WALKIN', WRITIN', WIT & WHIMSY

Old-fashioned holiday shopping is now so yesterday, isn’t it? For years, you just went out to a shopping center, later called “the mall”, or to your favorite, stand-alone retail store. Shopping might have been done with your credit card sometime in December or perhaps you waited until after you received and cashed your Christmas bonus. Maybe you paged through endless catalogs and did your shopping that way. I can remember the novelty of the super sales and bargains bought at the crack of dawn as the first “Black Friday” made its debut and reshaped traditional Christmas shopping. Then “Cyber Monday” came upon the scene. Well, that was a novelty because what shopping you didn’t complete over Thanksgiving weekend, you’d finish up your first day back at work and consider it done. Now, most people have computers so Cyber Monday still is great for deals but people shop in their PJs in front of their own computer, and not on work hours. This year the retailers say Black Friday crowds somewhat languished while “Gray Thursday” crowds were overwhelming. Guess those shop-til-you-drop power shoppers were not suffering from the effects of too much tryptophan to hit the open stores and get ‘er done. I only went shopping one time on the original Black Friday. My mom sent me for a couple of presents she picked out for me, but she didn’t drive, so I was her proxy to buy my presents: a Mickey Mouse radio at Radio Shack and a gold filigree ring at Service Merchandise. When I arrived at 7:00 a.m. the Radio Shack patrons queued up around the store waiting for people to leave to make room for others to enter. I was getting out of the car when I heard two people complaining about the Mickey Mouse radios being sold out in the 5:00 o’clock hour. I shut the car door and drove over to Service Merchandise. Crowds were milling in the door and on the sidewalk and luckily the jewelry department was not bogged down and I was happy my mission would be accomplished. They had the ring but it was too large for my slender fingers. My next stop was to Fairlane Mall to buy gifts for my mom. It was so crowded that you had to get into the throng of shoppers to actually move through the mall as everyone was kind of just shuffling along. I took one look at the crowd, threw up my hands in despair and was outta there. Well, since I have no gifts to buy, instead I sit here ensconced in the cozy kitchen, a cup of coffee within reach, writing this blog post. Buddy is nearby happily trilling and thrilling me with his beautiful music as he gives Karen Carpenter’s “Home for the Holidays” a run for the money.

In keeping with the “bird theme” that is so important to the whole ambiance of Turkey Day, I am reminded by my Mom’s admonishments throughout my formative years, to wit: “don’t count your chickens before they are hatched” … yup, Mom you are so right. I had already counted on and calculated how many miles I would walk over this long holiday weekend. In fact, I had set my sights on walking the equivalent of a 10K course today. This would entail a round trip from my house plus three, count ‘em three, trips around the perimeter path at Council Point Park. This hoped-for Thanksgiving morn trip would have boosted my mileage, bolstered my pride of my walking accomplishments in 2013 and made me worthy of my Thanksgiving dinner. Such grandiose dreams were dashed however. On Wednesday, the weather folks, on all the stations I scoped out, predicted “a chance of snow flurries in the afternoon” and I deemed it safe to forego setting the clock and just indulge in waking up on my own. So, this morning I was indeed alarmed to find out my body clock decided 8:59 a.m. was A-OK to awaken. Talk about supreme indulgence on my part. I woke up and then heard the kitchen clock’s Westminster chimes start playing for the top of the hour. I listened intently, while curled up in the confines of my cozy bed, and heard nine strikes! Say it isn’t so! I bounded out of bed, then clapped on the radio headphones to hear much chatter about slick roads and multiple accidents due to the snow and so I dashed to the window. Metro Airport reported only a half-inch of snow but it looked like a Winter wonderland out there. Well, melting was not going to happen any time soon. I made breakfast and listened to the WWJ news reports. There was much congestion due to the Turkey Trot, parade, early Lion’s tailgating and game arrivals, and, of course, the unexpected snow which gummed up the whole downtown Detroit works. So, I decided to just ease into my day and take a loss on the anticipated 6.2 miles lost today. It probably didn’t hurt to enjoy a brief respite from the long-haul walking I’ve been doing this past month (80 miles in November thus far) as I chug toward my ultimate goal.

