’t bring along my camera since it was such a gloomy-looking morning, and besides, I usually can’t get those birds to stay in one place long enough to get a picture … except for that heron, who perched in the old dead tree and didn’t move for ages.

We used to get alot of cardinals and blue jays at the house then the West Nile Virus in the 80s caused their population to decline. I remember we spent a long weekend in Toronto at my grandmother’s house and returned Sunday night to find nine dead jays in the yard. I was horrified.

A few years ago I was able to coax a female cardinal out of her nest by using safflower seeds. They are considered a delicacy for cardinals. She thought I couldn’t see her nest with its young ones in my barberry bush. I could see it and her and the babies very well, but didn’t let on as my mom and I would watch them from inside the house with binoculars sometimes.

Every night when I got home from work she’d see me coming up the sidewalk and I’d hear that unmistakable tweet of that beautiful bird. I went into the house and got the canister of safflower seeds and poured out a small amount – just for her. It was almost like having a cardinal for a pet bird.

My mother collected cardinal Christmas ornaments and back when I put out all the decorations she’d display them in a corner devoted just to these beautiful birds.

I couldn’t hope to capture the image of a beautiful cardinal with my camera – it would be a small speck or just a blur. I have been looking to find a wildlife photographer whose pictures I might be able to use in my nature blog posts. The stock photos are nice, of course, but to have a picture showing the striking beauty of a feathered or furry friend in its natural environment cannot be beat.

I have found such a photographer in Rodney Campbell. His picture of the beautiful cardinal sitting on the evergreen bough is seen above. He has many more beautiful images just like this one and I am going to try to include some of them in future posts, where applicable. Rodney captures up close and personal what I see with my eyes, yet I fail to capture with my lens. I know he is a much more skilled and talented photographer than I could ever hope to be.

Look deep into nature, and then you will understand everything better. – Albert Einstein

I was all suited up and ready to step out the screen door to take a walk, when it started to rain. Really hard. It was 45 degrees out and a big fat worm was slithering across the sidewalk. I reminded myself that, yes, it was Michigan and it was the 27th of December. The weather these days is as nutty as a fruitcake.

Oh yeah – it is “National Fruitcake Day” by the way in case you missed the memo.

Fruitcake gets a bad rap sometimes. It is the bane of many Christmas jokes, like using a fruitcake for a doorstop or wondering how many times you can re-gift the original fruitcake and it is still edible.

And, of course, it’s a great way to describe people and things that are, well … not quite right.

I have never really had a yen for fruitcake. I was more of a “texture-eater” and a nice crunchy cookie would satisfy me much more than a moist and gooey piece of fruitcake. But, I was always polite when offered a slice, and took it and ate it slowly and daintily until the last crumb was gone … preferably with something handy to wash it down with ‘cuz sometimes dry fruitcake could choke a horse.

I really think fruitcake is more of a treat in Canada than over here in the States, and to tell you the truth, living part of my life in Canada, I don’t ever remember fruitcake being something that you joked about. At a Canadian wedding, fruitcake used to be the wedding cake of choice. The top layer of the wedding cake was saved in the freezer to savor at the christening of your first child. I know my parents did that custom as well. Even the Royal Couple had a traditional English fruitcake for their wedding cake.

Growing up, whenever I spent time at my grandmother’s house, if you were going to top off your dinner with something sweet, you’d better believe it was going to be fruitcake. My grandmother was not much of a cook (I took after her in that regard, believe me) and so you would never find batches of cookies cooling on the countertop or packed in some huge ceramic jar that sat in the corner. But what you would find at Nanny’s house was a fruitcake … or two … or three, or maybe even a half-dozen at any given time.

My grandmother was born and raised in Ariss, Ontario which was a tiny farming community near the city of Guelph. She was the only one of the nine siblings to leave Ariss when she went to work in the big city of Toronto at a chocolate factory. She met and married my grandfather who worked in a rubber factory. When her family came to town to visit, they always brought a fruitcake, whether it was Christmastime, or not. Apparently, it was always the right time for fruitcake.

My grandmother had an unheated back kitchen and in the Winter you could hang meat there as it was so cold. So, at any given time, there was always a collection of fruitcakes reposing back there. Some were in fancy tins, some marzipan coatings on top (therefore already hard as a rock) and others in a box bearing the manufacturer’s name. No matter who came to visit my grandmother, they were offered a cup of tea and the usual fare – a ham sandwich and a slice of fruitcake.

