WALKIN', WRITIN', WIT & WHIMSY

The frost is not yet on the pumpkin, and, on the heels of the recent heat wave, the stores are already clearing a path to herald in the Halloween supplies. As I passed through the hallowed aisles at Meijer today, clearly this store is already in Fall mode. One entire aisle, in the nearly empty area that held garden supplies, has been dedicated to big rakes and yard waste bags. The greeting card section groaned with cards for Halloween and all the Fall holidays. Thankfully Thanksgiving was not included. In the produce section I found pie pumpkins already! As I rounded the corner where the Yankee candle collection is found, I stopped to have a whiff of the featured candles: Spiced Pumpkin, Pumpkin Cupcake and Pumpkin Pie. By the time I finished perusing and inhaling those Fall favorites, I was ready to head over to see if the Thomas’ Pumpkin Spice bagels had arrived yet. Last year I discovered these delicious bagels; not so wonderful for the waistline, especially when slathered with Pumpkin Spice Philadelphia Cream Cheese. I love the Fall, but maybe let’s turn the calendar page over to September first, although I have admit I spent a few hours at Meijer gathering groceries to tide me over the Winter. It is an annual event for me – loading in provisions since I don’t like driving in the ice and snow. As I filled my grocery cart I wondered if I should double up on everything since the Farmer’s Almanac has made such dire predictions for this Winter season. My excursion was similar to a little squirrel gathering his cache of nuts so he doesn’t starve in the cold weather. At least I always know where to find my goodies and don’t need to hide them from anyone. That trip around the store and hauling in all the bags garnered this grocery gatherer another three miles toward the final goal of 500.

Um … I think I’m ready for Fall. How rude of Summer to finally show up, bringing with it this wicked humidity and daily rain and thunderstorms. I must concede that I am a weather malcontent. Despite my stance during the endless Winter that I would never bemoan Summer’s heat or humidity, it looks like I’m going to complain anyway. A cloudy morning and the sun that decided to sleep in, made for a later departure, and thus it was a shorter walk today. I headed out the door on this rather gloomy morn and once again diverted my trek to the train tracks on Emmons Boulevard. Soon I fear the homeowners on Emmons will think I am “casing the joint”. As I passed Ford Park I noted there were additional leafy branches piled up throughout the area. As I strolled down Emmons, once again leaves and small branches littered the sidewalks and streets from the latest storm. So many leaves have fallen already, either related to the storm or the cooler temps we’ve had all Summer, that I have even noticed leaf imprints on the sidewalks already.

The stately home with the lavender patch was just heavenly in the moist air and it was a welcome scent after smelling the musty leaves laying on damp lawns … or worms. I paused to inhale deeply and would have liked to bring a bouquet home with me but I daren’t touch or pick. I was solo as I walked the streets this morning – there was not a dog walker, jogger or bicyclist in sight. After Labor Day, the usual hustle and bustle of kids being shepherded to school and thus more traffic, will have me hoping that I can return to Council Point Park more often. At least there I don’t have to watch for cars backing out of driveways or otherwise preoccupied drivers. It seems impossible that the Labor Day holiday is just around the corner and soon we’ll settle into Fall. Maybe it’s because Summer, for the most part, just passed us by this year; that is sad since we really looked forward to it after the long and arduous Winter. I have four months to reach my goal so will keep plugging away before the weather turns ugly and I am on the inside looking out like the tail end of last year.

Long after I returned home today I could still smell that beautiful, almost overpowering, scent of lavender which must have cloaked my clothes as I walked past it. I had some lavender plants tucked in a corner of my yard one year, but they grew gangly by the end of Summer and were hopelessly bent over and tangled into other perennials. I decided, though the lavender smelled good, it looked rather messy, so I decided to yank it out in the Fall. I was hoping to dry the stems and delicate flowers, then gather them with a lavender-colored ribbon to hang in my room as I’d seen in so many gardening books. The project looked easy enough. I gathered a huge handful of stalks, spread them out to dry on a newspaper in the basement, but the blooms dried to a crisp and fell off. Did I miss a step? Was I supposed to preserve them somehow? Perhaps they were better left in their natural state where I might stop by and breathe in deeply every chance I could. But I had hoped to capture and enjoy that delicate scent through the Winter months.