My boss was up and at ‘em at the crack of dawn to participate in his 31st annual 10K Turkey Trot. He has been training all Fall by riding his bike, swimming twice a week and training indoors on a treadmill as well. I looked at online photos and it looks like the participants in the Turkey Trot and Stuffing Strut events had to run through the snow. I’m thinking that is for hardier souls than yours truly.

Despite the snow flurries swirling around the already-cold feet standing curbside to take in the America’s Thanksgiving Parade, it sounds like a good time was had by all. I only attended the arrival of Santa in Detroit one time – in 1974. Back then it was known as J.L. Hudson’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. Our group of friends, the staff from the college newspaper “The Ford Estate”, decided to attend the parade and the Lion’s game. We met at one house very early and crammed all of us into a VW bus and off we went. Of course, I’m dating myself by even mentioning that old VW bus. It was not festooned with peace symbols, or the words “love” and peace” on the exterior, but it was rather rusted, missing hubcaps and very raggedy looking, but nonetheless got us to our destination. The many layers of warm woolens and even long johns I had donned that morning did not help in the least to protect against the cold, and soon I, like my newspaper cronies and most of the parade spectators, was stomping my feet in an effort to warm those tingling toes. When Santa arrived, we took off and it seemed to take forever to get out of Downtown proper and over to the old Tiger Stadium before game time. This was the very last Thanksgiving Day Lions game played at Tiger Stadium. We stopped and got coffee and some warm food then wove our way through the throng of fans and got settled into our seats just as the game was about to begin. Then it started to snow. Not those delightful, light and lacy little flakes that land on your nose and melt, or stay on your clothes a few minutes then blow away. No, these snowflakes collected on the cement at our feet, and started piling up on the armrests as well throughout the game. It never stopped snowing. We endured it for as long as we could, and finally, since the Lions were losing to the Broncos, we made a collective dash to depart before the rest of the crowd. We hit an open café half-way to Dearborn Heights for some more coffee and hot soup, not wanting to wreck our appetites for the feast that awaited at our respective homes later in the day. That was my first and last Thanksgiving Day parade and Detroit Lions game as well and it seemed my teeth chattered for hours, if not days, afterward.

I’m guessing by now you’ve already finished that second piece of pumpkin pie, and the table, which was groaning under the weight of all the holiday food, is now lightweight and near-bare, and it is you that is groaning and settling back in your chair, perhaps loosening your pants waistband a little. I hope your Thanksgiving Day spent with family and friends was joyous and your evening will be spent with those who make you happy, and not at the mall.

Blustery 25 mph winds and glacial air finally took its toll on me. I mustered a petite promenade and didn’t even make it to Council Point Park where the vast open spaces in some places make you a sitting duck for those cold wintry blasts. So, I took a stroll in the neighborhood, just enough to redden up my cheeks, then took the car for a much-needed spin. I hate taking the car out of the garage in the colder months, as I have nearly no room to back in and out and must hold my breath that the dual mirrors don’t get side-swiped by the garage trim. It is even dicey trying to wear a heavy coat as I must walk sideways to access the driver’s side door. After returning my car to its cozy quarters, I pulled the garage door down and figured that was good for a few days and then I’d just run it a minute or so in the garage. I was grateful to step inside the house and put the big rag rugs up at the side door to keep the extra chill out. While stripping off all my outerwear, I was anticipating wrapping my frigid fingers around a steaming mug of coffee and how fine those first few sips would be going down, when the phone rang and simultaneously I heard banging on the side storm door. I groaned. It was my handyman, Bill, who was calling with the message that he drove by and noticed a bare spot or two on the roof so “I just quickly climbed up on the roof to check the shingles and three are missing and should be replaced as soon as possible so no moisture gets underneath” … big sigh on my part because this requires not only backing the car out of the garage but moving a half-dozen yard ornaments and heavy pots that are sitting on risers atop the large package of shingles. Grrrrrrrrr. Not to mention tendering $40.00 to Bill for the repair job. Well, on this day before you should take stock of your blessings, I shall have a glass-half-full attitude and admit that for me this fractious weather has not created any other damage than lost shingles and I did not lose power. I will suck it up, and concede that I am blessed and I will just be thankful for the roof over my head and a warm house, having virtually escaped unscathed from Mother Nature’s most-recent wrath. May you, too, find your troubles are few and your blessings are plenty on this cold and windy Thanksgiving Eve.

