WALKIN', WRITIN', WIT & WHIMSY

It’s still another Winter weary day as we trudge off to work, school or wherever. Even the expectation of a few “balmy” days ahead do nothing to buoy our spirits, and I suspect that even the Winter sports enthusiasts will quit saying “bring it on” about the snow going forward. Here in Michigan, we got a little boost before this latest round of snow when our very own Meryl Davis and Charlie White, who train at Arctic Ice in Canton, brought home the gold in ice dancing at Sochi. We’ll boast about their spectacular feat for a long time since it was not only a personal best for them, but the first time the U.S. has won gold in ice dancing competition. I’ve watched video clips of the pair’s exquisite skating performance and was left breathless; their graceful moves seem effortless, and they are so deserving of the prize after 17 years of skating together. It seems the Olympics have been going on forever, though it is only Day 11, and now there are but a handful of days until the closing ceremony on Sunday. At that point Winter will lose its pizazz permanently as we all retreat to our mundane muddling through the rest of the season. While our Winter may be for the birds, one clever bird, has created his own bobsled event. This is no birdbrain folks. While his resourceful performance may not have the ooh and ahh appeal of the speeding bullet of a bobsleigh and its occupant as it careens around the icy, serpentine-like tunnel track in death defying moves, this little video will give you a much-needed giggle and get you through our snowy day: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JpRca_qmc8s

Live in each season as it passes;
breathe the air, drink the drink, taste the fruit,
and resign yourself to the influence of the earth.
~~~Henry David Thoreau, from “Walden”

Today this Vanilla Ice song kept running through my head since traversing the yard and perimeter is still a perilous trip, though the fresh dusting of snow helped give me a wee bit of traction. I rode three miles on the exercise bike, cooled down a tad, slipped into my warm woolens, coat and boots and then walked around the entire perimeter of the house for a full inspection. My drain spouts are still all jammed up with ice, so pointy mini icicles lined both sides of the house. I took a broom with me to whack ‘em and felt like a sharpshooter aiming at a line of whiskey bottles at the local saloon. None of my icicles have reached monstrous or lethal proportions like some in the neighborhood, so in one fell swoop of my broom these daggers were droppin’ like flies. For a split second, before I waged warfare on the icicles, I stopped to admire the prism effects of the sun as it shot beams of light through their translucent, smooth and stiletto-like beauty. The entire downspout was encased in a sheath of ice as well. No melting was happening on this frigid cold morn. That wind chill was nippy and my fingers were soon cold and my lips felt unmovable, and I was sure they resembled the blueberry sky above. I’m happy to hear the weather folks have taken the freezing rain out of Monday’s forecast since twice the ice would not be nice, even if Dr. Seuss would suggest otherwise. There is a much-touted warm spell the tail end of the week with temps in the 40s and 50s, if we can hold on that long. Of course, then we’ll fret and stew over flooding issues … as Michiganders, I guess we’ll just go with the flow.

I’m sending these virtual hearts, flowers and chocolates to wish you Happy Valentine’s Day. I love this picture which incorporates everything that Valentine’s Day is meant to be: hearts, flowers, chocolate and a whole lotta love and don’t forget the pensive-looking, chubby cherub a/k/a Cupid. Growing up, I don’t remember my father buying big, foil-covered heart boxes filled with chocolates, nor flowers, for either of his “two girls” … shame on him because Mom’s birthday was on Valentine’s Day. Guess she got gypped bigtime like anyone who shares a birthday with a significant holiday. But I must state a disclaimer … though chocolate and flowers were absent, no one forgot their little girl on this day of love. I usually got a cute little Valentine’s Day card signed by both my parents with an abundance of XXXs and OOOs trailing along after their signatures. Sometimes I got a piece of jewelry. But best of all … ever since I was very young, my mom would bake a big batch of heart-shaped sugar cookies. She’d put red or pink icing on half of them and the rest would have white icing with lots of red sprinkles. Sometimes she’d outdo herself by baking a batch of those cut-out sandwich cookies with raspberry jam in between. Mmmmmm. Mom baked those Valentine’s Day cookies, as well as other holiday icened sugar cookies, until I was well into my forties, and just like a kid, I’d always look forward to my treats. My own baking skills, however, would find me hunching over the slice-and-bake holiday cookies and hoping I didn’t burn half the batch. That is my kind of baking … easy and breezy – a festive touch without the muss and fuss. My mom was not a chocolate lover, except for an occasional Turtle, that ultimate gooey, chocolate-covered pecan delight. Her big indulgence instead was gumdrops, so she always received a large bag of cherry gumdrops for Valentine’s Day from me. Sweets for the sweet! Whatever works and lends a little happiness for both the giver and recipient. So today … it is all about sharing the love; a little smooch and hold on tight to your main squeeze or those who make you smile.