Lavender reminds me of my grandmother. She used Yardley English Lavender toilet water, talcum powder and bar soap for years. When I snuggled up against Nanny when I was a little girl, I remember that most heavenly scent, and, when she opened her dresser or chest drawers, the room was instantly filled with the heady smell of lavender because she unwrapped the cakes of soap and nestled them between her clothes. Perhaps that is why that lovely lavender scent returns me to my childhood once again whenever I smell it.

As rosemary is to the spirit … so lavender is to the soul. ~ Anonymous

It was another nothin’ special weather morning … a bleak-looking sky and the high humidity wasn’t too inviting either when I rolled out the door to start my walk. Where should I go this morning? Not to Council Point Park – still too wet. I decided to split up my walk and mosey on over to Lincoln Park Days and stroll around the grounds to get a flavor of the carnival atmosphere. Well, they weren’t open yet, so there were no enticing smells of elephant ears or corn dogs and the cotton candy machine was not yet spinning that lighter-than-air treat either. Oh well, I’ll wait ‘til next year now.

Next, I headed the opposite way and decided I’d at least walk to the border of Wyandotte and Lincoln Park and get in four or five miles today. As I was wending my way to Wyandotte, an elderly man stopped me and told me he was out for his daily morning walk. I said “me too – where are you headed?” He said he walked to the gas station every morning to get his paper and on bad weather days he rode his exercise bike in the basement. We walked along companionably, keeping pace with one another, all the while chit-chatting about the weather and walking and whatnot. Suddenly he turned to me and said “I’ll be 92 years old in October” … well, that just floored me and I told him that, adding that he sure didn’t look or act his age, and I wasn’t just flattering him. He beamed when I said that and I think I made his day. He was very upbeat and I really enjoyed our conversation. But we eventually parted ways and I headed down Emmons Boulevard, knowing my feet should find the way for sure, since I’ve been beating a path that way so often in recent weeks.

I got to the borderline of Lincoln Park and Wyandotte and paused for a minute, as I usually do, to check the dirty Ecorse Creek for waterfowl … I’ve never seen ducks or geese there anymore since that one day that they were all frolicking in the water together with their young. I just happened to be in the right place at the right time I guess. As I stood woolgathering and pondering life on the little bridge over the Creek, a woman came up from behind and startled me. She was pushing a double baby stroller. I glanced at the infants, who didn’t look like twins, from what I could tell, since their bonnets and blankets shielded their tiny faces. I said “good morning” but she didn’t return the greeting, nor did the young tyke who was grasping onto the stroller handle as they walked slowly along. I just stood there looking into the water for a few more minutes and the little girl broke away and ran over to where a patch of Queen Anne’s Lace was growing wild down by the banks of the Creek. She pulled hard to grab a few strands of that plant, then walked to another patch and got some more … just enough for a “bouquet” and then she raced back and presented them to her mother with a flourish. “Look Mommy – I picked these for you” she said, and her mother looked at her with disdain and said “those are weeds … throw them away before you get dirty!” I watched the interplay out of the corner of my eye as the little girl tossed those delicate and lacy weeds over the railing and into the water. I didn’t comment of course – that would have been rude of me to do so. I remember the big meadow at the end of our street that later became Hopedale Plaza. I was always bringing home Queen Anne’s Lace for my mom when I was about that same age. Sometimes it was buttercups. I recall a chubby fist filled with “flowers” and making a grand presentation, then those blooms arranged nicely by my mom, and tucked into some water in a tall, empty apple butter jar. Sure, they weren’t roses, but they were received and cherished just as if they were. After the family had turned a corner and was out of sight, I just shook my head and started for home.