It was overcast and took forever to lighten up this morning. When I finally left the house I was happy to go back inside to retrieve a lightweight coat since it was only half as harsh as yesterday; in fact it felt almost balmy after the past few days.

As I sauntered along the sidewalk, still stained with leaf imprints, I saw traces of snow in the grass along and around the driveways giving them an almost chalk-outlined look. Likewise, there was snow embedded in the sidewalk cracks where narrow Honey Locust leaves and pesky weeds still languish in that tiny trench.

As I neared Council Point Park, I passed the house where the elderly couple feeds and waters the birds on a daily basis. I first wrote about them back on July 25th in my post entitled “Offerings” (https://lindaschaubblog.net/2013/07/25/offerings/). As a general rule, each morning when I pass this house, the three birdfeeders have already been filled, and the gang of sparrows and cardinals are clustered about hungrily munching on their share of seeds on or under the feeders. But, I noticed yesterday and today there was no fresh food out and the house was in darkness. Hopefully, the couple is merely away visiting for the Thanksgiving holiday and nothing untoward has happened to them. The ever-faithful birds still showed up for breakfast, however, despite the empty feeders. I sympathized with the row of sparrows, nestled close together and lining the length of the fence near a now-bare Red Maple tree as they sat hoping for “first dibs” on the seeds. I am somewhat endeared toward sparrows since they resemble my little Buddy who has similar plumage, but they are minus that feathery cap and perpetual cowlick characteristic of a mop-top canary. I looked at those sparrows and thought of Buddy, snoozing away in the den, snuggled under his velour and Sherpa comforter awaiting Linda to come home and smother him with affection and offer up his favorite treats. I’m just a sucker for critters as you know from reading this blog, so I dipped into my bag of bread and shared a good portion of it with them. As soon as I scattered it on the ground beneath the tree where the feeders are suspended, the sparrows hopped down and started eating it. I watched their collective delight in the unexpected treat and if a thought bubble were to appear over their bobbing heads, it would say “we’ll eat this just in case our seeds don’t come later”… sometimes you just have to indulge me in my over-active imagination.

At the Park, there were quite a few walkers this morning. Some traces of snow still remained along the Creek bed and a little precip was coming down while I was walking along the path. The ice on the river has broken up and nearly dissipated. Only a handful of ducks were out this morning so those lucky ducks got a double-dose of my doughy tidbits. Who knows where the others were? Perhaps they fear someone has their sights on one of them for a tasty duck dinner instead of the usual ham or turkey on Thanksgiving Day. We often had roast duck or goose for holiday dinners when I was growing up. A solitary squirrel came racing over to meet me as I turned the bend … one of my “regular followers” I suppose. Since no neon-colored duds were donned today, he must have recognized my kindly face, or more likely he spied the Ziploc bag of peanuts which I usually hold in my hand, ready to dispense as needed as I walk along. I’m glad the Park critters are unafraid of me and appreciate their treats and I’ve developed a nice rapport with them, though we don’t speak much. I don’t mind being known by the moniker of “The Bread Lady” …“The Nut Lady” not so much.

Another blustery morning – brrrrrrrrrrrr. The temps and wind chill were wicked when I departed the house and the wind was howling at nearly 20 mph. It is garbage day in the neighborhood and the last week of yard waste pick-up. If I had one dollar for every yard waste bag or hay bale I passed, I’d be rich. As I walked down the next street over from mine, the garbage men had already made their stops, making quick work of their task, casting aside cans and their lids haphazardly on homeowners’ front lawns. Well, that was too bad since the gusting winds moved those cans and their lids all over in short order. Garbage cans were rockin’ and rolling in the street, never hoping to find their way back home unless a big street address was emblazoned on them. The sidewalk ahead of me was lined with lids which looked like over-sized hockey pucks as they slid up and down the sidewalk on their own volition. I had to dodge them all the way down Pagel until I caught up with the garbage truck and as I passed it, I asked the guys if this brutal Winter-like weather was worse than the sultry, sickening-hot days of Summer. They both grinned and told me this cold weather was far worse, which surprised me.

