WALKIN', WRITIN', WIT & WHIMSY

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”.

Dear Santa:

The time for asking for dollies has long passed, but if you could find it in your heart to bring one of your “nice” believers a new laptop for Christmas, it would be greatly appreciated. You see, my four-year-old laptop has been a workhorse, but it might be time to put it out to pasture where old, hard-working laptops spend the rest of their lives. I see that you now use e-mail and author a blog – I do too and you’ll have to check mine out sometime! And you have really outdone yourself with your handy-dandy webcam that allows all of us to check out what games the reindeer are playing. Well Santa, I, too, use my computer many hours a day. I fact, sometimes I feel I am permanently tethered to it. Today, during a rigorous stretch of revisions my backspace key flipped off the keyboard. Oops! Okay, I caught it before it fell on the floor, after it somersaulted through the air and bounced off the screen and landed upside down by the “Escape” key. For a minute, I said “oh my, it’s alive” and I decided it was making some kind of a point quite frankly. I quickly grabbed up the backspace key, but the little bugger was slippery, and then I broke a nail trying to fix the retaining hinge to pop it back on. Grrrrrrrrrr. I persevered and it finally snapped on … whew!!! But soon thereafter, although I mashed it down pretty hard, it started getting a little topsy-turvy and rocking back and forth. I thought a sledgehammer would be in order next, but I managed to get it attached again albeit with a somewhat shaky status now. Even though I like to think I am a near-perfect typist, I do make the occasional mistake and backspacing is key to my job (if you’ll pardon the pun of course). Mousing around is way too slow and Control and left arrow just don’t cut it Santa dear. The lettering on the keyboard keys, especially “E”, “R”, “T” and “I”, “O”, “P” vanished over a year ago, and though I try to keep a stiff upper lip through it all, it is a royal pain when I stray off my “home keys”. Sigh. So, Santa Baby, though I could not attempt to rival Eartha Kitt’s sultry requests to you, I am hoping that since I’ve been nice all year (never naughty … not this girl), that you’ll grant this wish for me. Just to jog your memory Santa, remember when I was a little tyke, I only asked for two things every year which was a moderate request – just sayin’. Also of note, even though everyone said you were not for real, I begged to differ with them … I still do, actually. It is them who are non-believers, certainly not I. So, Santa Sweetie – if you think this Christmas wish is excessive, well I’ll just muddle through somehow hobbling along with my wobbly backspace key and I’ll understand. As a little enticement however … after midnight on Christmas Eve, I’ll leave the side door open, and you just come up into the kitchen. I’ll clear a little space on the kitchen table, next to the delicious cookies and ice-cold milk I’ll be leaving out, just in case you bring a new laptop with you. I’ll be fast asleep, not dreaming about sugarplums, but a solution to my typing dilemma. P.S. I have a high-efficiency furnace so perhaps you don’t want to squeeze down the chimney, as it’ll be a cold slide down. P.P.S. – If the laptop thing ain’t gonna happen, please just pack a new backspace key and send a couple of tech-savvy elves to work a little magic with a quick repair. There’s a five spot for each of them if they do the fix!! Thanks in advance Santa. – Linda

