WALKIN', WRITIN', WIT & WHIMSY

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.

Grrrr to the grumpy groundhog who has a day named after him. We Midwesterners collectively watched and waited with bated breath to get the scoop on Phil’s prognostication about our weather for the next six weeks. Well, Phil dashed our expectations, but really and truly – did he disappoint? Nah. We had the good sense to suspect he would say we had six more weeks of wintry weather. Even Woody, our local woodchuck out of the Howell Nature Center, had an identical prediction. I guess we Michiganders will just suck it up and carry on. I’ll mosey downstairs to hop on the exercise bike, since it will be a long time before I lace up the old walking shoes, especially after the freezing rain left its mark. My driveway was treacherous when I took out the garbage and ran the car earlier today. Not the glaze ice, but this bumpy, lumpy ice that looked like a crystal washboard up and down the sidewalk and driveway and along the front of the garage. The car and I aren’t going on an excursion any time soon, of that I can be sure.

Okay, it’s finally February, so how do we zip through the shortest month of the year rather than trudging like zombies through ever-present snow and slush, all the while shivering in our boots? Well for starters, the Groundhog’s prediction tomorrow might just put a spring in our step. Exercise will do it for you as well. The month of February also marks the 50th annual American Heart Month, which is more than candy and flowers exchanged at Valentine’s Day, but a time to take stock of your diet, overall health and exercise routines – anything that will help to keep your ticker in shape. Twenty-eight years ago today we buried my grandmother who was felled by a massive heart attack three days earlier. Her eight siblings predeceased her, all due to various heart ailments. My mother had a heart arrhythmia. Me – knock on wood – I am as healthy as a horse. I truly do miss my daily walks though, especially my trips to Council Point Park. The first year I began my walking regimen, we had that wonderful Winter with one or two snowfalls, perhaps the occasional dusting of snow and very mild weather. But that season was a fluke, much like this Winter of 2013-2014. In an effort to keep myself in good shape and ready to walk come Spring, I started the exercise bike regimen, yet I have struggled to integrate the bike ride into my morning routine. Throughout the many weeks when I walked, the alarm went off and I bounced out of bed, ready to take on the day. The tedium of this Winter has made it easier to reach over and shut the alarm off and rely on the snooze alarm multiple times instead. How easy and luxurious it is to snuggle further underneath the warm blankets in my polar fleece PJs, and just forego trekking down to the cold basement to sit on the bicycle in my shorts and tee-shirt and go nowhere. Yup, my get-up-and-go has got up and went as the old saying goes. I have only made it downstairs a handful of times in the past few weeks. Well, the calendar page flipped over today and my attitude has as well. I set the alarm last night and abided by it. I got up, ate breakfast and downstairs I went. Sure, it was uncomfortably cold in the basement, but certainly not as frigid as the past few weeks. Of course, the scenery is rather boring – much clutter in a finished basement with just a small end table lamp illuminating the room while I am pedaling. Luckily, in the dim light I don’t see the furniture that should be dusted, nor the carpeting that needs to be vacuumed. Also on the plus side, I know I won’t have to change those darn fluorescent lights if I burn them the entire time I am downstairs. So lowlights it was while I climbed aboard my exercise bike. It’s a time to reflect, or think about the day’s agenda while listening to the whir of the wheels as they go round and round, but I was also wearing my radio headphones for company. I took a small flashlight to keep peering at the odometer, eager to make my goal of three miles today. I peeked at my mileage, then pedaled some more. I stole another glance when it seemed I must’ve gone at least a mile, only to find it was a mere 5/10s of a mile, so I pedaled faster. Then the furnace came on; a hot blast of air that felt like a heat wave and I stopped pedaling and took a breather. Finally the heat abated, and I began anew. I listened to Warren Pierce interview three guests who weighed in on tomorrow’s best Super Bowl ads, heard the news of the day for the second time and today’s changeable weather forecast. Before I knew it my three miles was a done deal and oh joy, I could now head upstairs and do housework (although the prospect of going back to the warm, cozy bed sounded much nicer). Unlike walking, there were no interesting encounters to be had, but a solitary ride, like a solitary walk, gave me the chance to get grounded and I like my morning “me” time. I agree with the adage that you are your own best company.