It seems a gigantic wave of nostalgia has crept over my psyche and stalled there the past few weeks. First, it was the death of Phil Everly at the beginning of the year and the barrage of sound clips of Everly Brothers’ tunes that ensued. Then a few weeks later, legendary folk singer Pete Seeger’s time was up. I hummed along most of the day to medleys of his songs covered by other artists during the 60s that I knew by heart, though I’d not heard them in years. This past Tuesday it was snippets of sweet Shirley Temple songs that pulled at my heartstrings. But, what immersed me into this nostalgia kick the most was the appearance of Paul and Ringo at the Grammy Awards, followed by the 50th anniversary special of the appearance of the Beatles on the Ed Sullivan Show in 1964. I don’t have cable and I do have a tiny digital T.V. but it freezes up all the time, so I figured I’d catch the performance highlights online after the show. I’ve scoured the internet and pieced together the performance – it seemed to me they just picked up where they left off all those years ago, sadly sans John and George. When the Beatles firmly announced they would never reunite, their loyal fans always had that glimmer of hope it would happen; that is, until we lost John and George. I’ve followed the Beatles since their arrival in the States and their appearance on the Ed Sullivan Show. My parents never missed that Sunday night show and I used to watch it with them just to see Topo Gigio. The Beatles were not my parents’ cup of tea; they preferred country western singers or Lawrence Welk. But I distinctly remember parking myself in front of the tube and watching them that night. I was only eight years old when the Beatles hit the scene, much too young to be a screaming teenybopper, though I do remember doodling “I love Paul” surrounded by hearts and flowers in my school scribbler. I know in ’64 all the girls in my class loved, loved, loved The Fab Four and we proudly wore tin buttons proclaiming our “love” for our favorite Beatle. Today the word used to describe the phenomenon of the Beatles would be that they are “trending” … but in those days, they created excitement that has never been duplicated since. I am happy to have been part of the throng that was so enthralled with the Fab Four. Our Valentine’s Day cards that we exchanged with classmates in the mid-60s probably were plastered with the Beatles’ faces, although I Googled around and could find no such images. Still further wending my way backward with some more grade school nostalgia … I recall, at the tender age of eight, exchanging Valentine’s Day greetings with classmates that were pictures of little animals or girls and boys with cutesy or corny sayings. The teacher would have a dish piled high with pastel candy conversation hearts on her desk and we’d scoop up a few as we filed slowly past the cardboard “postbox” to drop our Valentine’s Day cards into the slot. Later, our teacher would play “postmaster” and distribute the cards to all the students. I will bet you had such an experience in grade school as well. It was just plain and simple fun. Hopefully school kids still have such activities because I fear they grow up too soon in this age of too much electronics; of course, nowadays they probably text each other “love notes” (or pictures) or perhaps post Valentine’s Day greetings on their Facebook status. I often think I should have lived in another era as the world sometimes seems to be spinning way too fast for me and I would like to jump off and head for the hills.

Today begins my second year of posting on “Walkin’, Writin’, Wit & Whimsy”, my first blog created on WordPress.com on February 11, 2013 (https://lindaschaubblog.net/2013/02/11/walkin-writin-wit-whimsy/).

Yesterday I intended to salute myself on this monumental one-year anniversary of my blog, but decided that my 280th post would be an ode to that cutie-pie Shirley Temple instead. As I entered the blogosphere last February, I must admit I was a little nervous at first, having not engaged in writing anything more than my annual Christmas letters in over three decades. But, here I am, one year later, having amassed 280 posts and used up 11.28 megabytes of my allotted 13.312 megabytes of WordPress space. Who knew I was a wordsmith or that I had so much to say? Granted, pictures do hog alot of space, but when I sometimes scroll through all those blog posts, I am amazed at just how many words I’ve written during the course of the last year. I must buy more space soon as there are many more words to utter, situations to ponder and memories to share, though I’m sure any posts on the main subject matter of walking will have to wait awhile yet. I have walked one measly mile in 2014, but good things come to those who wait so I shall be patient. Hopefully the interjections of occasional “wit” and “whimsy” have lived up to the latter portion of my blog’s title.