‘Tis the season where a plethora of poundage-creating delights seemingly greet you everywhere you go, and it is no different at work. I heard a statistic that Americans gain ten pounds between Thanksgiving and the end of the year from over-indulging in rich, calorie-laden sweets and treats and goodies galore. I don’t know if I believe that. I always ate what I wanted during the holiday season and gained maybe two or three pounds and that small increase was not due to walking or exercise or a youthful high metabolism … believe me, I never met a cookie I wouldn’t try nor that I didn’t like! Speaking of cookies, did you know that today is National Bake Cookies Day? That’s a new one on me and it did not make the Hallmark card-giving events, but is significant nonetheless. Back when I worked at a the law firm, before Robb and I went out on our own, we had 75 people including attorneys and support staff and we encompassed two floors. Starting after Thanksgiving it seemed every Monday, the counters in the 10th and 11th floor kitchens, were lined with rows and rows of brownies, bars and cookies. Brownies laced with nuts or without, topped with fudgy icing or sprinkles of red and green sugar and one attorney always crumbled up candy canes on top of his batch of brownies. How divine for a chocoholic and a little sugar high going at the water cooler and coffeemaker as you sipped coffee and discussed your weekend with co-workers before you headed back to your respective offices and work stations. Throughout the work week, after the initial influx of treats following weekend baking, more cookies, bars, cake and fudge trickled in. But, the most-famous perennial holiday treat at the Firm was Eileen’s Bacardi Rum cake. She always brought it in the morning after the Firm Christmas party. She was not stingy with the rum in her chocolate and white pound cakes and once she opened the Tupperware container, the fumes emanated out of the kitchen and way down the hall. My offering was usually peanut butter cookies with Hershey Kisses, but I always took in a special treat just for the support staff during Christmas week. I have always loved the Voortman gingerbread men so I’d buy a dozen or so for myself to eat during the Christmas season alongside a cup of cocoa, plus I’d get a gingerbread man for each of the support staff. My mom and I would wrap each one in a form-fitting plastic bag and use festive red and green curling ribbon to secure the bag and put a handwritten hang tag with each person’s name on it. The girls usually pinned the bag on their bulletin board or propped it up in a corner of their work area. As Christmas neared and the workload versus the condensed open business hours made the pace frantic, usually a gingerbread man arm or leg was hastily eaten as lunch hours were shortened or skipped to get the work done and out the door and send everyone home for a much-needed holiday respite.

Pies, tarts and cakes were not my downfall in the past, but cookies were another thing. I’ve sworn off sweets and treats now and while I don’t crave sweets at all, I am also not subjected to them either. There is no wafting of fresh baked goods in the kitchen here to beckon me to indulge in two or three or four warm cookies. The Meijer I frequent does not prepare their baked goods on site, so there is no temptation there either. My mom loved to bake and she would have all her cookie-baking activities done the week after Thanksgiving so she would concentrate on churning out a variety of tarts the week before Christmas. The cookies were stored in Tupperware tubs in the bottom of the cupboard and I was famous for reaching down blindly and lifting the lid and grabbing a few cookies out of the closest container and sometimes breaking the lid in the process. Mom would make something to please everyone in our family: peanut butter and chocolate Buckeyes, Christmas cut-out sugar cookies, Russian teacakes, pfeffernüsses, chocolate pinwheels, almond macaroons, Mrs. Maltman’s raspberry jam sandwich cookies chocolate rum balls, almond crescents, Scottish shortbread and candy cane cookies. My mom made candy cane cookies for me every year as long as I can remember, and long after her “baby” was grown. When I was in grade school back in the 60s we didn’t have “snack day”, but most of the moms sent in baked goods to share with the other kids at Christmastime. My mom always whipped up a batch of peppermint-flavored candy cane cookies for my classmates plus some for here at the house. Over the years, she bemoaned the fact that her huge turquoise melamac mixing bowl was stained a dark red from the food dye used to create the red ropes of dough to braid the unbaked cookies. That mixing bowl is still around and is probably as old as I am. I use it for washing greens now, but often, while gazing into that melamac bowl with its maroon-colored stains that have lingered all these years and long after my mom is gone, I will remember those candy cane cookies, created with love to be gobbled up and enjoyed.