Well, it has been an unforgettable January 2014, and a January we’d really like to forget. We were in and out of the Deep Freeze and it has been snowing like there was no tomorrow. We were colder than Anchorage, Alaska on more than one occasion. We broke a couple of records, among them the fact that January 2014 is in the books as the snowiest month on record in Detroit in over a century. We received a whopping 39.1 inches of snow; the former total was 38.4 inches in February 1908. I was just perusing the various local meteorologists’ week-at-a-glance predictions, and each forecast looks ominous, so perhaps February is going to try to best January as to snow accumulation. Why hold the Winter Olympics in Sochi – we could have had ‘em here for goodness sake. If the groundhog says there is six weeks more of Winter to endure, someone might try and shoot that varmint. This is weather for polar bears! In the meantime, best slog out to the store to get bread and milk and some good reading material, then hunker down for some R&R and well-deserved “me” time.

The cold is getting old and now the snow is on the way once more– a triple whammy of snow events over the next week will sock it to us again. Snow way! Of course we feel this Winter of 2013-2014 is relentless with no redeeming value. Well, if you are a glass-half-full person and an outdoors type, there are a couple of items to be grateful for: ice fishermen can set up their shanty and go ice fishing anywhere in Michigan without fear of falling through the ice. Come Spring, boaters will find the water level has increased on most Michigan waterways when it is time to launch the boat. Although the positive aspects of our Winter are few and far between, how about singing the praises of car heaters and heated car seats? I received an e-mail from a friend last week that showcased the early automobiles as their drivers tooled around in the snow. The cars’ lack of the amenities we just take for granted in our modern-day cars was quite obvious. A car heater would have been a waste of time, since those first horseless carriages were not enclosed and if they had a roof and a windshield, often there were no side windows or doors. Pretty hard to imagine. The e-mail contained several sepia-toned and black-and-white pictures, which were fun to look it and I picked this one from the bunch; I wonder what you do on a real windy day? Whoa – hold onto your hats ladies. My first car was a VW Super Beetle, circa 1973. It took forever to warm up and by the time I finally got to my destination, a little warmth was finally hitting the driver’s side. Heated car seats were unfathomable back in those days. While I now have heated car seats, I never use them. I’ve not had my car out in two weeks and while running it in the garage, I sure don’t spend enough time in the car to warrant flipping on the switch to heat up the seat. Because I am a Winter wuss, I don’t spend alot of time traversing the roads during snowy and icy days. So, see I found a positive for you in this wicked Winter of 2013-2014 … that wasn’t so bad now was it?

Once again it took longer to suit up in preparation for the trip outside than the actual venture. As I stepped out the door this morning that cold air hit me like a ton of bricks. Even though I had just removed my radio headphones where I was tuned into the latest weather update, I still glanced over at my neighbor Marge’s outside thermometer out of force of habit. I always check it out to see if that device jibes with what the weather folk are saying. It looked right to me. The arrow pointed to -10 degrees and I knew the wind chill factor was -27 degrees. I never noticed how many increments were on the left side of the round face of that thermometer before; in fact, they go all the way to -60 degrees. I hope I am never around to see the needle reach that -60 degree point, for the needle will likely go “boing” as will I. The -10 temp and the double-digit negative wind chill froze my own digits, and despite layering up in double gloves, my fingers were soon frigid and rigid. I must have incurred some frostbite damage at some point in time since my right-hand ring finger and pinky always freeze up and throb within minutes of going out in sub-zero temperatures. Most likely it happened while waiting for the bus.

First, I headed to the garage where the car started right up thank goodness. While waiting for the noxious fumes to clear I looked around out front. Across the street the neighbor’s garden flag with its summery motif was whipping about in the wind, and their over-sized wind chimes clink-clanked with great gusto, as if to sneer at Mother Nature’s frosty cold temps. I glanced at the brilliant sky where the sun was creating some interesting shadow dancing on the stark white snow from a neighboring chimney’s smoky plumes. I heard the warbler making his melodic sounds from a treetop close by, but when I tipped my head to look for him, he was nowhere to be found. Although, I tried to respond in kind to these sweet tweets, I found my ChapStick-coated lips were much too frozen, thus my whistler was out of commission. I didn’t want him to stop singing and fly away, so I sang him a few lines from Pete Seeger’s “Turn, Turn, Turn” to serenade him back. The song was fresh in my mind from the medley of tunes I’d heard several times earlier today in conjunction with the report of the legendary folk singer’s death.

