WALKIN', WRITIN', WIT & WHIMSY

I opened the screen door to leave for my walk this morning and a squirrel sidled right over to greet me. That chubby little imp had been digging in my garden near the door and I surprised him and caught him in the act. His sharp nails were covered with dirt, no doubt due to a spike in the temperature and the dirt being easier to manipulate than the previously frozen tundra just a few days ago. He was wearing a “Who me?” look and no doubt was scrounging for a peanut or two from his harvest time stash, though from the look of him, he has a good food source right now. I shooed him away to get out the door, and he didn’t scamper … it was more of a waddle. I’m sure he is missing his daily handouts from Marge who has been away all week. She usually stocks the bird feeder and replenishes the suet holder when its empty, and the squirrels feel free to help themselves to the bird treats before starting on their own corn cobs and peanut butter sandwiches she provides to them. Well, I felt badly since I had a plastic pouch full of peanuts, but was not going to start tossing treats to him. I’ve done this in the past and then had to open the door very carefully as the squirrels liked to beg for food on the doorstop and I feared they’d scramble right on into the house once I opened the door.

My boss was out this morning and I figured I’d wait ‘til it was a tad warmer and take a longer walk. The weather felt almost balmy this morning but when I looked out the front door, hardly anyone had shoveled, so I thought boots would be a necessity today to get the walk accomplished. Thus, I left the house in my fur-lined boots, schlepping a big tote bag with lots of plastic bags inside. The contents also contained my cushioned heavy walking socks, walking shoes, the remaining “duck bread”, some of which I have been eating all week except the slices set aside for today’s treat, and a medium-sized baggie brimming with peanuts. Once at Council Point Park, I used the picnic bench in the pavilion to swap boots for shoes and socks and then set off, meanwhile dispensing treats to the ducks and squirrels who showed up along my way today – perhaps the bitter cold weather kept them hiding someplace warm when they went missing sometimes on my prior walks. Before I could head home, I had to repeat the process and go back into boots as the sidewalks were not shoveled clear to the cement near the Park either. All the way home, I was lamenting not owning a bundle buggy like my grandmother used which would be helpful to trundle all my supplies with me,. Metropolitan Torontonians really have no need for an automobile if they live or work within the City. The public transportation is excellent and one can get around via streetcar, bus and subway and get hours of free rides by simply using “transfers” from one mode of transportation to the next. My grandmother would walk to the grocery store at the end of the street or hop off the streetcar and head there, then using her collapsible bundle buggy, she’d pile a week’s worth of groceries into it to walk home. I must look online for my own bundle buggy so I don’t look like a pack horse walking to and from Meijer in any season in which I make that trip on foot, rather than by car. I’m still creeping along toward the end-goal, with the end now very much in sight.

Watch it wiggle, see it jiggle. … Make Jell-O gelatin and make some fun!