My blog is an escape of sorts for me. My fingers fly on the keyboard and I can lose track of time as I relate my everyday encounters with people or critters while enjoying an extensive walk at Council Point Park or just a quick trip around the neighborhood. Blogging has also given me a golden opportunity to recount past events – sometimes happy, sometimes sad. Revisiting and recollecting simple, sweet days of carefree youth and sharing pictures from days long ago has been enjoyable, and at times bittersweet, because I have no family left, except for my little companion, Buddy, my mop-top canary. Reflecting on the past and recording it in my blog posts as to family members, to me is the equivalent of sitting next to a relative at the holiday dinner table and saying “hey, you remember when …”.

When I began my blog, and often throughout the months when I walked and wrote nearly every day, I secretly wondered if I could sustain the daily posts throughout the long Winter months. At the beginning of 2014, I even issued a caveat that perhaps now the holidays were over, the blog posts may be few and far between. Well I was premature in issuing that statement. Current events, additional holidays, and of course, the WEATHER, intervened along the way, thereby providing plenty more fodder for me to chatter about. Even today, Mother Nature took away the tedium of the trot outside, because as disenchanted as this writer is about the Winter weather, it was quite the sight to see a stand of beautiful, ice-encrusted trees reaching high toward the brilliant blue sky and the Heavens. There was just a split-second ray of sun on those crystalline branches, yet I felt privileged to have witnessed the splendor, because a few minutes later the sun dipped behind a cloud and all that remained were big old trees and a dreary setting of a drab sky and snow everywhere as far as the eye could see. I am not Pollyanna, nor do I wear rose-colored glasses, but I do try to enjoy Nature’s gifts. That said, I am indeed anxious for Winter to skedaddle so that I may begin walking with a spring in my step to embrace life and enjoy Nature’s little treasures during my daily escape to Council Point Park. I am closing this post with this quote which exemplifies what I believe in …

The essence of life is not in the great victories and grand failures, but in the simple joys.
~ Jonathan Lockwood Huie ~

This morning, like most mornings, the alarm rang, and I reached over to the nightstand to silence it and grab my radio headphones to catch up on the news of the day. I snuggled down under the covers and intended to get up once the news was over. The first sound I heard was the familiar childish voice crooning “On The Good Ship Lollipop” and I knew instantly that Shirley Temple was no longer with us. I listened intently as the newsman said she had passed away last evening of natural causes, her family by her side. I never heard the balance of the broadcast, since the news of her passing instantly took me back to an era of little girls’ giggles – both Shirley Temple’s and my own. Her death evoked a bevy of beautiful memories, almost too many to recount in the space of this blog post. Coincidentally, I just wrote a post about Shirley Temple last April 23rd after hearing an audio clip of her song “Animal Crackers In My Soup” which was played to commemorate her birthday: (https://lindaschaubblog.net/2013/04/23/zoo/. I’ll bet alot of people haven’t thought of Shirley Temple in many years until they heard the medley of a few of her movies and songs on the news today. When I was growing up, I would happily plunk myself in front of the black-and-white TV set in the living room to watch this iconic imp’s antics every chance I could. I especially loved her tap dancing routines with Bojangles Robinson. Shirley Temple’s movies were feel-good stories that made you smile and laugh out loud, unlike the Disney dramas like “Old Yeller” or “The Red Pony” that often made you sad. It seemed for years there were movie marathons featuring her films that could be watched on a lazy Sunday afternoon, followed by “Lassie” or “The Wonderful World of Disney”. My mom grew up watching the first-run Shirley Temple movies and had one of the original Shirley Temple dolls. She often quipped that had she known she would have had a little girl, she would have saved the doll and passed it down to me, Well, I wasn’t hard done by with my Thumbelina or Chatty Cathy, but it would probably be a collector’s item now. When I was a young girl, whenever there was a special occasion or sometimes just for Sunday School, my mom would spend the evening before painstakingly twisting strands of my light brown tresses into pin curls. She’d sit with her container of bobby pins and a comb for nearly an hour, then swaddle my head with its prickly bobby pins in a bandana so the pins didn’t poke my head when I went to bed. The next morning when the bobby pins were moved, each lock of hair was wound around my mom’s finger to make springy tendril curls, or “sausage curls” to resemble Shirley Temple’s hairdo. The picture above was my “Shirley Temple” look circa Christmas 1961 when I was five years old. I don’t know if my mom made me exactly 56 curls like Shirley Temple’s signature do, but alot of work went into lovingly fashioning those just-perfect curls that would bounce whenever I moved my head. Ahh, such sweet and precious memories of my youth and my fascination with Shirley Temple. In my mind I never thought of Shirley Temple as an adult, with a second “career” as the U.S. Ambassador to Ghana or as a married mother with the moniker of Shirley Temple Black. She was, and always will be, the precocious little girl who captured my heart as well as the hearts of many generations.