Next, I walked the perimeter of the house, then headed out to the backyard. Like a king looking upon his fiefdom, I inspected my small yard, thinking wryly “Where Have All The Flowers Gone?” Well, they sure are not around here right now. The song has a different meaning entirely, of course, but the title sure is true anyway. As I shivered and surveyed the backyard, I took stock of the garden which is nothing more than a barren wasteland in mid-Winter. It is quite a miracle if you think about it, that the flowers and bushes that are dormant now, in four or five months’ time will be flourishing … at least I hope they will. I am so glad I did not replace my three Butterfly Bushes that I lost during the Winter of 2012-2013. I was so dismayed to go out in the Spring and see they were all dead, when they had been thriving throughout the Fall of 2012 and otherwise healthy when I put the garden to bed. They were a beautiful centerpiece of the yard and a virtual butterfly magnet. I missed them, but decided to wait a year or so in case there was disease of some type in the soil. Planters placed in the empty holes where they had graced the yard, simply didn’t do anything but just sit there. My Nelly Moser clematis is looking not-so-nice and rather bedraggled now that heavy snow has pulled it partially off its trellis. I gently poked my broom over the top of the Clematis to brush off some of the snow which made it sag down even further … a plant seemingly weary with sagging shoulders or a little attitude perhaps? My Knock Out Roses, which line the chain-link fence, are all brown and a little brittle looking. I hope this brutal Winter does not knock them down and they are out for the count. All I can see is the tip-tops of my Twist-and-Shout hydrangea bushes, otherwise they are buried under all the snow. The coneflowers and daisies are mere stalks right now, poking up amidst the snow drifts. The decorative log cabin birdhouse that my neighbor Jim built for me nearly twenty years ago is covered in a large black contractor bag to protect it from the elements. The bag was blowing in the blustery wind, its red tie straps flapping every which way. Yes, the days are getting longer, but it will be many months before the garden is restored to its former glory.

I thought of my friend John Elliott today … he only pops on his e-mail occasionally, but I sent him this picture and suggested he get cracking on his 2014 gardens, no matter how hard it is to trek out to the greenhouse these days. You see John lives in Upstate New York, and has a greenhouse on his large piece of property. By now, he has poured over dozens of new seed and plant catalogs, and probably dog-eared more than a few pages, but truth be told, the catalogs only serve to get him through the long Winter days and dream about his beautiful gardens. Actually, John will only use the seeds gleaned from his own plants, especially his several gardens of prized Foxglove. He gathered the seeds when he put the gardens to bed, carefully sorting them by color and storing them until early February when he will start sowing those seeds into many tiny containers in his greenhouse. From there he lovingly tends to his seedlings every day, getting those plants off to a great start under his watchful eye until it is officially planting time. Gardening is John’s passion in the Spring through Fall. In the Winter months, he is an expert woodworker, crafting cradles for his many great-grandchildren and fashioning intricate wood scrollwork. He is also an accomplished painter. I’ve seen pictures of all his creations – they are exquisite and his massive gardens are simply beautiful. Did I mention John is 88?

I’ve never had much luck starting seeds – perhaps I’ve not had the patience, or the time, or I am not the nurturing person that John is. I like the perennial Forget-me-nots , so a few years ago I scattered about five packets of seeds here and there in my garden beds to add a few splashes of color to the yard in the early Spring. To my surprise, most of the seeds took and the flowers flourished. They complemented the lilacs, also early bloomers, but then after a few years, the plants grew scraggly, and despite cutting them back, they looked raggedy looking so I yanked them out. Around the same time of sowing the Forget-me-nots, I bought five packets of Russian Mammoth Sunflower seeds, eager to try my hand at growing tall sunflowers for the garden and the goldfinches that frequent the yard. Out of five packets of seeds, I got one sunflower that grew very tall, but because its heavy head was laden with seeds, it toppled over and the squirrels had a field day and a feast with its bounty of striped seeds, while the goldfinches lined up along the fence in dismay and disgust at the squirrels’ boorish behavior.

Well, it will be many more months until it is “a time to plant, a time to reap” … we will just muddle along and make the best of life in the meantime.

