WALKIN', WRITIN', WIT & WHIMSY

… well, just fill in the blank here … day, night, or maybe even overnight. Another Summer storm is on the horizon, and, so here I sit, writing today’s blog post to get it done before the bad weather arrives. I kind of feel like Snoopy sitting atop his red doghouse and pecking away on his manual typewriter … he also wrote “It was a dark and stormy night.”

I was glad to get out for a walk this morning, though the hot and sultry temps made it feel like we turned the calendar page over to August instead of September. Yesterday, weather and work-related woes kept me huddled over the keyboard, thus, there was no pounding the pavement for a walk. The weather folks predicted stormy weather yesterday and I needed to get a 30-page document finished for Tuesday morning, so those two factors kept me tethered to the keyboard and my eyes running together to get ‘er done. I was glad to escape to the great outdoors this morning, but the heat and humidity almost made me wish I was still inside the air-conditioned house. When I left, there were low clouds and a dark-gray sky which looked like it was going to open up any minute. I decided to head down to the River and managed to make the round trip before the rain began and without getting stopped by the train.

This weekend, specifically Labor Day, is an anniversary of sorts for me. It was three years ago on Labor Day that I began my walking regimen. I needed to get out and stretch my legs more than just in the garden, and, after I began working from home I didn’t feel I was getting enough exercise. The American Heart Association heartily endorsed walking as the best way to keep fit. So, I decided my world was going to include walking. The first day it was hot and steamy, just like today. I only went a few short blocks and called it done. Then I began gradually increasing a few more blocks daily. I walked through the Fall of 2011 and most of the Winter of 2011-2012 since it was so mild and it only snowed a handful of times. I never used a pedometer but had mapped out the mileage in my car for my favorite treks, so I figure the first year I got about 250 miles in during that time period.

By the Spring of 2012 I figured walking was going to be my permanent way to keep fit and stay healthy. I bought a pedometer and two more pair of walking shoes, intending to rotate the shoes every other day. The alternate pair is still sitting in the box. I had good intentions, but sometimes I’d just get ready to head out the door and didn’t want to stop and fiddle around; I just wanted to get on my way. Starting May of 2012 I kept a daily record, just in my head, of the mileage I walked that day. I figure I walked at least another 250-300 miles based on my daily calculations and the frequency of the walks.

In 2013 I started my walking blog and set out in the Spring with a vengeance to reach the ultimate goal of 500 miles for that year. I started keeping a daily record of my mileage, as well as the mileage I put on the car. I walked 500 miles, and surpassed the car mileage by 100 miles in 2013.

This year, due to the Winter which wouldn’t go away, and a cold Spring which languished ‘til mid-April, it seems like the walking regimen thus far in 2014 has taken a hit. I made a goal of 500 miles by year-end once again and hope to make it. Last year as of September 1st I had 340 miles and as of today I’ve walked 335 miles thus far in 2014. So, I guess I am not too disappointed. I am still in the same pair of walking shoes, but, I noticed a little hole in the sole today. Time to break in the alternate pair. I am way ahead of my car mileage this year since my mantra is “Why ride when you can stride?” While I trudged along this morning, sweltering in the heat and humidity and dying to get home to chug down a tall glass of chocolate milk, the calculations in my head tell me I’ve walked about 1,400 miles in three years. Wow! So onward I go, striding toward the ultimate goal, knowing the sun gets up later, and soon the longer walks to rack up the miles might have to wait for the weekends. Nothing is going to break my stride now.

Walking is man’s best medicine. ~Hippocrates

Perhaps this faded photograph of me sporting pigtails and my cat-eye glasses, circa late 60s, would have been more fitting for “Way, Way Back Wednesday”, “Throwback Thursday” or “Flashback Friday”, but I decided to dig it out and use it for this post since bicycles were on my mind today.

My morning trip to Council Point Park was reminiscent of my Sunday stroll which told of encounters with an older gentleman and a young mom with kids, only today it was the reverse, and I merely watched and never spoke to any of those involved.