My mother similarly liked fruitcake, but she didn’t want to have a one or two-pounder hanging around since she was the only one who really liked it. So, every year, I would buy her the smallest fruitcake available – an 8-ounce “bar” which she’d enjoy at the holidays, then wrap it up and pull it out and have a slice occasionally throughout the rest of the year. It didn’t dry out or get moldy. It was a little too blah for my liking. I didn’t share her enthusiasm for it at all, and, unlike a traditional fruitcake, the brand I got her was not soaked through and through with brandy then covered with a cloth to keep it moist.

In December 2009, the last Christmas before my mom passed away, she was confined to bed. I bought the usual holiday mini-fruitcake at the grocery store, announced its arrival and put it in the fridge. A good friend of my boss named David owned a German store named R. Hirt at Eastern Market. He dropped by the office to give me a goodie basket and a poinsettia for home every Christmas. I was not working on site at the time, so he dropped off his usual basket of goodies, which included a long Christmas stollen and a huge babka. Since both were fruity-type breads, my mom said “okay, we’ll eat David’s treats up but you’ll save my fruitcake and I’ll have it later” … “no problem mom” I said, and I pushed it to the back of the fridge.

Unfortunately “later” never came as my mom passed away a few weeks after that.

Over the next month or so, in clearing out some items in the fridge that my mom liked but were not necessarily my favorite foods, mostly pickles and relishes and such, I came across the fruitcake. My heart did a flip-flop as the words “you’ll save my fruitcake and I’ll have it later” filled me with profound sadness. I left it there at the back of the fridge and told myself “later Linda – you’ll deal with it later” and put it out of my mind.

Now, that skinny, fruit-laden bar certainly has not taken up much space and doesn’t bother anyone languishing at the back of the fridge.

But I know it is there.

Well, okay – you can call me sentimental, but every year at Christmastime I reach back in the fridge and take out that little fruitcake. I hold it up to the light and look through the package – 100% okay. Back into the fridge it goes, standing up in its little corner.

So this year, I picked it up and did the usual inspection all around and put it back. I totally forgot about our power outage right after Labor Day and my fridge was warm when the power came on 24 hours later. At that time I pitched everything in the fridge and freezer since the storm was Friday evening and I didn’t get any ice to preserve my food. The fruitcake was behind a low, flat Tupperware container, so I never thought about it.

Christmas Eve 2014, the weather folks called for high winds and possible power outages … belatedly I remembered that fruitcake.

So, herein lies the dilemma – it may no longer be fit to eat (not that I intended to eat it), but does it stay or does it go?

After five long years, I’ve decided perhaps it is time to part with that fruitcake – I think my mom would understand.

“When someone is in your heart, they’re never truly gone. They can come back to you, even at unlikely times.” ~Mitch Albom (from “For One More Day”)

It took so long for Christmas to get here and then it was gone in a heartbeat. The Christmas ambiance that is.

The poor men and women in retail got but one short day to relax with family and friends and then they were back at again this morning – really early in some cases.

I listened to the radio while eating breakfast and doing some things in the house before I left for my walk. The story of the morning was all about the traffic congestion at the malls … it wasn’t even 7:00 a.m.! Holiday shopping has monopolized the local and national news for weeks until the malls finally closed their doors on Christmas Eve. And here the shoppers were at it again.

Years ago the breadwinner of the family got his paycheck, a holiday bonus, a ham and a handshake from his boss, not necessarily in that order, on the last working day before Christmas. He had to scramble then to hit the bank and the plaza before they closed at 6:00 p.m. … they didn’t have malls in those days. It’s a whole different game plan now though.

The weatherman said cold but bright and sunny and bright it was. I high-tailed it out of the house, quick like a bunny, this morning to go on a long walk – I set my sights on 6 miles and ended up going 6 ¼ by the time I got home.

It was rather desolate in the neighborhoods as I wended my way down to Council Point Park. It was hard to tell if folks were back in the work grind today or had left before dawn seeking marked-down Santas and leftover sequined holiday sweaters for next-to-nothing prices. Perhaps people were still recovering from the busy holiday yesterday. I quietly pounded the pavement, but still managed to rouse an outdoor hound dog or two. They then barked their fool heads off at me until I was out of their range of vision.

