WALKIN', WRITIN', WIT & WHIMSY

After struggling for weeks and weeks to arrive, it seems that maybe Spring has finally landed and is here to stay, that is, except for Council Point Park, which is still cloaked in drab colors and post-Winter barrenness.

I left for my walk later today thinking I’d wait until the sun warmed the temp up a bit. It helped, but the high clouds held the sun at bay most of the time, and it was windy as well. As I walked through the various neighborhoods enroute to the Park, it seemed that in the past few days everyone has finally embraced this season and come alive. Pastel Spring-y wreaths now adorn front doors, brightly colored tulips line up like soldiers in garden beds and pots of hyacinths and Easter lilies have migrated from last Sunday’s dining room table to the front porch awaiting transplanting. Forsythia bushes are beginning to bloom and I saw touches of bright yellow peeking out from various backyards as I passed by. It seemed that yard clean-up and turf managing was high on the agenda this weekend. I saw many rakes being put to good use, and heaps of shredded leaves and large and small branches getting funneled into oodles of yard waste bags. I stepped on and smelled fertilizer pellets as well as the aroma of freshly mowed grass. A few times I had to sidestep the bright-green stains left by mower wheels on the sidewalk, lest I pick up the stains or grass clods in the ridges of my walking shoes. Every so often, I heard the choking sound of a mower being started up for the first time this year and a puff of dark gray smoke emerged shortly thereafter. The click, click, click of toenails on trees told me a pair of frisky squirrels were nearby, and sure enough … there they were, chittering at one another as they clambered up and down and ‘round the tree. Then they saw me coming and they panicked and took off into the street – I held my breath, afraid to look, but the driver braked the vehicle on time and the squirrels nonchalantly crossed the street, oblivious to their near-demise and on the way to their next adventure.

At the Park, however, Spring seemed to be suspended and everything was pretty much status quo since I returned there for the first time a fortnight ago. A few buds have emerged on bushes and saplings, but no leaves have unfurled yet. In fact, most trees are still bare, showing anyone who dares to look up as far as the eye can see, exactly how many squirrels and birds have built their nests in the branches. There are many fallen trees in the marshy area of the Park, and if you peer between the tall reeds and marsh grass, you often see large logs or big branches that have broken off trees and are now sticking haphazardly out of the water. As I stood looking for mallards I saw a lowly sunbeam create this large tree’s reflection on the water … I snapped the picture, while carefully trying to eliminate as much debris out of the shot as possible. A few minutes later the tree’s reflection was gone after the sun dipped behind a cloud. The high clouds and the drab colors hardly enhance the natural nooks and crannies that nurture the wildlife that I enjoy seeing and hearing in my daily respite from the humdrum and sometimes dull and droll business of daily existence. The Park is a breath of fresh air – and it’s free. You can’t say that about very many things these days can you? Where else can you infuse your senses with nature and just inhale/exhale/get exhilarated/get re-charged and not spend a penny? I hope I paint a pretty picture of Council Point Park in my many vignettes so that you feel as if you are there. Sometimes, I am biased, and I do admit that I often view the Park through rose-colored glasses, but other walkers I strike up a conversation with say the same thing – walking through the Park is an escape of sorts. It’s all in the perception really. I’ve written before that I see right past the graffiti on the cement precipice that is near the storm drain where the ducks congregate. Who cares if “Rick Loves Lisa!” … it is too bad that the markings of our culture have to mar the beauty of the natural habitat, but sadly people must deface other people’s property. Right now, the Ecorse Creek and its banks are sorely in need of a little TLC. Our former mayor reached out to her constituents via Facebook and recruited volunteers to bring themselves, their rakes and yard-waste bags for two intensive days of clean-up last Spring. Our new mayor, however, has his hands full right now, since our poor City is in arrears up to its eyeballs and worrying about the possibility of an Emergency Manager, so I guess clean-up by the regular Parks and Rec crew doesn’t factor into the budget. So, you’ll see some plastic water bottles strewn along the Park path, the occasional energy bar wrapper or salty snack wrapper. In fact, this morning I saw a rather amusing