As I walked, hunching over with my head down so my face would catch a break from the brutal wind, my parka hood fell backward and when I tipped my head upright, just then I saw a side screen door fly open and a woman emerge. No doubt she was judging the proximity of the garbage truck after hearing the huge kerplunk and thunk, that would have raised the dead, as the garbage men pitched a whole toilet and tank into the truck’s massive jaws. The woman was struggling to get out the door, while pulling and pushing a black garbage bag, trying to squeeze the contents to get it through the door. Finally successful, the door closed behind her. She was clad only in a short cotton robe, wrapped loosely with a tie belt. Matching dainty pink bedroom scuffs completed her outfit. Just as she grabbed the garbage bag’s tie handles to haul it down the driveway, a huge gust of wind crooked a wily finger under her flimsy robe and sent it airborne in a scene reminiscent of Marilyn Monroe’s famous photo standing over the subway grate. The expression on her face was just priceless. Since I was within earshot, I said “guessing you’re a little chilly; I was just thinking to myself that I wish I had added tights or long johns to my clothing mix when I got dressed this morning” and then I smiled. Now, she could have thought that I was a smart-aleck, and I probably took her aback with my comment, but she hesitated a bit, then just laughed it off and told me she was glad it was just me who witnessed her escapade, then wished me a happy Thanksgiving.

I fairly flew around the Park perimeter path since it was THAT windy. Again today, the regular walkers, runners and bikers were absent, and I nearly had the trail to myself, but for the Chocolate Labs and their owners who shared my penchant for a frosty early morning walk. Even the squirrels were scarce this morning and I didn’t see my little guy who followed me yesterday. Really … how would I know it is him anyway and not an imposter? There was still an icy skin covering the Ecorse Creek on the first leg of my trip, but around the bend, the opposite branch of the Creek was not icy at all, but the wind was rippling and churning up the water. At the concrete precipice, I deposited some bread for the small group of ducks and dashed back up to the trail, lest a gigantic wind gust caught me and sent me flying into the murky water.

In what little peripheral vision I had with a parka hood drooped down partially over my hat and head, while scrambling back up to the trail, I noticed a darkish blob up in a tall tree in the distance. At first glance I just thought it was a squirrel’s nest. But then the blob took flight and I saw the wide wingspan and immediately suspected it was a hawk. It alighted on another branch and I got a fairly good look at it and confirmed my suspicions. It flew away shortly thereafter, hopefully not to terrorize any of the small birds or critters I see as I wend my way along the perimeter path.

I added four miles today toward my ultimate goal; now only 58 more miles to go. While it was cold and windy, at least it was dry. A light accumulation of snow is predicted before nightfall. That coupled with the cold and blustery weather in this cold snap make this tail end of Fall kind of forgettable.

Once again I waited for the sun to shine brightly before taking off for Council Point Park. I also thought it might lessen a chance encounter with black ice on the Park perimeter path. Listening to the meteorologist from The Weather Channel on the Warren Pierce Show at 6:15 a.m., I gulped when I heard him say we had not had such frigid temps since February 17th. What gives with our wacky weather? A week ago it was so mild I walked wearing just a sweat suit and got soaked in a drenching rain and today it felt like stepping into an Arctic clime.

In preparation for my walk on this frosty morn, I donned eleven assorted articles of clothing plus clipped on a pedometer and slipped a lanyard with my keys, pepper spray and whistle around my neck. Unbelievably, it takes me nearly 15 minutes to get dressed and undressed and sometimes I cannot help but hear my mom’s voice back when I just a little nipper “Linda go to the bathroom before you get your snowsuit on” … yup, check … did that before I start to suit up. I also can see her ushering me out the door and into the backyard to play in the snow, all bundled up in snow pants, a heavy coat, mittens, scarf covering most of my face and a woolen cap, which we Canadians call a toque. Let’s not forget those brown, clumsy, buckled boots with two pair of socks underneath. She’d tell me to go play and get some fresh air and five or ten minutes later I’d knock on the door protesting I was cold. I got no sympathy and was shooed out again.

In the colder weather, I keep the house warm for Buddy, and invariably, I will be sitting on the hassock putting on my walking shoes and the heat will kick on, whereupon I’ll start racing to get ‘em laced up and beat a hasty retreat downstairs to retrieve my coat before I cook. Or, the reverse will happen and I’ll walk in the house post-walk and hear the heat kick on. Sometimes I’ll just stay in the basement and not even go upstairs ‘til the furnace shuts off.