Wow, where has the time gone? It is only one week until Santa’s arrival. I came across this picture yesterday. It made me smile, as it reminded me of myself as a youngster. The look on this little girl’s face is priceless as she wonders about the mystery present and its contents. I am sure all of you wrap presents and place them under the tree and as Christmas Day nears, the gaily-wrapped gifts are often eyeballed and examined many times by the soon-to-be lucky recipient. That’s just a small part of the joy of the Christmas exchange of gifts, and our small family was no different. It sure wasn’t hard to guess when a doll-sized box or a flat Barbie case was wrapped up and laying under the tree. But my parents were also ingenious for wrapping presents in bigger boxes as decoys to thwart my inquisitive fingering of the gift, then guessing ahead of time, thus ruining their surprise. One year, when I was nigh into my twenties, a box about 8 X 8 inches square suddenly was plunked atop the other presents just a few days before Christmas. The gift tag said “To Linda: Something you always wanted. ~ Love, Mom and Dad” … well, my curiosity was piqued and I shook and rattled the package over and over based upon that message. The contents rattled around, not unlike uncooked macaroni in a box, and I could discern items which slid back and forth as I turned it every which way. On Christmas morning, we always opened our presents in a round-robin fashion and it was always my turn first since I was “the baby”. You can bet that I grabbed up that present, tore into the paper and ripped it off the box which to my surprise contained a miniature farm set. When I was growing up, the neighborhood where we lived was full of little girls all about my age. Of the many children in the cul-de-sac, there were only two boys and they were younger brothers of my two girlfriends. We girls all played together, rotating from house to house, sharing young girl secrets and pushing our dollies in their prams along the gravel road of Sandmere Place. My best friend, Linda Crosby, lived next door. Her younger brother received a farm set one year for his birthday. There were multiple buildings – a quaint home with a huge porch, a big red barn for the animals, a rustic brown barn which housed the farm equipment and many pieces of split-rail fence that encircled the “property”. There were farm animals of every type roaming within the confines of the property and there was even a small family and a speckled dog with a mangy tail. Steven would play endlessly with this farm set while I was at Linda’s house and I decided I wanted one of my own. My great grandfather owned a farm in Guelph, Ontario but I don’t remember visiting it since he died and the farm was sold when I was just a toddler, so the whim to have a farm set was not heritage based, but strictly desired by me as I watched Steven playing happily for hours on the floor with his farm set. My parents pooh-poohed the idea of playing with a farm set – I was a girl after all! “You have your Etch A Sketch, Pick-Up-Sticks and Tinker Toys to play with if you get bored with your dolls or your dollhouse, but a farm set is for boys” they told me. I didn’t whine or become petulant about their decision since my parents were very strict regarding my behavior, and, though I was just a kid, such childish temper tantrums or pouting were not permitted by their only child, so I sucked it up and resigned myself that I’d never have a farm set to call my own. So, imagine my surprise to find over a decade later that this much-coveted toy was finally mine. It was the fodder for a good laugh that Christmas morning and now is just another fond memory to share with you in this magical season. I hope you get everything you are wishing for this Christmas.

More snow on the way? An additional one to three more inches of the white stuff is arriving tonight and then “real” Winter is looming large on the horizon … Saturday, to be exact. I do believe this pesky snow has settled in for the long term and we won’t see the green grass or experience a snow melt event ‘til Spring. Despite how much I enjoyed yesterday’s walk, I didn’t venture out this morning … once again, the sun up is too late to go out walking and return timely during the work week, plus I have several big projects in the hopper, so I’ll just cool my heels and stay put. Perhaps I should meander out to the backyard and make one of these frosty snow pals and then I would embrace the snow more than I do now?

Well, I just couldn’t help myself. It was a week today since I went for a walk and I needed a “fix”. I figured the snow would provide a cushion on any lingering ice on the sidewalk, and, if I walked in the street to the park two blocks from my house, I could just plod around the entire park in the snow like a Clydesdale draft horse, nice and slow and steady. I bundled up, strapped on my pedometer and pulled on my comfy and cozy lug-sole boots and away I went. My original intent was simply to take a short walk to get the kinks out and amble over to look at the living nativity scene at the First Baptist Church which is adjacent to the park. For decades, this church has put on the two-night living nativity event. I’ve popped over to watch a few times over the years and it is very beautiful, peaceful and embodies the spirit of the season. There is a makeshift stable, straw strewn all around and Mary, Joseph and of course Baby Jesus in a manger. There are even live animals inside the crèche. I noticed the stable had been created, but there was snow everywhere, and I didn’t see any hoof prints or tracks in the snow from last night. One of the parishioners came out of the church to tell me they had cancelled last night’s living nativity due to the inclement weather and were hoping to hold it tonight as scheduled. Then she invited me in to attend Sunday services. I told her I surely wasn’t dressed for church in my sweats and she said it didn’t matter. I politely declined and wished her “Merry Christmas” and felt just a little warmer after our conversation. Hopefully the living nativity will be presented tonight as scheduled for there is always a large crowd in attendance. I’ve heard the weather reports for Jerusalem the past week and they had three days of non-stop snow which is very uncharacteristic weather for them. They usually don’t get snow until February and certainly not to the extent they’ve seen the past few days. Weather weirdness has become a worldwide phenomenon!