sight – a squirrel had his nose embedded deep into a discarded bag of Cheetos and when he heard me, he quickly turned the bag loose and emerged with a nose dusted in bright orange Cheetos cheese dust. Cute, but sad, nonetheless as there are 55-gallon cans to deposit garbage throughout the Park grounds. Sometimes you’ll see large Styrofoam packing pieces drifting down the Creek or those light-as-a-feather Styrofoam packing peanuts blowing around as well. There are plastic bags snagged on trees and flapping in the breeze or garbage clinging to the bulrushes. To enjoy the beauty of the Park, you must look past the debris, disarray and still dull-looking marshland and bare trees, plus you simply must disregard those trees that have fallen into the water at awkward angles disrupting the flow of the water and which allow items to grab on and collect around it, i.e. somewhere my beret that flew off my head last Fall is still clinging to one such wayward branch. I’ve discovered the natural wonders in the Park, but besides using my eyes to take it all in, I rely even more on my ears … ears to hear the beautiful birdsong and even the geese honking and ducks quacking – they are all part of the ambiance. Sure, the Ecorse Creek and its banks are also a little tired looking but none the worse for wear as we collection of nature lovers transplanted from the “Big City” muddle along like misfits along the pathway, glad for a slice of sunshine through the trees to lighten our moods and give us a glimpse of Mother Nature’s treasures.

… that led me to Council Point Park for the first time one year ago today. Now, I’d heard about the Park before that day, since the local newspaper often featured various events that took place there. In fact, in 2008, my 35th high school reunion was held at the Park’s pavilion, though it was hardly memorable, or worth any press, since it was just a “bring-your-own-hot-dogs-and-hamburgers-to-cook-on-the-Park-BBQ-and-help-eat-the-sheet-cake-with-your-former-classmates” kind of deal. Only about a dozen LPHS Class of ’73 grads, out of 613, showed up. A friend of mine was on the reunion committee and urged me to go, but I did not attend, despite the Park being a mere 3/4s of a mile away. One year ago on this date, my boss was in Australia on a catamaran sailing around the Great Barrier Reef and it was a picture-perfect day here in Lincoln Park as well. I had extra time on my hands and a beautiful day to walk. WWJ had been touting the week-long festivities commemorating the 250th anniversary of Chief Pontiac’s council which convened on April 27, 1763 as a “must-see” event, so off I went. A large stone with an engraved plaque recognizing that monumental event sits at the entrance to the Park and is pictured above. However, besides that stone, a handful of large trailers, and one teepee, there was nothing happening. But the Park … now that caught my attention, and I ambled around the perimeter path, just taking in all the sights and sounds in the natural setting of this 27-acre park which runs parallel to the Ecorse Creek. Well, I was so enchanted by this little gem, tucked away in the middle of a busy city, that I vowed to return again. It soon became my daily go-to place and never fails to disappoint. Though the weather was cool and a little blustery this morning, I was enjoying the ambiance of the Park and I hated to head home after I completed my first lap, so I decided to extend my excursion. Five miles walked for me today … please don’t be looking for me to stay up too late tonight – I’ll be nodding off in my kitchen chair shortly after I post this.

This morning’s raindrops wreaked havoc with my walk – half of it anyway. I guess I’ll take the glass half-full approach and say that half of a walk is better than no walk at all. Anyway, I didn’t stray far from the ranch so I wouldn’t get soaking wet. Since I took a different route today I went down a street with a sidewalk full of children’s chalk scribbles. I stopped to admire the many funky-looking flowers in polka-dotted flower pots, colorful Easter eggs, the greeting “Happy Easter” and even a few hopscotch squares as well. Too bad this week’s on-again/off-again rains have hampered the efforts of these budding sidewalk artists who no doubt were anxious to get creative with their pastel chalks they received in their Easter baskets. Today’s wash out will no doubt obliterate any remaining scribbles and scrawls on the neighborhood sidewalks. It’s been a rather cold and rainy week for kids who were off school on Easter break and I’m sure the weather left alot of moms groaning and gritting their teeth as well. Stay dry and enjoy the weekend as it promises to be rain-free which is more than can be said for the upcoming week. The April showers will linger into May and leave us scratching our heads when we might expect those May flowers?