It was quiet at the Park as well. The first entire loop, I had to take special care as there was a thin layer of frost on the asphalt and it was a little slick. Of course, I stopped along the way to toss some peanuts and wondered if four paws were sliding on the slickened asphalt as easily I seemed to be slip-sliding away in my walking shoes. By the second loop around, the sun had come out and started melting some of the slippery surface so I was happy for that.

My friend Marge was driving around looking at the local night-time Christmas displays this week and posted a video on Facebook of a home in Lincoln Park that was decorated to the hilt for the holidays. There were lights galore and Christmas music streaming from inside the house.

On a lark, I decided to stop this morning on my way home and take a look. Although it was not as stupendous in the daytime, there was alot of effort expended on this holiday display. The property was not very big and the homeowner had crammed Christmas decorations in every available space on the lawn, porch and even the rooftop. At least 20 collapsed inflatable Christmas figures were laying in colorful pools on the grass. There were teddy bears and polar bears, wise men and snowmen … all gathered together and facing the street. A larger than life-sized Mrs. Claus was standing on the porch taking it all in. I wonder where they store it all? I must confess, these decorating efforts made my small holiday wreath on the front door look a little lame.

I moseyed past the display and picked up the pace as I still had quite a way to go before getting to my house.

At that point, I started getting a little weary and wished this angel had wings to carry me home.

… is what I told them. Them being three furry little squirrels at Council Point Park this morning.

No fanfare was involved; no fancy wrapping paper, baubles or bows … no gift tags. Just a little gift … from me to you.

What a difference a year makes.

Last year on Christmas Day, striving mightily to meet my self-imposed 500-mile walking goal, I suited up and left for Council Point Park mid-morn. Snow had been predicted for some time on Christmas Day, but though it was a little blustery and brutally cold, it was not a snow sky – so off I went.

I wasn’t there, but a half-hour or so, on the second time around on the trail, when the flurries began. Big fat flakes that did not melt on my nose or my toes like the Christmas song says. The somewhat snow-encrusted trail already had the occasional patch of glare ice from the several snow and ice events we’d endured since Thanksgiving morning.

Soon the snowflakes swirled around and landed on the trail and I could no longer discern clear asphalt from a glaze of ice. A snow squall quickly put down maybe a quarter-inch of snow and slickened up the trail.

Without a hood on my jacket to flip up, the gimungous snowflakes were saturating my clothing and I knew I should probably make my way home post haste. I crossed the grassy divide that is the “donut hole” in the walking loop as it seemed faster and not slick and slippery so I could head home ASAP.

I always wear a hooded jacket when walking, but it was really cold so I opted instead for my heavy down coat and Sherpa hat. By the time I arrived home, unbelievably the snow had gathered and piled up in the crevices of the coat where yarn-like material connected the down puffy squares together. My hat, gloves and sweatpants were soaked, as were my walking shoes. I got inside the house and into warm clothes and finally thawed out. Outside it continued to snow non-stop.
* * *
Looking back on a year ago today … believe me, I sure am not bemoaning the fact that Mother Nature neglected to give us the white stuff this Christmas, and that the Rockies instead have been gifted with the ultimate snow globe effect.

Yesterday, the weather folks predicted severe weather here in Southeast Michigan – thunderstorms for the afternoon and wicked winds for our Christmas Eve and early into Christmas Day. Certainly not your typical Christmas weather!

It was the one-month anniversary of the last windstorm we had, when 58 mph winds made my metal shed tumble across the yard and my next-door neighbor’s tree split in half. In September I also lost my power for 24 hours. Being a believer that bad karma happens in three, I was convinced this windstorm would be the third calamity for me in 2014. Thus, in a rather morose mood, I went to bed, cranking the thermostat up high and piling extra blankets around Buddy’s cage, hoping to thwart the cold temps since I was positive the impending loss of power on the holiday would come to pass.

Whew! It didn’t happen.

When I woke up this morning to hear the furnace chugging away in a very warm house and I saw the dim digital light of the stove visible in the darkened hallway, well … I was just ecstatic.

There could have been no better Christmas present for me than not having to deal with a catastrophic event on Christmas Day.

So, I was solo in the Park this morning and it was nice, as it gave me a chance to just chill out and collect my thoughts. I’ve been so busy with work, trying to finish up everything to just relax for a few days.