I left the church and set out for a good place to tromp out a trail. There is a sidewalk in a portion of this park and it appears the City plowed it sometime on Saturday, but it was covered with snow again. I incorporated the plowed-and-salted church parking lot with the park path and just kept walking around in circles. It was a little monotonous, and, not quite so heady of a trip as Council Point Park would have been, but I heard the chatter of several beautiful blue jays and looked up in a tree to see them looking down at me. I remembered I had peanuts tucked in my coat pocket from last week so I tossed a few into the snow but they quickly sank down and were not visible, to the jays anyway. I fished them out, then did a little grape-stomping dance on the snow and flattened an area to put peanuts out for them. I began walking away and moments later heard the very loud honking of geese and I looked toward the Heavens to see a large flock of Canada geese flying in V-formation. Bet they were wishing they hadn’t hung around here so long and opted to start their migration south earlier. I know I’m wishing it was still Fall – oh, wait … it is still Fall. At this rate, I don’t want to think what Old Man Winter has up his sleeve for us. I added three miles to my 2013 walking total and came home with rosy cheeks and a spring in my step.

All across the country for the past month, we’ve read about and commiserated with those suffering the Winter weather woes in other states, so I guess we were overdue. Well, this weather looks like a blizzard, yet it can’t be called a Winter storm (not technically anyway), so I guess we’ll just call it “The Big Snow of Fall 2013”. I ventured outside early to get the mail and check on the furnace pipe to ensure it wasn’t blocked up from the sideways snow and possibly run the car in the garage for a quick minute. The snow had drifted and was banked up high in front of the garage so I dismissed that chore. Then I got soaking wet from the three-minute excursion around the house. I guess if you’re a Winter enthusiast or a kid eyeballing the snow to make a snowman or snow angels, this is your kind of day. If you have some snowshoes to get around, it might not be so bad either since it sounds like the roads are treacherous. The neighborhood is still humming with the sound of snow blowers as I write this post. When I last looked, the snow in front of the house was still softly falling and looked very pretty, those pristine white crystals as-yet untouched by a passing dog, street dirt and salt kicked up by the City snow plow, or littered by dark purple plum tree leaves that are still wiggling in the wind, anxious to be freed from my neighbor Marge’s tree. When I was growing up, I lived in Oakville, Ontario, so close to Toronto’s Snowbelt that our Winters were very harsh and oh-so-snowy. We lived on the “bend” in the cul-de-sac and a snowy day and night like this one would bury my father’s VW Beetle until you could barely see the domed top. Somewhere in my photo albums are black and white photos of members of our family standing next to what looks like an igloo.

Well, Mother Nature … the special effects have been grand, but now would you please turn the snow globe right-side-up?

The number 13, unlucky or otherwise, has resurfaced for the second time in three months on a Friday on the calendar. Well, I’m thinking I’m fairly safe today since I don’t have to leave the confines of the house – in fact the majority of my day will be spent in the kitchen where I remote into work from my laptop which sits on the kitchen table. Enough of me since you all know about my work gig. The weather forecast for tonight and all day tomorrow is sounding rather ominous and every time I listen to the WWJ and WJR meteorologists, they are adding more inches of snow to the original prediction. Well, a light dusting over all that ice that accumulated last Sunday night would have suited me just fine … sigh. Not so great either is that the majority of office/company holiday parties will probably occur tonight or Saturday night. Indeed, it is a weekend to stay in the house, if possible, in your jammies and bunny slippers or your cozy sweats, and embark on such holiday adventures as baking holiday treats or perhaps writing out all those Christmas cards since time’s a tickin’ and the busiest post office mail delivery day will be Monday. Perhaps you want to just veg out in front of the TV and catch up on all the holiday movies. Go ahead – put your feet up because you’ve earned it. If cookie-baking is on your agenda, before you head home to hunker down, better stop at the grocery store to ensure you have all the ingredients for your holiday treats so you won’t be running to your neighbor for a cup of sugar. (Do people still do that?) If there is a silver lining to the number 13, the only one I can think of is a baker’s dozen or 13 treats instead of 12! Happy baking and stay safe everyone.