Well, it wasn’t a picture-perfect day due to the cloud cover and grayish skies; it wasn’t even balmy though it is nearly the end of April. Perhaps that is why I was walking solo on the Park path this morning. The solitude was kind of nice, actually, and I could stroll and just languish at all my favorite spots along the way. I stopped to toss a few peanuts here and there as the “regulars” scampered over to get their daily nut goodies. Oh yes … I know I’m such a sucker for those little beggars, but they do make me smile.

For most of my journey, it was quiet and peaceful and all I heard was the low cooing of a mourning dove interrupted by a few starlings who decided they must serenade me with a songfest as well. While I’m not fond of starlings, they can warble continuously for several minutes and never take a break and they wear me out trying to keep pace and whistle back at them. So, I walked along, thrilling to the trilling of the songbirds, and watching an occasional bunny bop on by. The only other noise was a somber-sounding train whistle from the nearby tracks in Wyandotte which seemed to be intensified in the still morn. In fact, I was so in tune with my surroundings that I was visibly startled when I heard the train whistle blow.

Well, I’ll just bet the tail end of my headline got your attention. The goose egg for me was no ducks at the sewer drain once again. Last weekend I mentioned the lack of mallards to other walkers whom I see similarly glance that way when they pass the ducks’ usual gathering spot. We’re hoping there is not a predator of some sort that has hurt them or scared them off in recent days. I continue to take some bread along and keep an eye out for them daily. But a sight for sore eyes was these two beautiful Canada Geese which I saw gliding down the Ecorse Creek. Since I started walking at Council Point Park, I’ve never seen Canada Geese in the water – they are usually grazing in the baseball diamonds or soccer fields. In between mouthfuls of grass, they generally strut around, plop down around the perimeter Path or fly in flocks overhead. Usually, you can’t miss them with their incessant honking when they are overhead – it is like they are warning you in advance to cover your head and duck for cover. They were as graceful as swans as they glided along. Perhaps the pair was scoping out a good secluded location for the female’s eggs to be laid and protected until the big hatch. I am hoping to see a few goslings by early to mid-May and will keep my eyes peeled for any nest-sitting activity going forward. There was also a pair of geese on the Park path, and as I approached them, they started honking up a storm. I dug into one pocket to have my camera at the ready, and opened the twisty-tie on my bag of bread to toss out a few tidbits onto the path. But they were too fast for me and a second later took flight, their large wings flapping furiously to lift them quickly off the ground, honking madly all the while. Perhaps I spooked them, but, in reality, their large presence, plus their sudden, rather obnoxious honking when they had just been placidly grazing, spooked me first, though I’d never let them know that!

Well, I guess this little fella took it to heart when I suggested any further dispensing of peanuts would need to be done on a quid pro quo basis. He doesn’t speak nor understand Latin of course, and neither do I, but having been a legal secretary now 34 years, I’ve picked up some legal jargon along the way. The phrase “quid pro quo” simply means “something for something” … I suggested to my little squirrel friend here, that he should pose prettily for some peanuts … and, he did just that as you see in the photo above. Now, if I could just wield such power with the always-mischievous and sometimes bull-headed Buddy I would be all set. (Smile) I managed to get this shot of my peanut pal in his favorite tree from which he often scrambles down to meet me as I amble by. After much tail swishing and repositioning himself in this deep V of the tree, (and me clicking off six or seven blurry shots), he managed to stay still long enough for me to snap his picture. I had my gloves off only long enough to use the camera and toss out some peanuts, because although the sun was shining, it was windy and quite nippy for my walk. On the Park path, there were just a handful of walkers this morning and the rest, mostly retired folks, perhaps stayed home in their jammies sipping coffee and waiting ‘til later to venture out. I’m not really anxious for the hot weather to arrive, but a little warmer temps sure would be appreciated.