I saw the boy and his dad first, then the elderly man, both on the Park path. The little boy had a mid-sized bike, which looked to be his first two-wheeler sans training wheels. He had a slight build and was wearing a huge, yellow helmet that kind of overwhelmed the rest of him. In fact, as skinny as he was, it made him look like some type of alien. He was pedaling his bike, not very confidently, and a young man was right behind him, holding on for dear life. There was trepidation on the little boy’s part as the front wheel wobbled back and forth a little bit, and he kept looking over his shoulder asking “are you there Dad?” and “yes, son – I am here” was the response each time. “Okay” … he continued wobbling along, front wheel wiggling first to the left, then to the right, but he didn’t tip over, and his father dutifully kept bringing up the rear, his big palm plastered on the back of the bike seat.

I watched the interplay from my side of the perimeter path loop as the boy suddenly seemed to gain confidence and he got that front wheel straightened out. Suddenly, it was like everything just meshed and he started pedaling faster. Soon Dad was hard pressed to keep his hand on the seat and he was huffing and puffing to keep up with his son. A wide patch of perspiration started staining Dad’s gray t-shirt. Then suddenly, he let go of the bike, and I wondered if he could no longer keep up, or, perhaps he decided it was just time to let him go. The little boy pedaled fast and furiously, rolling along on the perimeter path while his dad just stood in place on the track, a big grin on his face. Then, Dad figured everything was going well, so he loped across the grassy area, to catch up with his son on the other side. The little boy, from what I could see of his face, since the helmet took up most of the expanse of it, was all smiles too. I wanted to salute this dad because I remember all too well, my attempts to learn how to ride a two-wheeler with a father who had no patience, and in a cul-de-sac where the street was just a gravel road. There were no helmets in those days and I had a brand-new, full-size bike. I was terrified of falling. My father gave me a few lessons on how to keep the bike upright, then slipped behind the bike and suggested I take off. I begged him not to turn me loose, but he did. I fell down and scraped my leg and whined a bit, so we never went out again. I took my new bike to my friend’s house where her dad patiently circled ‘round and ‘round the backyard on the grass, his hand on the bike seat, until I was comfortable enough to ride on my own. One day this little boy will remember the first day he had wheels and could go anywhere and who helped take him there.

By contrast, when I reached the other side, I saw an elderly man walking the perimeter path, while wheeling his bicycle . I don’t know if he was afraid to tether it to a stand in case it was stolen, or perhaps he needed the reassurance of that bike … maybe in lieu of a walker or a cane. But he was trudging slowly, gripping onto a very old-style, turquoise-colored bicycle. It made me kind of wistful to see him, just sadly walking and rolling his bike along, right on the heels of the youngster who was about to learn the freedom that owning a bicycle brings.

Four miles of foot power today for me and still another glimpse into my past for you ….

Well I stole out of the house and headed to Council Point Park for my infusion of nature that has sorely been missing now for one day shy of two weeks. I arrived and found myself solo, only to be joined by several other walkers by the time I’d finished the first loop. The Park was fairly still and there was just a whisper of a breeze. Soon I heard the train blowing its whistle, long and loud, as it approached the tracks at Emmons Boulevard, and it sounded haunting in the quiet morning. Finally it stopped and I could concentrate on the beautiful birdcalls and whistles as I meandered around the perimeter path. I kept up with a little sparrow until my lips were parched. Then, I had to smile because even though I had been whistling back while I was walking, once I stopped whistling, that sparrow dipped down right in front of me, then flew ahead to a tree closer to where I was. I didn’t know whether it was miffed I had stopped our “game” or simply wanted to get me engaged once again. An angry blue jay was chattering and shrieking from a nearby tree. I looked for him up in that tall tree, which has lost most of its leaves after last year’s brutal Winter. It is an ugly-looking tree which has scant leaves and is mostly dead wood, but though I scanned those bare branches thoroughly, there was no beautiful blue jay to be found, so obviously it was playing hide-and-go-seek.

On the second loop around, I saw a woman stationed on a park bench while she watched two children cavorting on the playground equipment. The pair were rather petulant and arguing with one another and soon their raised voices turned to screams and tears. The woman, probably their mother, called out to the boys to “shut up and play” in her shrill voice which carried in the still morn. They looked up, whimpered some more, then started pummeling one another with their fists. She threatened them that they’d go home and they just taunted her from atop the tunnel and slide. By the time I finished the loop the trio was gone. Ahh … the little darlings will be headed back to school soon. In a Summer that was coolish and rainy, not offering as many days to play outside as usual, I’m sure moms everywhere are breathing a collective sigh of relief that school starts next week. The pictures above are some stone cherubs and angels I’ve photographed over the summer – they are probably the only babies and children who are well-behaved 100% of the time.

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