I had put together a care package for the critters to “gift them” while I was there on this Christmas Day. There was some stale bread for the ducks which were aplenty, and three baby Clementine oranges which were as hard as my head and couldn’t be peeled … by me anyway. I knew my furry friends at the Park could sink their teeth into that hard skin and they would be slurping orange nectar in no time, while the pulp collected on chubby cheeks and saturated their whiskers. They also got a petite Piñata apple along with their usual peanuts. Of course they ate everything up in record time and then came begging at each successive trip on the trail, scrambling over to see me with their sweet faces and tails swishing, like I’d never been by today. Really!?

For the people who travelled, whether it was to church for Christmas services, the store for a last-minute gift, or even to break bread with loved ones, the dreary and gloomy-looking day was not so very terrible. Instead, the trip to Grandma’s house was uneventful and not treacherous like last year.

Believe me, there will be enough snow globe scenarios down the road – of that you can be sure.

Silent night, holy night, all is calm, all is bright.

There is a certain stillness and tranquility that defines Christmas Eve.

Holiday music fills the air everywhere and we feel at peace with the world.

My work day is done and I have had Christmas music playing in the background most of today. The holiday bird, a/k/a Buddy, my canary, is warbling right along. He likes the female singers best, and whenever a song has any whistling in it. He also enjoys hearing the horse who whinnies in the Ronettes’ version of “Sleigh Ride”. Come to think of it, he likes ‘em all! He will be mighty disappointed when the radio station suddenly resumes its regular playlist on December 26th.

The holiday songs have been going 24/7 on one of the local radio stations since early November. I like all the Christmas songs, especially the old-time ones. I’m not a fan of the remakes and Madonna and Taylor Swift just don’t do justice to the Eartha Kitt version of “Santa Baby”. By now, I remember all the lines to “Santa Baby” and their order and where to pause for effect … those big pauses and inflection in her voice make that song so enjoyable.

It seems like just a handful of years ago, that I sat on the edge of my bed, watching my portable black-and-white TV which sat on my chest of drawers, and my eyes were glued to the Elvis Christmas special where he sang “Blue Christmas”. Though, I was not quite a teeny bopper at that time, I watched the famous Elvis lip curl while he sang that beautiful Christmas song … I was sure he sang that song for me, just like all the other girls and women did.

Every time I hear a Dean Martin Christmas song these days, I feel like I am sitting watching him and his Golddiggers in a holiday special. No one male voice today, in my opinion, beats Dino’s smooth voice. I thought he was so handsome – the perpetual smile, crinkles showing up around his eyes and that shock of curly dark hair. He always had a cigarette in one hand, a drink in the other. But, oh – how he could sing! Smooth as silk, and even today, I remember that twinkle in his eye when I hear “Rudy, the Red-Beaked Reindeer” … well, maybe it is not such a traditional song as the regular version by Gene Autry or Burl Ives, but I like it.

I remember watching all the holiday specials back in the day with my folks when I was a kid. Even Lawrence Welk and the Lennon Sisters. So many Andy Williams or Perry Como Christmas specials … an hour-long show where they dressed in bulky sweaters in snowy scenes with plastic snow, probably shot in a studio in the middle of the Summer. All those famous crooners, with their velvet voices, most of them long gone, but not forgotten.

As a young child I had a collection of vinyl holiday 45s. There was a red record for “Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer”, a light blue one for “Frosty the Snowman”, a bright green one for “Jingle Bells” and a yellow one for “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus” … there were more, I’m sure, that I can’t recall the names of now. I didn’t get my first portable record player until I was older, so I would stand next to my mom, while she loaded those records, one at a time, on the spindle of the family stereo. She’d play those songs for me, just once a day, for every day during the holiday season. Though I’d beg to hear my Christmas songs over and over again, I wasn’t indulged in my whim, and had to wait ‘til I was older and could play them on my own equipment. I probably drove my parents up the wall then, playing them over incessantly and no doubt wore out the grooves of those records as I played them so much. (Now there’s a line that will date me for sure.)

There were the kiddies’ holiday specials and I never missed them either. To get into a holiday mood, I watched them for years after I was grown. The local radio station has been playing snippets from “Rudolph” and “Frosty” and I could recite the words, or little conversations, right along with them. I’m not embarrassed to say that – it was a fun part of growing up.