I was listening to WWJ’s “On this Day in History” feature, where it was reported that on this date in 1968 Peggy Fleming was awarded a gold medal in figure skating. That factoid sure took me back a few years. I can still picture her graceful performance and her simple skating costume, with none of the frills and flourish of the modern-day competitors’ outfits. Peggy Fleming was a sheer delight to watch as she swirled and twirled making her routine look like child’s play. Didn’t we all want to take lessons at the local ice skating rink to be just like our idol? I remember, as a pre-teen, I was in awe of Peggy Fleming, especially since as a kid I was clumsy on the double-bladed skates at the Oakville Arena, and in later years my white, lace-up boot skates spent more in the box in the basement, then they ever did on my feet. But a girl can dream … I was surprised to learn Peggy Fleming received the only gold medal awarded to the U.S. at the 1968 Olympics in Grenoble, France.

Other than listening to snippets of the Olympic coverage and the daily medals tally, or watching the occasional video featured on Comcast, I must confess I am not really all that interested in the 2014 Sochi Winter Olympics. I am unfamiliar with any of the athletes who are competing and there are alot of the extreme sports events that I’m not interested in either. My favorite Winter Olympic events were always the individual men’s and women’s figure skating . For years my mom and I followed all the qualifying and championship events leading up to the Olympics, so in those days, anyway, we were familiar with the athletes. We followed the “Battle of the Brians” with Brian Orser and Brian Boitano in the men’s figure skating events, though we vacillated as to whom to root for – our homeland contender or the U.S. favorite. We also liked hometown boy Kurt Browning. Our favorite young women skaters were Katarina Witt, Debi Thomas, Nancy Kerrigan and also Kristy Yamaguchi and we followed their respective careers for years, until all these figure skaters got older, retired or turned pro, then we gradually just stopped following ice-skating competitions altogether.

I suppose now that we’ve finished the third day of the Games, the horror stories of tandem toilets, brownish drinking water and unfinished accommodations are old news. I must meddle into these tales recounting the Sochi hotel accommodations which I found a tad amusing when they first started surfacing a week or so ago. When I booked a 1983 tour, which included Russia, all members of our Maupintour group received countless pamphlets forewarning us of the rather primitive hotel accommodations and that we should be prepared to spend our six days in Russia in a nice hotel, but without any amenities that we were accustomed to in the U.S. We were told that we should purchase bottled water at the hotel to drink or use to brush our teeth since the water was unfit. It was suggested that we take sink stoppers with us as the sinks might just be a ceramic basin with large, open drainage holes. We were advised the toilet paper was scratchy and perhaps we ought to slip a box of Kleenex into our suitcases. Our tour group arrived in Leningrad by way of train from Helsinki and we were immediately taken to our hotel to drop off luggage and freshen up before dinner and a quick bus tour of the City. Though we were forewarned about our rooms, it turned out to be a five-star hotel, with a king-sized bed and large-screen TV (before they were popular) and large buckets filled with ice where bottles of Coke, juice or water were chilling just ready to grab. As to the primitive bathroom … it was huge, with gilded faucets which ran crystal-clear water. There were long, marble-topped vanities on either side of the bathroom with Hollywood vanity mirrors, heating elements from the ceiling and floor to warm you from top to toe, a huge spa-like tub, heated towel stands, soft lights and music piped in. There were no tandem toilets and no toilet paper that looked like rough paper towel either! All the propaganda and hype were quickly forgotten at this hotel and likewise three days later when we arrived in Moscow. What a misnomer from all the info the travel agent suggested when the tour was booked, or the travel “suggestions” we received in advance. It was the most-fantastic leg of the three-week tour which included the Scandinavian countries of Norway, Sweden, Finland and Denmark as well. My mother had a saying that she taught me ever since I was a young girl: “believe half of what you see, and none of what you hear” … good words which still ring true today. Above is a picture of yours truly in Moscow on the day we arrived. I’m glad my world-wide travelling days were done in less-trying times, when the biggest obstacles were deciding how many pieces of camera equipment to tote along on each excursion. Nowadays you can simply take a small digital camera or use your phone’s camera and be done with it. I lugged lenses, filters, rolls of extra film and a bulky camera bag, plus slung a heavy SLR Canon camera around my neck to capture the experience onto film. Now the visitors and athletes in Sochi will tell their tale with “selfies” and phone camera videos for years to come. Go Team U.S.A.!