As I continued my trek, my mind kept wandering back to those chance encounters with very different strangers. To quote Abe Lincoln … “Folks are usually about as happy as they make their minds up to be.”

Today was one of those lazy-hazy-crazy days of Summer they sing about. When I left the house this morning, it was still a little foggy … and that’s no description of yours truly. I decided to walk down Emmons Boulevard all the way to the Detroit River as I sure wasn’t going to mess with any mosquitoes in Council Point Park after this soggy and humid week. As I passed by Ford Park I noticed alot of trees had met the same fate as those in Memorial Park … missing limbs galore and huge piles of leafy branches were scattered everywhere.

As I walked down Emmons, the usual canopy of trees seemed to be intact but it looked as if that gusty wind whisked alot of bark right off those stately trees as shreds of bark were scattered all over the sidewalks and in the street. There were dozens of green acorns littering the sidewalk and they crunched under my feet as I walked.

It really wasn’t a morning for people watching as I saw no walkers and just one bicyclist … it was much cooler than yesterday, and even rather dismal looking, so I suspect most people were enjoying a lazy Saturday morning indoors.

I watched a pair of robins crouched over a cicada who was lying on the sidewalk furiously flailing its gossamer wings. I suspect they might have already pecked it and were now simply staring at the poor insect, and studying it as one might study a chess board before making the next move. Though you’ll never catch me coming to any bug’s rescue, I actually felt sorry for the cicada as those birds each watched their prey, as well as each other, anticipating the next move … a little game of “who should grab that goodie first?” … it made me visibly shudder. The cicada’s bullet-shaped body was easily the size of my whole thumb, so I’m sure it made a tasty meal for one lucky robin. I moved along before they could move in for the “kill” and the sidewalk was bare by the time I made my return trip.

When I got to the intersection of Emmons and Biddle, I gazed across the river, as I usually do, but I could see nothing on the horizon as it was so hazy, and even downright foggy. Well phooey; even the bobbing buoys were missing in action. I’ll bet a big freighter would have been just a dim outline on that foggy shoreline as well.

I hated to think I toted my camera along for nothing, so I wandered over to the River’s Edge Marina and snapped this picture advertising fishing bait … nothing special about a sign that advertises Canadian night crawlers, but really … do the fish like ‘em better than American night crawlers? Well, this Canadian was just strolling, not crawling, thank you very much, and before my trek ended today, I added five miles to my total. Not bad, eh?

I turned around to head for home and as I neared the railroad tracks, I saw the bright lights of an oncoming train in the hazy distance. The crossing gates hadn’t been lowered yet, but not wanting to take a chance on making a foolish dash for it, I stood obediently by the gates to await the passing of the train. Many years ago, a friend’s father tried to beat the train at the Champaign Road railroad tracks and failed. I had just started working at the diner and was on afternoons briefly while I was being trained, and, above the din of never-ending jukebox music we heard the police and ambulance sirens screeching out incessantly. On the 11:00 p.m. news that night I learned that Mr. Nolan had lost his life trying to beat the train.

Well, all of a sudden, the crossing gate arm lowered and a terrific clang, clang, clanging noise ensued and brought me out of my reverie about that terrible night. Being in such close proximity to the crossing gate, that sound seemed deafening to me and I wanted to plug my ears. The train, had crept closer and, mercifully, was short … only 18 boxcars, each of which was covered with graffiti. There was no caboose bringing up the rear and that got me reminiscing about when I was a kid and how we’d be routinely stopped by the train when going to my grandmother’s house. If we were the first car behind the gate, I’d always give a gleeful wave at the red caboose, and, sometimes the conductor would indulge me and I’d get a salute or a wave back. That was a big deal when you’re a little kid. I never see a caboose on the tail end of a train anymore … just another little joy of childhood taken away from our kids today.