Well, brrrr and grrrr. I was outside on this frosty morn running the car and checking around the house and was miffed to find the drain spout plugged up with ice again. I’ll sit out the week before taking further action this time. While waiting on the car fumes to dissipate, I was marveling at the ATV snow plow driver maneuvering around in the driveway at the rental home across the street. He pushed the last few days’ worth of snow out of the long, wide driveway and back patio in record time, though he had to keep taking the snow and dropping it along in the street all the way to the corner.

The only schools Downriver that closed today were in Southgate. I saw some kids walking to school along Fort Street while I was standing by the garage. These schoolboys were walking along with no boots, no hat, hands shoved into pockets and pants dragging in the snow. Okay, they were “manly” but I’ll bet they were darn cold. It is incredulous to me how often the schools have closed so far this Winter. At the risk of sounding like one of those old fuddy duddies who says “when I was a kid, we never missed a day of school due to bad weather” … but we didn’t, so I am going to say it anyway. I attended public school through the 60s and early 70s, and unless my memory is tarnished on this fact, we never missed school for wintry weather. Were we a hardier lot back then? In middle school in the 60s, we had a dress code for girls with no pants except one day a year when we were permitted to wear slacks for “Pants Day”. Of course, that didn’t stop us from layering warm wool pants under our skirts or dresses for the long walk to school, but they had to be removed once we entered the school building and stuffed into our locker. In high school, pants were finally permitted any day you wished to wear them.

Now, we are nearing the halfway point between Winter and Spring which will occur on Groundhog Day. Yesterday “The Old Farmer’s Almanac” was crowing about their accuracy in their prediction of a snowy, brutally cold Winter based on their scientific observations (including cute woolly bear caterpillars). They should tout their accuracy because they have been right so far, in our neck of the woods anyway. For the second half of the Winter of 2013-2014 they predict the extra-frigid temps will disappear in mid-February and will moderate the balance of the Winter. They also are sticking their neck out to say that April and May will be warm and rainy and the Summer will be dry and hot. So, I wonder how accurate for those particular months they will be and if Punxsutawney Phil will concur re: Spring?

Yesterday, after I got inside the house, all cozy in my warm sweats, while wrapping my cold fingers around my mug of coffee, I could not help but feel a tad remorseful for rebuffing my furry friend with his snow-covered snout. He only wanted a pittance really, a peanut, or two … or three, of which I had plenty, plus two big canisters downstairs as well. I didn’t hear his stomach growl of course, and, yes, he has fur, but it is not as if he has a matching muffler and mitts and a cozy cap keeping him toasty. He was out in the elements for goodness sake. Then, while I was in my bedroom getting dressed to trudge out this morning, as I wearily piled on layer after layer, I heard the faint cheep, cheep, cheep. The sparrows must be lined up on the back windowsill. They always seek shelter there in the Summer when there is a torrential rain storm or in the Winter when it is especially cold or snowing hard. The window ledge is under the large patio overhang giving them 100% protection from the inclement weather. They huddle together along the ledge, their little feet clinging to the cement, not moving a muscle, but for their chirping. I’ve kept that image of the lonely bird in the big tree and its song that cheered me up the other morning in the back of my mind. Between that bird, and hearing these sparrows’ plaintive tweets, I decided I must take some food and feed these poor hungry critters – but not in my yard. Whenever I go out of the house, no matter the season, the birds are lined up along the fence … waiting, hoping for that wee morsel of food that might get tossed their way. They are probably three or four generations later than the birds I was tending to in my yard before the first rats showed up in ’08. Since I was adamant about not throwing any food out in the backyard since the rat pack is back, I decided to take the food “to go”. I was going outside anyway, so I hurriedly broke up some of my own bread slices and took some of Buddy’s treats, several bottles of recently expired canary treat seeds and treat sticks. I put everything in a bag and decided to take a quick sprint over to Memorial Park. Once there, I brushed aside some snow with my foot and spread the offerings on the cement near the memorial. I even threw in a few peanuts for good measure for a wayward jay or perhaps a squirrel or two. Then, I walked a quick lap around Memorial Park observing from afar. As I suspected, some birds were watching my actions, since a few feathered friends flew over and alighted on the cold concrete to start enjoying the meager treats laid out for them. I even heard a “lookout bird” calling out to the others … a song sweeter than any you will ever hear at tonight’s Grammy Awards. It did my heart good and warmed me all over to share with these little guys. I wish they were birds from the ‘hood, but I like to think that perhaps they followed me over there.