I loved those commercials back in the 80s, give or take a decade and I really used to love Jell-O. My boss’ 21-year-old son had a tonsillectomy early this morning. It caused me to reflect back on December 22, 1987 when I had my tonsils removed for the second time. Well, lucky me! The older you are when your tonsils are removed, the more difficult the recovery becomes. So, Jell-O gelatin was my go-to fare for Christmas 1987 some three or four days post-surgery. On Christmas Day, my mom tried valiantly to lift my spirits by serving me a large bowl of red and green shimmery Jell-O topped with whipped cream, but still … it just wasn’t a memorable Christmas Day meal. To commiserate with me, she heated a bowl of Chunky Soup and had a sandwich while I spooned chilled Jell-O down my surgically-repaired throat to soothe the after effects. I had scheduled to take off work between Christmas and New Year’s which was a good thing, since I had post-surgery earache complications as well. Query: why does one person have to have two tonsillectomies? Was it an incompetent ENT doc the first round? Well, I have to wonder. I had my tonsils out the week after school ended in June 1972. I was 16 and placed in the pediatric ward, the oldest patient there, and my roommate was a petulant young girl who fell off her horse and broke her arm in multiple places. I had ear complications then as well and ended up spending a week in the hospital. It was the week the Watergate scandal broke and nothing was on TV except the details of that big news event. For years after tonsillectomy #1, I constantly got sick, despite eating healthy and taking care of myself. If someone suffered with a cold and merely came near me, like in the elevator, I ended up with the same malady within 24 hours. I went to several doctors who scratched their head, puzzled why a seemingly healthy person could keep getting so sick. They ran a battery of tests and asked if I had my tonsils out. When I responded “yes”, they never bothered to peer down my throat. One doctor suggested I see an ear, nose and throat specialist which I did. He stuck that horrid tongue depressor down my throat and declared “why you have a tonsil root and that’s why you continue to be sick – it has to come out” … so what the heck is a tonsil root? Dr. Kwyor likened it to a potted geranium. You can snip off the top portion, but the root remains forevermore, so unless you physically go and destroy it, that geranium will bloom for years. We scheduled the surgery for the following week and it took all of five minutes to remove the annoyance. I was home that afternoon. Red and green Jell-O were the menu items Christmas Week of 1987 and somewhere in my photo albums I have pictures of me downing a huge bowl of Jell-O in front of the Christmas tree. I’ve never felt the same way about Jell-O since 1987. I had some extra time this morning so I tromped over to Memorial Park and stomped out a path to walk around in my lug-sole boots. Well, I eked out another two miles with this morning’s trek as I keep plugging away toward the ultimate goal and will keep you posted.

The weathermen got it all wrong … well, kinda sorta. Last night they said we’d probably wake up to a White Christmas. Well, I groaned since I planned on a long walk today. So I didn’t set the alarm. Got up late and looked outside … well, clear as a bell. I had some breakfast, bundled up and decided to take the buggy for a spin since it had been nearly three weeks since I took it out of the garage. I drove to Meijer, thinking I might pick up some groceries and walk laps in the store, but Meijer was closed – well, good for them; they care about their employees! I brought the car home, and went inside for a warmer coat and my critter treats and set out. The wind was harsh and, the cold air biting but I trudged on, setting my sights on a nice visit at Council Point Park. The sidewalks in the neighborhoods were just fine, but the Park’s asphalt pathway was icy in spots, and I played dodge ‘em as I avoided the glazed-looking areas. I glanced at the Creek and it was frozen all along the pathway. There were no broken areas in the ice where water was visible, not even at the sewer drain where the ducks congregate. Consequently, not one mallard was to be found, so I hustled down to the concrete precipice and threw my bread bits onto the ice so the ducks could see their treats when they eventually came out from their hidey holes. The wind suddenly picked up and got very blustery in the open areas and I bent my head down, just popping it up occasionally to scan the horizon for hungry squirrels, but there was nary a one, not even my little peanut pal, who has probably given up on me since he wasn’t there Sunday either. Around the bend I went, passing several walkers, similarly bundled up and we exchanged Christmas greetings with one another through muffler-covered mouths or muffled by frozen lips. A Black Lab, untethered from his master, ran to and fro and was wearing a jaunty green bow with jingle bells on it as he raced around on the frozen soccer field. He was having a wonderful time and paying no mind to the bitter cold. I was disappointed that the ducks were MIA, and I had looked forward to a few squirrel encounters as well. Enroute to the Park I had a mindset that I’d feed my critters and get some satisfaction about them eating their grub … I had painted a rosy picture in my mind, akin to the photo above, of how that encounter should go; that is, adding a few years to that young girl of course. Then in the distance, I saw a little brown blob scurrying on all fours, with a flash of furry tail …. and what to my wondering eyes did appear, but my favorite squirrel. I bent down and spread out the peanuts from my pocket with the admonition that on this day of gift giving, he must share them with his family. I left my peanut pal behind and kept walking and ended the first lap. I decided that despite the brutal cold whipping through the Park, it was clear and dry, so I would walk another lap. Well, within minutes of embarking on lap #2, it started to snow, lightly at first, then it got intense, swirling across the path and covering up the ice. Oh-oh … now walking was dicey as you couldn’t see ice ruts and glazed areas. So, I walked alongside the path on the grass, determined to complete the lap, wondering to myself why the expression “it’s a walk in the park” means something is easy? I finished the second lap, high-tailed it across the parking lot and headed for home. Halfway home I heard the wail of multiple sirens, growing louder by the minute. I looked ahead and they were coming toward me, and I didn’t want to intrude onto the scene of anyone’s grief and heartache on this Christmas Day morn, so I made a quick detour over a few more blocks. By the time I made it home, my hat and coat were saturated with snow, but snuggled underneath all those downy feathers I was feeling smug about the 5 1/2 miles I had just added to my goal.