Summer might have finally arrived! I meandered out in the murky and muggy morning to run a few errands on foot. I was almost sorry that I ventured out, but for that ultimate 500-mile year-end walking goal, I went. I opened the door to see a cricket jump off the bricks and then I promptly walked into some spider web or something sticky that about freaked me out. I batted my arms in the air, waving off whatever had settled on my head and shoulders. I didn’t see a monstrous-sized spider, but he had been there and no doubt abandoned the web at some point after he spun it. Well, ugh!

That gusty thunderstorm the other day split apart an old tree on the corner and left huge branches scattered all over the lawn. That tree was there as long as I’ve lived here, and soon that will be 50 years. Just as I returned home, the tree cutters arrived, making quick work of the big branches, feeding them into the hungry shredder and sawdust was spewing everywhere. I watched them cutting the trunk down as well – there was a large crew which worked fast because they no doubt had a lengthy agenda today. Sadly, that tree was history in no time.

As I passed Memorial Park I couldn’t help but notice all the large branches scattered around the Park … these were more like limbs that lay in large heaps everywhere. Our City with its financial problems probably won’t be removing them for awhile yet. Once again, I marveled at the wrath of Mother Nature.

It was so sticky and humid outside … not my cup of tea at all. My walk became an adventure of sorts as the stroll challenged my nose to determine what aroma belonged to what since the humid air carried a myriad of smells, and not just the smell of worms.

First, I heard the slow chugging of a large vehicle and then overpowering diesel fumes. I looked behind me, and there was a school bus rolling along. It was empty – good thing because I sure hope the exhaust problem is corrected before it asphyxiates any of the young scholars who soon will be riding in it.

Finally, the bus fumes dissipated, and were replaced by a more-inviting smell as I walked past Harry’s Corned Beef and Ham. The door was cracked open a tad and the smell of corned beef wafted through the air right across Fort Street. I swear I detected garlic pickles as well. The exhaust fans were working overtime to create such a nice aroma, but I know how wonderful the food smell carries to the outside world from that little restaurant, for it was the former diner where I worked for five years. You could smell breakfast or burgers on the grill at Carter’s for many blocks away.
I was reminiscing about Carters just as I ambled past White Castle. I don’t know what they were cooking on their grill – breakfast sliders and hash browns perhaps? I sniffed appreciatively at the homey smells which filled the air. Again, I was sorely tempted to step on in.

The smell of all the fried food in the moist and humid air smelled so delicious and I was sure I carried some of that aroma with me as I stopped along the way on my errands. It reminded me of my waitress uniform and apron years and years ago. When I walked into the house, my mom would bemoan my “greasy spoon smell” since my hair and my clothes just reeked of fried food, especially when I helped out on the grill while the cook was taking a break.

I always say to people that since I gave up sweets, fast food and fried food, that I really don’t miss that fare, but, of course, I don’t usually smell it either so there is nothing to entice me in slipping off that wagon. Hopefully, the nose knows the difference between scents and sensibility.

Thinking of that song “Rainy Days and Mondays” by the Carpenters from back in the early 70s and how they sang about how “rainy days and Mondays always get me down” … well, I guess truer words were never spoken. Just like everyone was weary of the endless cold and snow by the time Spring finally exited, I think this constant sogfest is not making many points either. I feel lucky to remain unscathed by this last round of storms though the power went out momentarily a couple of times last night. I was sitting here writing this post, and the kitchen light flickered, and my wireless went out, but both returned in record time. This damp weather is extending my Spring allergies, despite being on an allergy shot regimen for a decade and using OTC allergy meds. My voice sounds like Kim Carnes and I could match “Sneezy” from “Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs” sneeze for sneeze every morning from this onslaught of funky weather. I wonder how much pool time people really got in this Summer, between the coolish weather and all the rain? The next thing you know, the kids will be clamoring to go back to school because they are bored with being housebound all the time. I wonder what they will compose when asked to write “What I Did On My Summer Vacation”? One plus from all this rain has been gargantuan-sized plants … I pass a house with patch of Empress Wu Hostas and they are impressive, but this plant, pictured above, really piqued my interest. I pass it every time I go to Council Point Park. It seems to grow larger every day and the homeowners are never out in the yard when I pass so I can’t ask what they are growing, because I am just nosey enough to ask them. Until recently, I was an avid gardener and used to faithfully read gardening periodicals, and listen to the “The Gardening Show” on WJR without fail. I remember seeing or reading about Elephant Ear Plants through the years, and I Googled that image and I strongly suspect that might be what this plant is, but, when I think of Elephant Ears, I’m more inclined to think of those sweet doughy treats you buy at the carnival when it is in town. As to this plant, ‘til I find out otherwise, I’ll assume that Jack has sown a handful of bean seeds and leave it at that.