As I was about to conclude this post, I realized I’ve not yet heard Alvin and the Chipmunks’ “Christmas Song” one time this year, so I hustled over to YouTube, made a few clicks, and there it was. Just as I remembered it. I cranked up the volume – really loud. I looked over at Buddy to see if he was scared. He was doing a head tilt, and when the “boys” started singing after that first few notes at the beginning of the song, I matched them, word-for-word, singing with great gusto, at the top of my lungs, as did Buddy.

I just love dusting off old memories at the holidays – they are treasured, even those simple and silly ones.

May your sweet memories from the past, and those you will make in the upcoming days bring you peace and joy always.

I was wondering on the occasion of logging my 500th post, that however could I have so much to talk about? I guess it is because of people like you who stop by to read what I have to say. Sometimes I amaze myself that I have not run out of topics yet, though the occasion of the first day of Winter which will happen at 6:03 p.m. EST, and the snowy and cold days on the way, may render the walks more infrequent and perhaps the posts as well.

While walking here, there and everywhere, it seems there is an endless supply of comments to state, ideas to share, and reflections and recollections to be made. I have a document on my computer chockfull of items noted and worth expounding on some day. With the exception of a few short posts that were merely holiday greetings and salutations, I’ve amassed all these posts just since February 2013. It’s quite a log if I say so myself, especially as I scroll down through the prior entries – it overwhelms me sometimes.

As of today, I’ve walked 540 miles this year and would like to strive for more if the weather cooperates. I’ve only driven 260 miles in 2014. Every day I am thankful I began this walking and writing regimen.

With the sunset tonight and the Winter Solstice, which celebrates the sun’s rebirth and the beginning of Winter, we can rejoice in the cold-weather states that the days will start getting longer once again, and, hopefully Winter will not be brutal like 2013-2014 and won’t languish long into Spring.

So on this shortest day of the year, maybe it is also the shortest post of the year!

The merchants are hawking their wares online or in the brick-and-mortar stores and hoping to grab your attention. I opened my inbox this afternoon to find at least 50 “last chance” e-mails for great deals and free shipping guaranteed to arrive before Christmas.

So, yeah – the colors of the season are truly red and green because since Gray Thursday or Black Friday you’re either in the red or lost all your green to holiday shopping.

Well today is Super Saturday – your last best bet to make out like a bandit as you scoop up bargains and finish up the rest of that pesky Christmas shopping. If you haven’t got it done by now, you might end up standing in line at Walgreens for a Whitman’s Sampler and a 4-inch poinsettia on Christmas Day morning.

Speaking of poinsettias, there is nothing as colorful and brilliant red as a beautiful and cheerful poinsettia. Growing up I only remember them having crimson-colored leaves and taking a special honor in the living room near the Christmas tree. Now they come in pink and white and hybrid tones, some with sparkles, some plain. I’ve even seen them with blue leaves.

My mother and grandmother had a knack for keeping poinsettias alive long after the holiday – they did not lose their leaves and look scrawny or straggly, but still looked vibrant, cheering up the house during the long Winter season.

My grandmother had a back kitchen and it was surrounded by large windows. It was a perfect spot for houseplants as she had a wide window ledge and they thrived there. She put her annual Christmas poinsettia there after she removed it from the dining room table after the holidays. It was still beautiful long into the Summer months. She had one of the original Singer treadle sewing machines that she kept back there. It was long unused, and its sole purpose was to display her massive Christmas cactus. That plant was decades old and she gave it alot of TLC and it had as many as 100 blooms during the holiday season. She owed its beauty to sprinkling smashed-up eggshells, and opening up her teabags and burying the contents deep into the soil. Hmmmm. She was so proud of that plant that she had pictures of it that she carried around in her purse in a little brag book photo album. Oh yes, my photo was tucked in there as well, so friends could see her little granddaughter, along with that beautiful big plant.

Obviously I never inherited my indoor gardening genes from my ancestors since my poinsettia resembled the sad little plant at the beginning of “Poinsettia Percy” that little ditty by Elmo and Patsy.

In fact, I’ve never been lucky keeping poinsettias long after receiving one. Their sandy soil seems to beg for more water, and so glug, glug, glug I accommodate it, then next thing I know, water is seeping up and over the top of the soil or out the hole in the bottom. A few choice words are uttered, then the poor poinsettia, through no fault of its own, gets relegated somewhere to drain and not make a mess. Two days later it is wilted and putrid looking as it dies a slow death.