As I began my walk this morning, before the weather turned so ugly, I was sauntering along my usual route through the residential neighborhoods to get to Council Point Park. It was rather a gray and dismal sky and I was noticing how the outdoor lights and decorations at least brought some color to a rather lackluster morning. Inside the homes, the Christmas trees were all aglow in large front room windows as I surreptitiously glanced at the families sitting in the living rooms, gathered around the tree amidst bright splashes of wadded-up wrapping paper and bows that had been cast aside. It made me a little melancholy for many Christmas mornings throughout the years, as I remembered scenarios much the same as I saw in these windows. I realized this morning that it was a mistake to leave my Christmas tree and decorations in the closet … yes, that little tree lends an aura of Christmas cheer in the house and no amount of holiday songs on the radio will bring forth the ambiance of the soft glow of the lights twinkling merrily in the dimly lit living room, and glints of gold tinsel matching the tiny angel with the gilded halo and wings and velveteen dress who perches atop the tallest branch. In the semi-darkness of the room, lit only by the shimmering lights of the Christmas tree, the years all melt away, and it seems that every childhood Christmas Day was perfect and there were no bad Christmas times, just golden memories. But, nostalgia can play tricks on you sometimes – you remember what you want to remember … selective memories. Somehow, the years have a way of erasing or smoothing out the tarnished and rough edges and all Christmases become perfect in your mind’s eye. Growing up, I read and enjoyed all of Laura Ingalls Wilder’s books and years later watched the TV series “Little House on the Prairie” faithfully, many times wishing I lived back in those simpler, untroubled times. This quote below speaks to Christmas Past and childhood memories, alot of which I have dwelled upon these past few weeks, and, thus I wanted to include her quote with this post. Christmas Present was quiet for me, though I’ve had some nice Christmas music on throughout the day with my little Buddy keeping up with everything from Bing to the Beach Boys. Yes, life is good. Hope your Christmas Present has been everything you imagined it to be.

Our hearts grow tender with childhood memories and love of kindred, and we are better throughout the year for having, in spirit, become a child again at Christmas-time.
– Laura Ingalls Wilder

I hope at this late hour that your shopping is done, your presents are wrapped and you are chillaxin’ like ol’ Santa. Now that the prep work for the holiday is finished, let the fun and merriment of Christmas begin. A very Merry Christmas to you and those who make you smile.

Whew – it is already Christmas Eve. This morning I needed a brief respite from a week of endless hours spent staring at the computer screen, plus a trip out to the garage to run my car since we’re back in the Deep Freeze. As I bundled up and pulled my boots on, I figured I might as well mosey over to Memorial Park for a petite promenade to air out my brain and stretch my fingers and legs in the process. Memorial Park is only two streets away and stretches the length of three City blocks. I walked carefully, mindful of any tricky ice patches, but the light dusting of fresh snow seemed to cover over any slick spots, so that was appreciated. As I walked through the Park my boots crunched with each step I made. I took stock of the snow near the curb encircling the Park and it is now sloppy, slushy and ugly with muddy strands of grass peeking out of the salt-stained dregs of last week’s snowstorm. Inside the Park, the snow is sometimes frozen in misshapen piles. Glazed-over puddles are scattered here and there and when I encountered them I strayed off the path and onto the grass, carefully staying clear of the yellow-tinged snow, of course. Just like the day after the big snowfall, I plodded around the edge of the Park resembling a great, sure-footed Clydesdale, or perhaps more like a cloven-hoofed flying deer like this one from Santa’s stable pictured above. In the end, my pedometer registered that I racked up a measly 2 1/2 miles, but every little bit counts right now. It may not look or feel like Christmas here in Michigan this morning, but there are predictions of some light snow arriving on and throughout Christmas Day. I could surely live without it, but that is me – I am already Winter weary. So, my work day is beginning, but just think … the Big Guy has already been making a tour ‘round the globe and won’t be touching down here in North America until the wee hours of the morn. These days you can track Santa’s whereabouts on Norad or Google’s Santa Tracker, but what about the old-fashioned way? Just tilt your head toward the Heavens and you’ll see the sleigh and team gliding across the sky. Godspeed to you and your reindeer dear Santa as you make your way around the world bestowing gifts to each of us good girls and boys.