Well, today I wore a very warm down coat that I’ve had for years but haven’t dragged out of the closet since my “bus days”. I bought it on sale, and got it for a song, probably because of its color. The store tag identified the coat color as “bright salmon” … well, that would be accurate – let’s just say you can’t miss me in it. It was a favorite coat for riding the bus, incredibly lightweight and cozy warm since it is 100% down. Well, I was toasty today as I walked two trips of the entire Park path. I had the whole place to myself and I didn’t see a single person on either of my two trips around the Park. The snow squalls yesterday left a narrow band of snow along the water’s edge and at the base of the reeds as well . The water’s surface had a sheen in the colder spots where a light glaze had formed. No big, beautiful swan today, but there must have been fifty or more mallards streaming out of the storm drain where they were seeking shelter from the cold. I don’t know if it was happenstance that they swam out en masse as I neared the concrete landing – perhaps they saw my bright-colored coat, puffed out with feathers from their kin or their ancestors. Who knows? I know they suddenly were there, clustered in great bunches as bread tidbits were tossed out from my polar-fleece, gloved hand. Soon they were scrambling for a bite, knocking each other aside in their haste. I wished I had more but I portioned it out to feed them for a few more days since it will stay cold most of this week. The birds were missing in action and I only saw one squirrel … he hit the jackpot when I offered him five peanuts laid in one pile on the pathway. He sniffed the nuts, then left them to follow along behind his benefactor until I rounded the bend. (Yes, can you say cute?)

After my frosty, five-mile trip today I was glad to be home and ready to sip something hot to warm me from top to toe. A glance in the mirror while I was removing layer after layer revealed a nose just as red as ol’ Rudolph’s.

Well, my first mistake was thinking that I’d wait until the sun was high in the sky and maybe it might be a little warmer. Not so much, because when I left the house at 9:30 this morning the temps were at the freezing mark, the wind chill hovered in the teens and the winds were howling at over 20 mph. I almost changed my mind and came back inside, but I figured the weather was dry and it took me fifteen minutes to get dressed so I was staying outside. I was at the first bend in the road at Council Point Park when the snow squalls started with a vengeance and the wind was so blustery it made it difficult to walk straight in the wide-open spaces. It is only November for goodness sake!

I had packed up some peanuts and bread tidbits to take to the Park and chuckled to myself that I am starting to look a little eccentric of late, as I arrive daily, toting my bag filled with critter treats. As I walked along, some inquisitive squirrels came toward me and I gave them a few bonus peanuts as I felt badly for them foraging for food in this cold weather, and because I heard the media reporting that scientific research was touting the terrific benefits of eating nuts. I know I love peanut butter. The Park squirrels are much leaner than their chubby residential neighborhood counter-parts who glean their treats by raiding homeowners’ feeders or suet holders, or are simply living the good life with lots of peanut or walnut handouts. Location, location, location. I had 1/3 of a loaf of bread and broke it up before I left, intending to give it all to the ducks, but my heart went out to a few grumpy-looking robins searching for worms in the frozen ground, and a handful of sparrows who were sitting huddled together to keep warm, the wind ruffling their feathers, and looking downright miserable. I know how they felt. With all my layers, my exposed face stung from the cold wind and I was shivering under my parka. Time to revisit the cedar closet for more warmer clothes.

I went to the concrete ledge to share my bread with the ducks and found about 50 of them grouped together and quacking noisily. I stood there for awhile, idly tossing bread to them as they came closer and closer until were almost right at my feet at the water’s edge. Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I saw something large and white in the distance in the water. I assumed it was just a plastic grocery bag that was caught on a toppled tree branch and blowing in the breeze, and I just kept feeding the ducks until the bread was finished. I turned away to climb back onto the path when it was my good fortune to see the most-beautiful and regal-looking swan I have ever seen in my life. It was huge, pure-white, with an orange bill and as it glided along in the murky Ecorse Creek, oblivious to me, it was occasionally dipping its slender neck and head underwater. I was just mesmerized by its size and beauty. I pointed it out to a couple of walkers who were strolling the path not far behind me, and they also stopped and marveled at this wondrous water fowl. This was on my first go-around of the Park and the second tour I passed the alcove where I saw the swan, but this time it was gone. I was curious if it had taken flight or just glided downstream and I lost sight of it. When I got online I Googled to get some information on it and determined it was a mute swan and one of the heaviest birds to fly, so evidently it did fly away. I hope to see it again. I often see Canada Geese, but I think they have already migrated as I’ve not seen any in about a month.