Now, I have a silk poinsettia … it looks the same from Day 1 and I only have to dust it.

There was a mist in the air this early morning, and a thin veil of ice coated everything, the end result of the freezing rain we had most of yesterday and overnight. I really figured today’s walk would be cancelled, but when my alarm went off, I reached over and grabbed my headphones anyway, then snuggled down under the covers to listen if the traffic and weather reports confirmed it was slick out there. They did and I resigned myself to staying inside. I was as comfy and content as a cat as I curled up and sank further down and felt the furnace kick on warming the room. Motionless in the dark, I was wishing I could stay there for the rest of the day. But, alas … work beckoned and would thus interfere with that grand plan, so reluctantly I stepped out from my little cocoon to get it in gear.

I had breakfast then wandered over to the window, raised the blind with one hand, coffee cup in the other, and looked outside.

The other day when I walked out the side door I noticed right away my neighbor Marge had decorated her deck for Christmas and it looked very cheery with the red flocked bows and two new festive feeders. There was a roly-poly white wire snowman swinging back and forth as a bevy of birds all tried to access the seeds at one time, their little feet clinging to its rotund sides.

Likewise, a red feeder that looked like an old-fashioned lantern was occasionally listing to the left as clusters of birds were on each quadrant, then all suddenly shifted over while striving to get at the seed treat inside.

A metal holder was stocked with a waxy square of suet treat, ready for the next Downy Woodpecker to come and get his fill.

There were feeders galore in the yard and there are always birds eager to alight and get their fill of treats.

It was the same scenario this morning.

But today I had the opportunity to watch, from behind a curtain, rather surreptitiously, without them seeing me, and then getting skittish and taking flight. I noted that one fat fox squirrel and his feathered friends noshed together contently and did not try to push one another away. They were on their best behavior, like relatives at the holiday dinner table … mindful of one another – even tolerating each other’s presence, but way too engrossed in the food and treats to stir up any trouble.

They moved about without fear, and were not wary of Marge, who was probably on the other side of the glass, knowing they could trust her and she would not harm them.

This is because Marge feeds them all Winter – they know they are welcome at this house.

Birds kept flitting here, there and everywhere and the sound of their tweets and twitters could be heard through the closed window.

Suddenly, the Downy Woodpecker was scaling the suet holder and clinging on for dear life as he pecked furiously at the suet.

I thought of grabbing my camera but the reflection on the window only makes the pictures come out with a glare, so I took it all in with my eyes instead.

Soon thereafter the door wall opened and a bare hand flung more bread chunks in one direction. The door wall slid shut and a few minutes later, several more handfuls of peanuts were tossed onto the wood deck floor.

Then the real rush began – it was much like a Kmart Blue Light Special with the goodies being the blinking beacon.

All of a sudden, new critters just appeared out of the woodwork, joining their brethren. Marge might as well have rung a dinner bell as they came a’ running.

The resident squirrel, waddled over from where he had stationed himself on the deck stairs and onto the deck floor to partake in more peanuts. I noticed he is so heavy now that he does not even try to walk along the deck rail to hone in on the goodies, he just kind of sits there eating to his heart’s content.

Suddenly a beautiful Blue Jay flew down from the tall Pine and skidded onto the deck floor, neatly landing next to the squirrel. He grabbed a peanut to go – the squirrel didn’t even try to protest. The jay flew off, wings flapping furiously, a streak of blue and white in a gloomy, gray sky, with that peanut in his sharp beak. Who knows where he deposited that treasure? He soon was back and flew right down onto the porch again, but this time he could not decide between bread or nuts. He paused – looking a little defiant in his posture, and finally decided on bread.

I watched, propped up next to the window, slowly sipping my brew ‘til I saw the last of the critters have their fill and fly or amble away. Probably the goodies were gone by then. I kept thinking I should have gone and grabbed the camera, or, at the very least, the binoculars to get a better look. I was imagining Marge’s view from her kitchen door wall, which is truly a window to the world. I was envious of her usual, up-close-and-personal view of the porch, because it is “feedin’ time” every morning and since everyone knows it, they hang out waiting for her to fill the feeders or toss out the treats. It is no different than the squirrels coming to greet me at the Park if you think about it.

I finally tore myself away, and got busy doing other things.

When I logged onto my computer later, there were several e-mails from Marge with pictures she took of the critters noshing together on her deck. Evidently she was watching the same idyllic scene I was, only luckily she captured it with her camera, so the collage of photos above was what we saw.