At the risk of sounding like I’m losin’ it … every time I pass this big ol’ gnarled-up tree on Emmons Boulevard, I’m confident that this is the Michigan version of “The Hollow Tree” where the Keebler elves bake their delicious cookies. When I stroll past this tree, I just can’t stop myself from glancing over at the big hole near the base of it, where, at the very least, I might expect to see a squirrel, chipmunk or some other four-legged furry critter come dashing out when it hears the keys and whistles jingle-jangling on my lanyard. I must admit I never get too close – I’ll just steal a glance and be on my way. I think it looks like the Keebler Kitchen and that any minute those K-Elves and their compadres should start crankin’ out those wonderful fudge-striped cookies. Perhaps it is a home to faeries and gnomes? A few trees down from this one, someone has stuck a funny face on the side of the tree … its bulging eyes are a little eerie, but it makes me smile when I see it and I know that someone else has a vivid imagination, as do I. As to elfin magic, back when I was in middle school, I applied to work as an elf at Fantasyland, an annual Christmas display here in Lincoln Park. It was a volunteer position and I thought it would be a hoot to work with Santa and Mrs. Claus and dress up in an elf costume, complete with pointy ears. But, alas … even in those days, I was quite tall, and a tall elf just wouldn’t do. So the volunteer coordinator asked me if perhaps I’d like to work on one of the animated displays since they were always desperate for warm bodies to lend a hand. I said “sure”, so sure enough I spent all of my weekends in November, until Fantasyland opened Thanksgiving weekend, working in the Elves’ Candy House. It was a little white cottage, adorned with peppermint candies, shutters made of sugar cookies and a gingerbread roof. As you looked inside the picture window, one elf was busy overseeing all the conveyor belts which were loaded with candy and a pair of elves worked together to crank the large handle on the conveyor belt which was loaded with candy canes. It was a real conveyor belt made of ecru-colored canvas, and my task was to hand sew and secure at least 50 real candy canes onto the fabric belt so there were no bare spots. I also worked on other conveyor belts in the kitchen of the Candy House. Bon bons were painstakingly glued onto similar conveyor belts, row after row after row. I even got to create special effects “chocolate icing” after I mixed up some stinky brown potion in a bowl, then had to tip the bowl over as if it had spilled and made big splatters all over the kitchen. Then I had to stick a wooden spatula into the bowl and let it dry like that. I don’t know what material that fake-’em-out chocolate icing was made of, but it dried like Lucite and it smelled to high heaven. So, I helped work a little magic with those elves all those years ago, and the end result was a ton of giggles and smiles on young and old alike. So, I’m stickin’ to my story – that is not just a big, black hole in the base of the tree. Shhhh, I think the elves are still sleeping having worked the midnight shift!

“Logic will get you from A to Z: imagination will get you everwhere.” – Albert Einstein

It was another Saturday morning to savor and put in the memory books for when the weather turns ugly down the road. I left early, and it was still a little chilly, but nothing like yesterday, so I made the big concession of leaving the gloves at home, but I wore the sweat suit.