Did you do your part to help erase your carbon footprint for Earth Day 2014? I intended to walk today, thus using foot power versus vehicle power, but the overnight rain and windy conditions would have spun my Springtime allergies into overdrive, so I took a quick car trip to get my allergy shots and came right home. For 2014, my miles driven in the car versus my walking miles are fairly close, and, I hope this year I can walk more miles than I drive once again. Last year, you may recall I walked 100 miles more than I drove (500 versus 400). My biggest contribution to the environment would have to be walking and not using the car, thus not adding more pollution to the atmosphere. I also use all electric-powered yard tools, so that is another plus. In recent years, I have switched over to CFL bulbs throughout the house. I resisted at first, and I find these light bulbs do not cast as much light as traditional incandescent bulbs, but I am adjusting. My DTE Home Energy Report says: “you used 11% less energy than your efficient neighbors” … but, after all, most of my day is spent in one room, the kitchen, where I work from home and my office is at my kitchen table. I got a high-efficiency furnace in 2012 so I am seeing good results in that regard, notwithstanding the brutal Winter and the need to keep nudging the thermostat higher and higher to keep Buddy and I toasty warm. I’m at a loss what better measures I could take to help our planet. I listened to some experts discussing this subject earlier in the day. They suggested growing your own food because there is less waste that way. I couldn’t – no, make that wouldn’t – be able to reach underneath cucumber or tomato plants, to snap off one of those veggies, still warm from the sun, from the vine. The fear of something running up my arm would be too horrid for me!! Years ago we had a garden out back, but the birds and squirrels helped themselves more often than not, just taking one bite out of a tomato and then casting it aside. I have to stick to Meijer or the Lincoln Park Farmer’s Market once it opens next month. I was buying heads of romaine lettuce for Buddy at Meijer a few weeks ago and one of the U-scan “helpers” told me she was growing her own romaine lettuce since she loves salad. I asked how she could have a garden at this time of the year, then she whipped out her phone and showed me pictures of romaine lettuce in various stages of growth which were sprouting in old cottage cheese containers on her counter-top. It seems, if you lop off the core at the bottom, then stick that stubby chunk of lettuce into a container of water, within five to seven days you have tender new shoots of romaine lettuce. She was proud of herself for growing several “crops” already. I don’t really need an abundance of lettuce – just enough to keep Buddy in fresh greens all the time, and, hey … that might really work well through the Winter months. Coincidentally, a few days later I received a Facebook post from a friend who shared how many type of veggies you can “re-grow” and I’m passing it along for your interest: http://www.buzzfeed.com/arielknutson/vegetables-that-magically-regrow-themselves

Another Facebook friend greeted us this morning with “Happy Earth Day Earthlings” so I will wish you the same greeting as well to close this post.

“Guard well your spare moments.
They are like uncut diamonds.
Discard them and their value will never be known.
Improve them and they will become the brightest gems in a useful life.”