Maybe it was a missed opportunity for walking, but I watched the “wildlife” breaking barriers as they feasted with one another.

Any glimpse into the life of an animal,
quickens our own
and makes it so much the larger and better
in every way.
~ John Muir

I walked to Meijer to pick up a few groceries this morning – the last time for this year I think. The store was packed with lots of people taking advantage of the “Santa Bucks” sale. The crowd was scurrying to and fro, and, in general, looking harried and hurried at such an early hour of the morning. I saw shopping carts overflowing with everything from baking essentials to bows and festive bags. Those people have high hopes for the weekend and will get it done no matter what … or go crazy trying.

I read a story the other day about how you can hire an elf contingent to help you through the holidays. Better than a personal assistant, these “elf helpers” will get any task done on your Christmas to-do list, from addressing cards to decorating the house, baking up a storm (all your favorites, of course) and even wrapping the presents. They’ll research gifts for you and order them online or go shopping to buy them as well. The possibilities are endless – you just hand these elves your to-do list.

When New Year’s Day rolls around, that band of merry little elves will come and disrobe the tree and put all the baubles and bulbs, tinsel and trimmings, and any traces of Christmastime 2014 away ‘til next Christmas.

Yup, the elf contingent aims to please for between $30.00 to $45.00 per hour to holiday-ize your home, so you can breeze through the holiday season with nary a care and look like you slaved over the usual Christmas rituals. I wonder if anyone would know you didn’t bake, then decorate with piped icing, all those dozens of perfect gingerbread boys? Or that you were not the one who trimmed the tree so exquisitely?

But … would you really feel right standing around the water cooler at work whining about how much Christmas stuff you did and still have to do? However could you commiserate with others on Facebook without fessing up?

I guess it is easier to just keep it simple and do it yourself.

… most of the time anyway.

I’ve popped onto Facebook at least a half-dozen times today checking to see if a dear friend’s status has been updated.

Nothing … for hours and hours.

The last check however was all good.

While my friend Carol posts continually about her day’s activities, meals, cat shenanigans and newsworthy tidbits gleaned from the web, today her 109 friends waited to see how her husband fared with his heart surgery.

Let’s back up a bit first.

A phone ringing very, very late on a Saturday night is never a good sign.

When she picked up the phone, her husband, David, was on the other end of the line. “I’m in the hospital” he said. “I felt faint and went to Urgent Care and they sent me here for observation – my heart rate was 40 beats per minute” … a long sigh and the phone was silent, each of them lost in their own thoughts.

You see David lives and works in North Carolina; Carol lives in Honeoye Falls, a tiny hamlet in Western New York.

“They’re going to put a pacemaker in Tuesday – can you be here?” Another long sigh.

The cardiologist decided his heart just needed a helper, so minor surgery to implant a pacemaker was scheduled. While a pacemaker is pretty high-tech stuff, these days the implant procedure is relatively uncomplicated and the patient goes home within 24 hours. It still is surgery nonetheless.

With no friends or family close by, it was a race against time to find a cat sitter for her trio, as well as someone to tend to the feral kitties who live on her porch. So, deep into the night she wrote on her status page all the thoughts that were going through her mind.

So much for Christmas plans and having David home for a change. He had been all set to return to Honeoye Falls this Saturday for a 10-day visit. He had his flight booked months ago, but in a heartbeat that idea was scrapped now since he would not be able to travel. Plus, his doctor said he should not be left alone, for a few days anyway. His studio apartment was pretty bare – sparsely furnished with a twin bed, table and chair, so they would need a hotel room.

She sat down to take a deep breath. Finally, like a lost soul, the last post in the wee hours of Sunday morning was that no one should expect cards, Christmas “care packages” and the like … ‘til January.

So, there was a collective sigh of relief among us all when Carol posted earlier “I’m ready to take him home and then I’ll take a taxi to retrieve his car from urgent care and return home to New York on Friday” … ah, life is good, no matter what curve balls are thrown your way.

You are a good-hearted woman Carol, and the deeds you do for others, from fostering feral kitties, like the one I just wrote about in my recent “Kitten Caboodle” story, plus your virtual hugs and unselfish ways have come back in blessings to you and David.

Life’s travails can break your heart sometimes, and sadly plans and promises may be gone swiftly in a mere heartbeat.