I headed down to Council Point Park and it was nearly deserted, which I thought was odd since it was such a beautiful day. I heard the birds singing loud and strong as I strolled along, while the geese were grazing quietly in the baseball field. The squirrels might have been sleeping in because I never saw a single one, and I had tucked a Pink Lady apple with a tiny worm hole in it in my pocket just in case my favorite furry friend crossed my path.

As I merged into the second loop, where it is more open, and finally, after walking solo on the trail for a good 15 minutes, I saw a woman walking the opposite way. I asked her where everyone was and she said “they were here earlier – I’ve been here since around 6:30” … hmmm, well – it was only 8:15 and I really didn’t think I was too awfully late, and I hardly would have termed myself a “slacker”. Nevertheless, we chitchatted a bit about walking and the weather, and I decided to turn myself around and walk the way she was going rather than stand there with her growing moss, especially when we there for the purpose of walking. We finally introduced ourselves and our conversation went here, there and everywhere and we covered alot of ground, both dialogue-wise as well as on the Park path. We kept pace and went around one complete turn, then she was going to leave to drive home, but we were so engrossed in our topic, she said she’d join me for another loop. She finally left for her car and I stayed on the path, checking my pedometer, as I walked. I had already done about 3½ miles so I decided to embark on another go-around. This time I met another nice woman and we launched into a conversation that branched out after discussing the weather (always a common topic amongst the walkers), and, as we were walking along we spied some movement ahead of us on the path. She grabbed my arm when she recognized it as a garter snake. Well, we didn’t shriek or shout “eek!”, but we delicately picked our way around it, then watched it from afar as it slithered slowly along the perimeter path. It got a mite too close and I noted we both unconsciously picked up the pace at bit, lest he decide to join us. We parted ways and I decided to head home.

While walking home I mused about my conversations with my two fellow walkers. We all go to the Park regularly, yet we’d never met before, and none of us knew the name of other walkers whom we see regularly. Park walkers reference others by names such as “The Pole Walker”, “The Rollerblader”, “The Jogger”, “The Chocolate Lab Walker” or even “The Couple Who Push Their Dogs In a Stroller” … interesting. I wonder how others perceive me? Am I “The Picture Taker”, “The Bird Whistler”, “The Squirrel Feeder” or “The Geese Provoker”? Good question. Everybody has a nickname of some type – my parents never had a pet name for me but I was known by “Little Sister” in my close-knit group of high school girlfriends since I was the baby of the six of us. As to monikers and nicknames, I thought about Elvis, as he was on my mind having heard some snippets of his most-famous tunes on the early news this morning, as they marked the 37th anniversary of his death. He had many monikers – he was “E”, “EP” and “The King”, and, of course, sometimes he was just plain old Elvis. I guess he didn’t need a last name, like most of us do.

By the time I made it back home, I was pooped. I walked six miles today and didn’t even realize it ‘til I glanced at the pedometer. Today’s steps took me over the 300-mile mark. I have walked 303 miles in 2014 and only driven my car 168 miles. Onward and upward as I strive to stride 500 miles before year end. Hopefully there will be many more beautiful mornings like this one to get ‘er done, though I’ve watched the leaves on many of the trees in the Park slowly turning a golden or red hue, as you see in the above picture. I’d like to prolong Summer forever, but that can’t be done, so in the meantime I’ll just enjoy it one day at a time as Calvin and Hobbes suggest below:

“We’re so busy watching out for what’s just ahead of us that we don’t take time to enjoy where we are.” – Calvin & Hobbes