There were days, not so very long ago, that I was out the door at the sun’s first rays, tripping down to Council Point Park to enjoy this little gem tucked away in the middle of the city. I really long for those days, even though the walks I took during the last six weeks of 2013 were a struggle to get the final 25-30 miles done to achieve my 500-mile goal. The latter miles were steps taken, for the most part, in boots, not walking shoes, and in conditions which were hardly conducive to an enjoyable walk – bitter cold, blustery winds, black ice on the walking path and frequent snow squalls. It has been nearly three months since I was walking daily and those delightful 6,000 to 10,000 daily steps accumulated very quickly by tripping out the door and trekking to my favorite spot. Soon thereafter it was a hit-or-miss, mere mile or two tromping around in the snow to get my mileage in to meet my year-end goal. Now, each trip is a slog around the house or to the garage and the description is more like traipsing or trudging. It is not just the unwillingness to venture out in the never-ending cold or snow, but to be more precise, the trudge these days is taken in baby steps. Last Saturday’s freezing rain created glare ice which surrounds my house like a moat. It is an obstacle I must cross in order to get around the front of the house to run the car or to check the furnace pipe. I have quit going into the backyard as it is “slickery” for lack of a better description, and I worry about falling. Ice melt products or salt will do no good in this cold weather, so I will just grin and bear it ‘til we get a thaw. In the interim, gone is that confident stride from my walking days, replaced by the more sure-footed approach, using baby steps to thwart “the slide”.

After I ran the car in the garage, I gazed down the street on a sleepy Saturday morn. There was no activity to be found since most everyone was sleeping in after a long week of battling Winter miseries during their respective work commutes. Everyone was sleeping, that is, except the neighbors, like me, in close proximity to the golden retriever with the weak kidneys two doors away. My deep sleep suddenly was suspended with a series of sharp, staccato-like barks … a rude awakening to be sure. He kept it up, no doubt miffed at his pet parents having left him out too long in the snow and cold. They probably went back to bed. Well, I wanted to growl too … right back at him and his owners. I reached over and looked at the clock – I could get up and be a little productive, but no, it was Saturday so I rolled over. But sleep failed me and I stayed in bed just a little longer, listening to the tick-tock of the two alarm clocks on my bedside table and the chime of the kitchen clock at the top of the hour. Reluctantly I got up, even though there was no walk beckoning me and there was certainly no lure to going outside to what I now refer to as “the daily trudge” … in fact, my reluctance to go out very much resembles my lack of eagerness to get out in the yard and pull weeds when it is steamy like a jungle. Well, you won’t hear me whine about the heat and humidity this Summer. No siree!

After my mission was accomplished for my outside chores, it started snowing lightly as I headed down the home stretch toward the side door, hanging onto the brick wall along the way for dear life. A sudden movement in my neighbor Marge’s backyard caught my attention. A small animal’s head peeked up from a mound of snow, then popped back down again. Amused, I stepped over to the gate and stood on tiptoe, using the gate to brace me while I peered into the far corner of her yard. I did not dare attempt to walk to my backyard as the ice is even worse beyond the gate, so this spot would suffice. Soon, the little head poked up again and I recognized the animal was a rabbit – a rabbit, with the shortest ears I’ve ever seen. I guess he was staying back and scoping out the situation. The situation was that “breakfast” had just been served. Ahh, now I comprehended why he kept playing peek-a-boo in the snow piles. He was awaiting his turn. I glanced over to Marge’s back deck which was strewn with tidbits for the backyard critters. But I didn’t see any carrots or greens or rabbit treats. Query: what do rabbits eat for treats? (Keep reading and you’ll find out.) All Winter long Marge has supplied fresh birdseed and suet, brimming over in their respective holders, and she has regularly treated the squirrels with raisin bread spread with peanut butter. Marge’s computer is set up next to her door wall and she often regales me with stories of the menagerie of furry and feathered munchins making merry and munching down in the yard while they feed on her goodies. Just last week she sent me close-ups of the squirrel and that short-eared rabbit. Well, I figured I’d wait and see what that bunny set his sights on. I must have just missed the beginning of “feeding time” while I was out front because now the birds were all aflutter and the feeder was rocking back-and-forth as they chirped, twittered and buzzed around looking for a landing spot. Several sparrows were already perched daintily on the sticks which line up with the holes up and down the feeder nibbling contentedly. A couple of squirrels were on the deck floor already and another pair were scampering around chasing one another, then after a few games of tag went racing back to Marge’s deck where an array of raisin bread spread with peanut butter awaited them. Then the rabbit, cautiously at first, crept up to the deck and began eating. I strained against the gate trying to catch a glimpse of the action, but the magnolia bush and mounds of snow pushed from the deck floor thwarted my attempts to get a good gander at the goings on. Well I’ll be darned … I’m here to tell you that bunnies like birdseed. That little critter was licking or lapping up birdseed spilled by our feathered friends when they piled on one side causing the feeder to sway and teeter. He ate his fill, twitched those short ears, then politely stepped aside, waiting in the wings for more spilled seed or something else that suited his fancy. I was mighty cold by then and everyone had their fill of food, so I stepped aside and turned the key in the lock to head indoors. As I shut the door on the cold outside, I realized those birds and their buddies sure were not letting the cold, snowy and bleak morning contribute to their Midwest Mid-Winter blahs … they were making the most of their morning and lovin’ every minute. I think perhaps we could take our cue from them.