~~~Ralph Waldo Emerson

“Free time” or “me time” seems to have become a more precious commodity since I’ve gotten older. And, it’s even more important now, after our recent brutal Winter, where I felt I lost my independence somehow, after the constant snow and ice kept me, the Winter Wienie, sequestered in the house most of the season. Well, now that Spring has finally sprung, I am guarding my “me time” and trying to get my daily walk accomplished no matter what. Today I needed a few items at the grocery store, and, though it would do the car good to hop in and give it a three-mile whirl, my produce was certainly something I could carry (even if the oranges and bananas do make me list to one side while I walk home). So, this morning I moseyed to Meijer and thus garnered almost four more miles to add to my total miles walked in 2014 by the time I made the round trip from home, trekked through the produce department, through the U-scan and across the massive parking lot. Whew! I have to pass a donut shop along the way. I am always a bit amused by their marquis sign proclaiming: “It’s Me Time”. This donut shop is the local watering hole where a group of older men gather daily over coffee and donuts to try to fix the world’s woes. Whenever I pass that donut shop, which sits on a fairly busy corner, I always wonder if there is a comparable venue where the older gals might convene to discuss world affairs and diss their significant other at the same time? Well, perhaps the answer to that query would be the good, old-fashioned beauty parlor, where the ladies often sit in a semi-circle underneath huge, hard-bonnet hair dryers which cover their ears, as well as curlers or bobby-pinned pin curls, while the hot air that whooshes out dries the hairdo-in-progress. The camaraderie of these women exists as they catch up on gossip, exchange recipes or complain about their better half, but usually most of the stories are missed or must be re-told, since they must raise their voices to be heard over the relentless din of the high-decibeled dryer. But … that is the ladies’ “me time” just as the older gents enjoy their break with their buddies. We all need our “me time” … no matter what form it takes. The two signs in this picture above say: “It’s Me Time” and “Walk” … well, I made the time and thanks for the “suggestion”!

I hope that your day thus far was filled with blessings, bunnies, bonnets and much joy. I took advantage of the beautiful weather, and headed to my favorite place in the world – Council Point Park, earlier today. I stepped out, on a still-chilly morn, with no fancy Easter bonnet, just my warm, woolen hat that I’ve worn all Winter, and, though I was tempted to stick an artificial flower into the open weave of the woolen fibers for this Easter Sunday, I did not do so. I did don a pastel pink sweat suit lending a small air of Springiness to my duds, and yes, I was stylin’ for sure in my own way on this picture-perfect day.

I arrived at Council Point Park in record time, then strolled leisurely along the pathway figuring I’d just immerse myself in the ambiance of twitters while I frittered away an hour or so of my Easter morning. It was so peaceful, and there were just a handful of walkers and no joggers or bikers, so I figured that most of the regular crowd was at Easter Sunday services. Just as that revelation hit me, and as if on cue, bells began peeling at the church about ½ mile away from the Park. In the still morn, with only the cacophony of birdsong filling the air, the church bells sounded crisp and clear beckoning “come one, come all to celebrate the miracle of Easter with us” … the bells seemed like they rang for five or ten minutes signifying the start of the 9:00 o’clock service. There was no denying that Spring and Easter have finally arrived since people have decorated the many memorial trees that are scattered around the Park’s vast grounds. I have mentioned before that anyone can purchase a tree, and a memorial stone that is placed at the base of the tree, to honor a deceased loved one. Often these memorial trees are decorated for holidays or special occasions, like birthdays, where occasionally a brightly colored birthday balloon will be found tethered to a branch of the tree. Many people have “planted” artificial flowers, placed Easter ornaments – religious or otherwise – or fastened Spring-y wreaths to the front of these trees.