I hustled out of the house this morning when it was 51 degrees – not bad for the 15^th of September, but not ordinary for the 15^th of August.  I wore my sweat suit, and slipped on a pair of gloves before I departed, but I skipped the hat because I thought it would look dumb (but my ears were cold!)  Today’s excursion was pretty uneventful; a four-mile round trip to the allergist for my allergy shots, thus I was pounding the pavement along Fort Street.  I’ve been busy at work this week, so I looked forward to getting away for a walk, no matter the locale.  Enroute to the doctor’s office I passed so many empty buildings … once-thriving businesses that I can remember patronizing over the years, now long closed and with bedraggled-looking storefronts.  It was a little sad to see.  At the doctor’s office a lively discussion had ensued about the cold morning and predictions for the Winter.  Two people claimed their respective dogs’ heavy shedding of their coats last Summer was a precursor to the long and brutal Winter we had.  Both women stated their dogs’ hair was already coming out by the handfuls, so they have already decided, whatever the meteorologists or “The Old Farmer’s Almanac” suggests will happen, is not as accurate as hair loss by a collie or golden retriever.  We all laughed about it, but I do subscribe to their theory.  Well, we went our separate ways and I trekked home on the opposite side of Fort Street for a little variety.  To get back home, I must pass through Southgate, Wyandotte and then Lincoln Park.  As I looked down each street in Southgate, nearly every homeowner had massive piles of garbage in front of their home –soiled carpet, furniture, electronics and black plastic garbage bags by the score.  I felt sorry for them as I passed each block and this continued for many neighborhoods.  By the time I got close to home the sun was shining bright and all of a sudden, those sweats that I insisted on swapping my lightweight walking clothes for, were starting to make me very warm.  I walked up the side of the house,  thinking about the tall, cool glass of chocolate milk that awaited me, when I saw it – a large caterpillar inching its way across my neighbor Marge’s bright-colored bricks .  At a distance I thought it was a Woolly Bear caterpillar, until I got up close and inspected him.  He looked almost neon-like with his bright-yellow, bristly body, but he was no Woolly Bear.  I knew I’d look him up in my butterfly and moth book when I got in the house.  He will grow up to be an American Dagger Moth, those huge moths you see flitting around outside after dark with the brownish-gray powdery wings.  When I was a kid growing up in Canada, we had alot of Woolly Bear caterpillars and I can remember my friends and I plucking them off trees or cedar bushes and letting them walk along our outstretched palm, then up our arms, giggling over the tickle of their bristles on our bare skin.  Folklore suggests that the Woolly Bear’s stripes are a good indication of predicting the Winter ahead – the wider the black stripes, the worse the Winter will be.  Well, this caterpillar was just ordinary; he had not earned any stripes, nor would he, because he was from another family.  For sure, he was not out to stir up any weather lore or bad vibes … he was just roamin’ around and gettin’ some sun and a walk … just like me.  I hadn’t planned on a nature walk today, but I got more than I bargained for with this brush with Mother Nature in the most unexpected way.

When I left for my walk this morning the welcome sight of the sunlight filtering down on my head felt good, despite the brisk breeze. The only item marring that brilliant blue sky was the vestiges of our recent Super Moon, which, although it was fading fast, was still rather impressive. I figured I’d be stepping around puddles as I walked to Meijer to pick up some produce, but most of the streets had dried up already. Many sidewalks and driveways looked like low tide because street sand and dirt had washed up and left their residue when the rainwater, which had flooded way past the curb, finally receded. I enjoyed stretching my legs after two days inside and the grocery store run is a three-mile plus trip for me. It seemed Monday’s torrential downpours and the aftermath was the topic of conversation at Meijer and the regular clerks or cashiers I usually kibitz with had horror stories to tell of customers making umpteen trips on Tuesday for more cleaning supplies to sop up, mop up and sanitize their basements. After walking home and then heading up my street, I heard the hum of a small plane overhead and looked up just in time to see silver wings dipping way down, then going on an angle, then next aiming high for the sky like a huge bird. I blinked fast as I didn’t want to miss anything. So, what was next … a loop de loop? I stood in place shielding my eyes from the bright sun with my outstretched hand waiting for an encore. I think he must have been a stunt pilot of some type, because, just as quickly as that plane zoom-zoomed in and began its acrobatics, it had vanished again, and all that was left was the perfect sky, a series of contrails and the slight hum of that silver bird’s engine in the background.