I am sure the above picture has made the rounds to everyone’s inbox each Winter since we starting accessing the Internet. Throughout the month of January, it seemed every meteorologist told listeners that people under forty years of age had never seen the amount of snow that we were experiencing. Well, I’m over forty years old and I guess I will concede that statement is true. I have read and heard comments comparing our Winter to the Winter of 1977-78, but for all the hullabaloo about that season and its blizzards, I cannot recall it particularly sticking out in my mind. I Googled and looked at a video and some pictures of that Winter and still nothing jumped out at me. Probably I was so immersed in my last year of college that I was oblivious to the weather. During that time period I took two buses to get to and from Wayne State University and went to school five days a week. I used the commuting time to study and it worked out great for me. I left my car at home since I only worked weekends and long holidays at the diner and could walk there if necessary. On particularly cold or snowy days I would hop off the Woodward Avenue city bus and seek refuge at Hudson’s where I would wander around the first floor, especially the perfume area, where I would sniff, spritz and get samples to my heart’s content, then hustle across the street to catch the suburban bus. Since I took public transportation for well over three decades, all bad-weather days in Winter simply morph together in my mind. I recall one particularly snowy day when our law firm decided to close at 3:00 p.m. since it was snowing very hard and had been doing so all day, a day not unlike today. I bundled up, grabbed my bus bag and off I went, hoping to catch a bus soon and arrive home at my usual time. Boy, was I mistaken about that. In severe cold or very snowy weather, the owners of several large buildings in downtown Detroit allowed bus riders to congregate quietly in a corner of their building to keep warm and dry while they awaited the arrival of the bus since the bus stop was right by their building. I went to this designated snow emergency area and waited with my fellow bus riders. We waited one, two, three and then four hours and each bus that passed us had standing room only and already were dangerously full to capacity. Each driver would open the bus door, shrug his or her shoulders and tell us their bus was from mid-day, running way behind and another bus would arrive shortly. I didn’t get home until nearly 10:00 p.m. that night and it seemed only hours before I had to set out again to arrive timely to begin my new work day the following morning. Now, that unfortunate incident sticks out in my mind. While SMART (and its predecessor SEMTA) partnered with the buildings to indulge its riders for snow emergencies, that nicety didn’t make up for the other 95% of the time when we huddled together braving the cold and snowy weather waiting on long-overdue buses. However, for me this still beat driving in those elements. I do know that taking the bus daily to Detroit for over three decades built fortitude plus a wardrobe of warm woolens and down outerwear to rival that of the most-avid sports enthusiast.

Mother Nature is adding another snow event notch to her belt as we all sigh heavily and cluck our collective tongues at her. As I starting writing this post, with the news on in the background, the first flakes arrived in the Downriver communities, thus compounding our Winter woes. I just looked outside and the snow is already a’flyin’ and covering the treacherous ice that surrounds my house. I don’t like snow, but I like the ambience that I sense every time I hear one of my favorite tunes by fellow Canadian Gordon Lightfoot: “Song for a Winter’s Night” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LfyDs6uXww0

It always brings a smile to my face, even in this Winter of our Discontent. Stay warm and safe everyone.