It seems the critter population at the Park was similarly occupied elsewhere this morning. A few of the faithful and ever-present peanut pals came sniffing around, then sat up on haunches and begged as I reached into my bag of peanuts. I tossed out a few here and there and saw spent peanut shells still strewn on the path from yesterday’s trip. Like the past few days, after dispensing some treats, I then led the procession of a few fox squirrels, trailing along behind me and occasionally dashing into my path, always hopeful for another treat to squirrel away for a rainy day. Once again, the ducks were absent from their usual spot and I didn’t see any in the water or marshy banks of the Ecorse Creek either. Even the geese were reverent of this special day and hung out elsewhere and were not honking in their usual, sometimes obnoxious, manner. I watched several bunnies bouncing around in the grass, searching for sweet, tender grass shoots or non-existent clover, and after they could find none, they hopped off quickly as I approached. I decided when I returned home and did today’s post, I would use a black-and-white photo of my pet rabbit I had some fifty years ago. My grandmother grew up on a farm in rural Aris, a town near Guelph, Ontario. She was one of nine children. The girls were all married off to boys in town and the boys left the nest to start their own farms. Such was the case with Bill Klein, who was my Great Uncle. When I was about seven years old, we took my grandmother up to his farm for a visit, and we all spent the day there. He was gruff, and handed me a baby bunny and said “here, you can make this guy into a pet” and so we left with a bushel basket, some straw and some type of rabbit kibble. I named this pure-white rabbit “Scratch”. We had to get him special food and cedar shavings for the basket and he lived in the basement and was not allowed upstairs. After a few months, my parents said it wasn’t fair to confine him to a small bushel basket in the basement by himself, and he should be returned to the farm where he could be with the other rabbits and not cooped up all the time. Reluctantly I agreed. We travelled to Aris and returned Scratch to the farm the following Sunday, and my eyes misted over when Uncle Bill hastily grabbed him by the ears, plucking him right from my arms, and said “well, I guess I’ll find some use for your rabbit here – I dunno what yet” … I remember that I prayed all the way home that Scratch would not meet his fate in the cast iron cooking pot with some potatoes and vegetables as a tasty rabbit stew. We never returned to the farm after that day so I don’t know what ever became of my little pet, but I am glad I have this picture of Scratch sitting in my lap in our backyard to remember him.

It was a beautiful and satisfying journey this morning and I was thankful for small blessings – beautiful weather, a pretty park and my good health which gives me the ability to enjoy both. While others oohed and ahhed over sugary confections or chocolate novelties, I had all the “sweet tweets” I could have wanted as I ambled along the walking path during my trip to Council Point Park this morning. Happy trails … happy heart … happy soul.

I was up with the chickens this morning in anticipation of a long and leisurely walk at Council Point Park on a glorious Spring morning. And, speaking of chickens, while eating breakfast, I was amused by an interview on WJR between Warren Pierce and a local farmer who rents out baby chicks for Easter. You simply show up at his stall at Eastern Market today and fifty bucks will get you a pair of three-day old chicks and a cage, bedding and food for two weeks. He says that you’re free to keep the critters forever, but generally the novelty of Easter chicks wears out in about two weeks, at which time you return them and the cage. He’ll give you a voucher for a dozen of eggs to be redeemed at his stall at Eastern Market come Fall by which time your very own chicks would have grown into egg-laying hens. Quite a concept! But, truthfully – it’s just better to buy your kids Peeps and risk cavities versus boredom I would think. And, while we’re discussing feathered friends, I held my breath as I walked outside this morning and absolutely no robin shenanigans had transpired. Whew! Do you think they finally got the message? If they did, then truly they are not the birdbrains that people say they are.

Before I left the house, I stuffed the big cargo pockets in my worn Winter coat with a fresh Ziploc bag of peanuts on one side, and slipped the digital camera into the other and toted along the rest of the loaf of bread for the ducks. I set out for Council Point Park bright and early, and what a beautiful, but nippy morning, it was. We could not ask for more perfect weather for this holiday weekend, could we? When I arrived, the Park was already crowded with many walkers and joggers on the pathway. As I walked along, the trees just erupted with birdsong and I must have heard at least ten different warbles and whistles while passing beneath them, and it made me feel good to be out enjoying the morning. I realized I should consult my bird call website to try to identify the many twitters, tweets and warbles I heard before my next visit to the Park. I saw a beautiful red-winged blackbird who sang loud and long, either calling to its mate, or just because it was a beautiful sunny day.

With camera in tow, and clutching my bag of crumbled-up wheat bread, I waited on the mallards, but they were nowhere to be found today, and, in fact I never even saw ripples in the water indicating they were swimming noiselessly downstream. I brought my bread home with me and will try again tomorrow. I secretly suspect that the mallards knew of the impending holiday and they ducked under the storm sewer drain in case anyone is pondering a nice roast duck rather than the traditional ham for tomorrow’s Easter dinner.