My five-mile trip yielded some good exercise in the great outdoors, and I arrived home, smelling of fresh air, sporting red cheeks and feeling lucky and blessed to have glimpsed such a stunning sight as that graceful swan. It made my day and I remembered this quote I tucked away awhile back:

Remember when you were little and you thought, everything was amazing? It still is.
~Anonymous

Today dawned with misty fog and heavy cloud cover and would be best described as gloomy. The weather matches the glum mood of those old enough to pause, remember and reflect about the tragedy on that fateful day in Dallas on November 22, 1963. Throughout the day, we’ll collectively listen to news media retrospectives and will repeatedly hear sound bytes of Walter Conkrite’s voice announcing the 35th President of the United States had been shot and then later confirming that he died. The images, so familiar to us, will assail us on social media or television as they chronicle the every movement of JFK and Jackie that day, from the time they disembarked Air Force One, to the limo ride in the motorcade, then a frantic Jackie cradling the President after the shots rang out and finally, Jackie, still clad in her blood-stained, rose-colored suit, watching LBJ take the oath of office. We can’t even count how many times this past five decades we have seen the pictures of that day and its aftermath – a flag-draped coffin, the funeral cortege and then sadly, John-John’s salute to his father which cannot help but pull at our heartstrings. We often see the final resting place for JFK and the eternal flame as pictured above. The Zapruder film allowed us a glimpse of our vibrant President and the First Lady as they rode through the throng of people who wanted to see, and perhaps snap a photo of, the motorcade on that sunny Dallas Friday, but of course it captured more than the joy of the innocent bystanders, who watched in horror as a reportedly trio of shots took down their leader. Anyone over the age of 55 or 56 should be able to recall the events the day of the assassination; by now you and I have already heard a host of recollections and reflections of people like you or me via our local radio or TV stations, and now my thoughts will be included herein.

At age 57, for me there are only four significant historical events that stand out in my mind – JFK’s assassination, the moon landing, the Challenger incident and 9/11. The moon landing of course was not a tragedy, but a triumph, and it has its own place in history. I don’t recall what I was doing that day, but it was certainly spoken about and all over the television. The Challenger tragedy happened while I was at work, as did 9/11. Someone heard the news about the spacecraft and we gathered in the conference room while the explosion of the space shuttle was played and replayed. I will never forget the date because my grandmother died the next morning of a massive heart attack enroute to the hospital after suffering chest pains. In my mind, I will always equate those two sad events. I have already recounted my recollections of 9/11 in an earlier post. But on November 22, 1963 I was living in Oakville, Ontario, Canada. I have vivid recall of that afternoon as if it were yesterday. I was in second grade at E.A. Orr Elementary School and my beloved teacher, Mrs. Jamieson, was standing near the blackboard, her back toward us, chalk in hand while she showed us the fine art of cursive as to the letter “S”. We watched attentively while she was encouraging an improvement to our penmanship by slowly writing the letter “S” on the blackboard. We all sat with our pencils poised on our paper. Suddenly, an announcement came over the crackly public address system that President Kennedy had been shot while riding in a motorcade in Dallas. Mrs. Jamieson whirled around to face the class and kept saying “oh my, oh my” with her hand over her heart. She, usually a very prim and proper, old-marm type schoolteacher, was suddenly all aflutter. While I have fond memories of a kindly teacher, eager to help her students and loved by all of us, she was not the type of person easily given to emotion. I can picture her standing there, now facing the class, in her black, lace-up oxfords, a pea-green, two-piece knitted dress, a small string of pearls, perm-waved hair and her eyeglasses dangling from a chain around her neck. She had rather a shell-shocked look, then hastily pulled a kleenex from its usual spot, near her wrist in the sleeve of her outfit. She dabbed at her eyes, but the tissue was not large enough to soak up the moisture when her tears flowed quickly and heavily and soon were streaming down her face. We, as second graders, did not fully understand what was going on and were bewildered, if not scared, by Mrs. Jamieson’s sudden emotions. Like our teacher, we heard the announcement, but unlike her, it did not immediately register. But we began to get sad as we watched Mrs. Jamieson struggling to get a grip on the situation for which she had sadly lost control. She walked over to her big desk and sat down for a moment, gulping down sobs, and then reached into her desk to get another tissue, resulting in more eye dabbing and noisily blowing her nose. Finally, she resumed her composure somewhat and addressed the class, asking us if we understood what had happened and then requesting we put our small hands over our hearts and follow her as she said a prayer for President Kennedy’s recovery from the bullet wound. We collectively murmured the prayer after our teacher. After we said “amen” and our heads were no longer bowed, Mrs. Jamieson stationed herself once again at the blackboard, and though visibly shaken, she tried, once again, to impress upon her young charges how to make the curves for the letter “S”. Later that afternoon, a second P.A. announcement confirmed that President Kennedy has indeed passed away from his wounds, and again Mrs. Jamieson lost her composure and reiterated what the principle had said so as to reinforce the full effect of the tragic loss in our young minds. She then apologized to her class for getting upset and I remember her saying “you will soon go home and see your parents upset like me for the country which is our neighbor and friend”. I remember television images that weekend and the following week as my parents watched the replay of the tragedy and the poignant days that followed, and though I am not an American citizen, I am just as sad as you to recall and recount this sad event.