There was an icy glaze on the pavement so I am sidelined again. No bother, as I am still trying to finish up this project so my Christmas Eve and Christmas Day are unscathed by work. But to put things in perspective, traipsing around in the Wintry weather to reach my goal seems so inconsequential after hearing this heart-warming tale over the weekend. It is the story of a little girl, Laney Brown, who lives in West Reading, Pennsylvania, and she is in the last stages of a rare form of leukemia and not expected to live to see Christmas 2013. All she wanted was to hear Christmas carols and so the townspeople and others (10,000 strong) gathered around her house for a gigantic sing-song so little Laney could be granted her wish. (http://www.cnn.com/2013/12/22/us/dying-girl-christmas-carol-wish/) Call me sentimental or sappy … I don’t care … this story brought tears to my eyes. I would have joined that crowd in their well wishes in a heartbeat. Christmas music lifts the heart and stirs the soul. When I was in Brownies and Girl Guides back in Canada, one of our annual troop events was to visit various nursing homes around the Oakville area and sing holiday songs. We’d pin sparkly Christmas corsages onto our official uniforms and sometimes add a whimsical pair of elf ears or headbands with reindeer antlers as well to cheer the nursing home residents where we visited. We were greeted with cheers, often accompanied by tears. It was fun and gave the residents a touch of holiday spirit. If only we could capture this good will toward all men and bottle it to be sprinkled throughout the year, instead of just at the holiday season.

Hallelujah! The rain finally stopped, so I lit out as quickly as I could to get some miles walked before it rained again. Lucky for me it remained clear and just started spittin’ as I was heading up the driveway at the end of my journey. It was two weeks today since I last visited Council Point Park so that was my destination. I took goodies with me but did not see a single Park critter the entire time I was there, so I brought my treats home with me and will try again, probably Christmas Day. I walked two complete laps and to and from the Park which yields five miles. I was grateful to reach that marker because 480 miles is the equivalent of a round trip to my grandmother’s house in Toronto. It seems like just yesterday I was ecstatic to have reached 240 miles, or a one-way trip to her home from our house, (https://lindaschaubblog.net/2013/08/31/retro/) and shortly after I wrote that post, I immediately set as a goal to walk the equivalent of a round trip. It seemed like it would be easy, until Thanksgiving arrived, bringing with it not just the onset of the holiday season, but round after round of wacky Wintry weather, thwarting my attempts to reach my goal. Well, I still have twenty miles to go before year-end and my last goal of 500 miles in 2013. I’m thinking of my grandmother today, having reached this milestone, however. Before I wrote about her garden and love of flowers. Today I am remembering her hospitality to all, not just her family. Whenever friends or family knocked at the front door, my grandmother, with a Pavlovian-like response, would rise from her chair, grab up the cast-iron kettle, walk over to the sink and fill it up and snap on the gas burner. This was all one blurred motion because before coats and hats were removed, and hugs and kisses exchanged, my grandmother would say “I’ll fix you a cuppa and a ham sandwich” which was more of a statement than a question, i.e. can I get you something? There was always a big ham in the fridge and huge hunks would get lopped off and slapped on a Kaiser bun, hastily spread with a big chunk of sweet butter, and a swirly dribble of honey mustard. The kettle would hiss, the teabag would be steeped to get it nice and strong, then dunked two or three times for good measure. You soon were holding the cuppa in one hand while a ham sandwich was proffered before it was time to get another hug and catch up. Funny how such sweet memories of my grandmother can be dredged up by thinking about a mere gesture and a meal. Well, I have now walked all the way to 86 St. Clarens Avenue and back home again, spurred on by the memories of many a hug, a kiss and a ham sandwich. Cheers to you Nanny for your gracious ways, for the inspiration and for all the hugs you ever gave me. XOXOXO P.S. Sharing the love in this picture from the 80s are my grandmother, Aunt Frances, my mom and me. I am the tall one. (Smile)