Occasionally I stopped to toss a few peanuts to the squirrels who scampered over to see me. They kept nosing around my ankles and I tried to get their picture from that vantage point, but, first I had to fumble to remove my gloves, grab the camera, then shake out some peanuts – they soon lost interest and ambled off, so to entice them back, I tossed some peanuts at my feet and they came back lickety-split. I’m such a soft touch, but next time, I’ll make then work for those peanuts: no treat ‘til you pose for me!
I walked along companionably with several of the walkers I had met last year and we all commented how wonderful the weather was and how good it was to get back into our respective walking regimens. As I suspected, some of the stalwart walkers told me that, try as they might, the Park paths were simply too snowy and icy to walk during the course of this past Winter. They turned to mall walking instead, warm and slick-free, while being mindful to steer clear of the tantalizing whiffs of fresh coffee and goodies which assailed their nostrils near the Food Court.

As I walked home, the wind kicked up a tad, so I zipped up my coat higher, so it was like a turtleneck, and though the April sun was strong, it felt more like a late March day. I’m sure the decorated hard-boiled eggs can safely be hidden around the yard tomorrow without fear of food poisoning, lest they don’t get discovered right away. There weren’t many homes decorated with an Easter or Spring motif – perhaps most people thought we’d never get past the wicked Winter and couldn’t put themselves into “Spring or Easter mode”. What I mostly saw were huge bunnies adorning doors or over-sized decorated eggs in living room windows. My mom never decorated Easter eggs for me; instead, she shared the love by baking bunny-shaped sugar cookies and festive cupcakes, and this ritual continued for many years after I was a kid. My grandmother, however, got into the whole egg-dying fun, but not like you’d think. She would collect flimsy onion peels for months, then boil them up with a few dozen eggs. Well, those eggs were indeed dyed, though not in the prettiest pastels with decorations resembling dots and zigzags, but the effort for her granddaughter was made with love and appreciated. She never hid those butterscotch-colored eggs in her backyard, but piled them into a big dish inside the fridge, to either help yourself or she would use them to make egg salad sandwiches. We’d always go to Toronto to visit my grandmother for Easter dinner and along with the those hard-boiled eggs, my grandmother would make me up an Easter basket as well. She’d dump out the contents of her worn wicker sewing basket into a plastic bag, then line it with a couple of pretty, lace-edged hankies. Voila … a pretty Easter basket. I usually got a tall chocolate bunny from Eaton’s in the middle of the basket and a few “Golden Books” with animal themes tucked in between the bunny and buried in the Easter grass. There was never alot of candy, and back in those days, we didn’t have gooey marshmallow treats like Peeps or Cadbury eggs and I can’t ever remember chewing on chocolate-covered marshmallow bunnies. My Easter basket from my parents was similarly devoid of high-sugar treats like jelly beans. I usually got a foil-wrapped rabbit and a box of Laura Secord pastel-colored chocolate suckers. Dancing along the edge of my Easter basket were tiny chenille chickens, who were attached by their wire feet and they encircled the entire basket. My parents were loving, but practical. I usually got a new Easter outfit for church and many pictures in the old photo album, were of me strutting around in a new coat and hat, a frilly dress which peeked out beneath the coat and new black patent leather shoes and bright-white knee socks. I would have to model my new clothes before I left for Sunday school. Those Easter days somehow seem like eons ago. I hope your Easter is special and leaves you filled with enough warm memories to last a lifetime.