Whew! Thanksgiving Day is certainly creeping up; now it is just a week from today. It seems as if I was just musing over all the harvest décor that suddenly cropped up right after the Labor Day holiday. In my daily travels, I’ve been checking out the Turkey Day decorations. They are actually few and far between. Unbelievably, there are still some Summer decorations hanging around, i.e. red, white and blue bunting and Uncle Sam paraphernalia, and psst … I really need to dish about Dracula rubbing elbows with some kitschy, hot-pink flamingos in the same front garden. Not to be outdone with that mixed-holiday décor, the next-door neighbor’s home is festooned with Santa and ALL his reindeer, his elf helpers, his Missus plus some angels and Victorian carolers thrown in for good measure.

As to Thanksgiving decorations, I’ve seen several of those inflatable turkey lawn ornaments, collapsed or otherwise, on homeowners’ front lawns in recent years. I pass one or two every day, and I’m thinking those blow-up turkeys with their humongous bright-yellow, scaly-looking feet and pilgrim hat slightly askew, look about as stuffed as you feel after the big meal on Thanksgiving Day. Collapsed, however, they resemble a massive parachute stretched across the front lawn. Sometimes, the upcoming holiday décor is more subdued with a pair of pilgrims solemnly standing side-by-side on the porch or near a cornstalk, haystack or some pumpkins.

But my all-time favorite Thanksgiving decorations are those good-looking gobblers adorning the windows of the local elementary school or front and center in someone’s living room window, for they always evoke some warm memories on a coolish morning as I stroll by. I’ll bet if you think hard enough, you can remember making “hand turkeys” when you were back in grade school. The materials and concept were pretty simple. You traced the outline of your hand onto a piece of white construction paper. Then miraculously, as you carefully crayoned inside the lines, your “fingers” turned to “feathers” and your thumb became the gobbler’s head and neck. You added a few items: a dot for an eye, a small beak, a side wing, a red wattle for authenticity and a pair of stick legs and feet (a far cry from the actual drumsticks) and voila … a masterpiece was born! After your creative juices stopped flowing, you admired your hand turkey and either pasted it onto the classroom window with white school glue, or took it home, where the little gem was proudly displayed in the front room window or on the fridge. Now, that was a hands-on project and I’m surprised to see kids are still doing this simple, but cute artwork. I would have thought our modern-day students would simply download a turkey picture from Google Images, Photoshop it a bit, then print it out on a 3D printer before presenting it to their parents. Then, of course there’s probably an app called “Talkin’ Turkey” where the parents can photograph their offspring’s treasured artwork and share it with the world on social media in the blink of an eye. I really like the old-fashioned way better.