Alas, Winter has arrived. You wouldn’t know it from looking outside. All the white stuff from a week ago today is fading fast and there is a flood advisory now. It’s the shortest day of the year and I made it even shorter by deciding to sleep in. When I heard the rain pelting down on the patio roof behind my head, I mentally cancelled my errands … and my walk, then toyed with the idea of rolling over and getting still more sleep, but decided I’d better just get up and get it in gear. The dark mornings and early evenings made me lethargic and tuckered out, just like this young fella above. Given my dislike of this season, especially driving in the snow, I sometimes think I’d be better suited as a big old bear so I could hibernate ‘til Spring. Hope your 2013 Christmas shopping gig is all wrapped up with a bow on it on this “Super Saturday”, the second busiest shopping day of the year. Time to take a break, breathe in deeply and relax. Ahhh, much better.

It’s been a foggy and soggy London Town kind of day, just dreary and dismal from dawn to nightfall, and sure not looking like we are finally on the cusp of Winter. Twice I made an attempt to take a walk and do some errands, and both times I peered out the front door to see raindrops. Raindrops at 71 degrees are tolerable, but at 41 degrees, are not too inviting to go dashing out the door. So, the errands got quashed and I’ll await another walking day; unfortunately the year 2013 is winding down and I am still deficient in my mileage goal due to the past two weeks of wintry conditions. The weather today does remind me of London, England even though when I visited there with my parents in May 1979, we were blessed with an entire week of uncharacteristically sunny and just-perfect weather. We attributed it to the added insurance of each of us lugging around an umbrella to ensure we stayed dry in any pop-up showers while sightseeing. I’ve been thinking about Jolly Old England alot lately, and not just the mishap at The Apollo Theatre or the recent death of Sir Laurence Olivier. A former co-worker of mine just passed the Michigan bar exam and signed on for a five-month stint as a barrister-at-law in a prestigious London law firm. He arrived in mid-November and it is his first time overseas. He was very excited to begin this initial stepping stone of a long legal career and I’ve been following his Facebook posts which have been replete with pictures of the City, tourist attractions and ordinary everyday places he frequents in his leisure time. I wrote him that he must try some figgy pudding over the upcoming holiday just to capture the flavor of this traditional English dessert at Christmastime in London. I crossed my fingers when I wrote this, since figgy pudding is kind of like the weather – soggy, and I’m not a discriminating diner, but it wasn’t my favorite dessert. Bah humbug to figgy pudding I say!! As to Christmas past, my mom used to make up mincemeat tarts every Christmas. She’d buy several jars of None Such mincemeat and over Fourth of July weekend, she’d open the jars and spoon half of the contents into washed coffee jar bottles and liberally pour in some rum and mix it up into each one. Then she’d close up all the jars tightly and tuck them in the back of the fridge ‘til the week before Christmas. My mom made several varieties of tarts and tartlets just prior to Christmas, but her mincemeat tarts were her pride and joy. She’d roll out the homemade cream cheese piecrust and then cut and fashion the crust into the medium-sized tart tins. A big scoop of the potent-tasting mincemeat went into each tart shell and just before eating them, dollops of heavy whipped cream was the topping of choice, as you waited in breathless anticipation. They were extremely rich and one tart would do it for you, especially if you were the designated driver. Only four more days until Christmas, so as the Brits say: “Keep Calm and Carry On”.