Yesterday, at least three different weather forecasters predicted rain to start last night, continue through the overnight hours and early this morning. Once again, I fell into the bad habit of believing them. I set my alarm for later, since it was a work day after all, thinking I’d catch a few extra ZZZZs this morning, then I’d get up early both weekend days. Well, that was a bad idea. But, before the alarm went off at 7:00 a.m., I awoke to the sound of chirping, tweeting and much merriment outside (as to the bird world anyway). Buddy doesn’t make a peep until I uncover him, whereupon he bursts into song, so it clearly wasn’t him as he was fast asleep in the other room. The bird noises were definitely not the tiny cheeps from sparrows seeking refuge from the rain on the back bedroom window ledges. No, it was much louder than that, and, besides, I didn’t hear the pitter patter of rain on the patio roof and it was already light down the hall. In the space of a minute, I flung off the covers, jumped out of bed and had the radio headphones on my ears to catch the weather report which stated “rain for Wayne County is headed our way later” … grumbling, I dashed to the window to open the metal blind to determine what the heck was going on with the birds. I crooked my head just enough to see a contingent of robins lined up on the cyclone fence, beaks brimming full with strands of dried grass, awaiting their turn to make a contribution to the nest building. I certainly didn’t know this was a joint effort now! But, what I did know was that this venture was close by and most certainly at MY house. There was no evidence of rain either. Silently cursing the weather people and myself alternately, I sped out to the kitchen and hastily made and finished off a bowl of oatmeal and washed it down with some scorching-hot coffee that nearly burned my throat. I could not get outside quickly enough, and by 7:30 a.m. I was dressed and headed out the door, anxious to see what mischief the birds were up to this time. I opened the screen door slowly, and what had been a crescendo of tweets and twitters immediately ceased. They saw their “bully” and soon, a bevy of birds were lifting off the fence, no doubt to alert the others of my presence. I surveyed the situation, just shaking my head. Well, this was new – in the space of a day, there was a huge pile of nest-fixings, which you and I might simply characterize as debris or yard waste, the likes of which included shredded-up Kleenex and pieces of paper towel complete with colorful motifs, string, yarn, twigs and dried grass. It was all lying in a heap underneath the security light fixture at the corner of my house. A half-completed nest was nestled in the light fixture, between the two flood lamps, and there were mud splats galore spattering the light-colored brick wall beneath the light fixture. I sighed long and hard, exasperated with them. I looked up in the tree to see several robins giving me the evil eye, and, yes, they were wearing a scowl. So, now it seems, the robin saga has now become THEM versus me. It’s as if the robin has recruited his family, friends and neighbors to help with the nest building. Is this an act of desperation and the egg laying is imminent? I shuffled dejectedly to the garage, intent to grab a broom and dustpan to drag down and dispense with their latest effort and the debris. When I arrived at the front of the house, the bag I had so carefully stuffed into the elbow of the coach lamp, was sitting on the front porch, and a new and bigger nest was in progress. A defiant robin sat close by … watching … waiting for my next move. I unlocked and flung up the garage door on its rollers, and it’s a wonder it didn’t go flying off the track, as I opened the door so hastily and angrily. I pulled my broom out and thought about taking it to him as he sat there so smugly. I whacked that nest with great gusto trying to dislodge it, and could not, so once again I hoisted the bag up and tucked it into place. The robin watched me from the split-rail fence, then, just as before, attempted to land atop the bag and realized he could not. He took a run at me next – and I ducked as he dive-bombed near me, close to my head. Loud chattering ensued and he flew off to share the tale of his latest misfortune with the others, no doubt. I returned to the backyard, pulled down the other nest-in-progress, cleaned up the mess and a good half hour later, prepared to set out my walk, hoping the respite would give me a much-needed attitude adjustment. On this most-holiest of days in the year, the morning was gray and gloomy and rain indeed threatened as was predicted. In fact, I only got to the end of the street and it started sprinkling. Undeterred, I walked on, ignoring the light rain, and feeling just as defiant as that pesky robin and his compadres. Soon, more raindrops forced me to head home, and as I neared my driveway, I saw a trio of robins glaring down at me from Marge’s plum tree. My steely glance toward them truly belied the fact that as I walked into the house, even though I was angry, I felt both guilty and remorseful for disrupting this natural annual ritual and the miracle of life.