WALKIN', WRITIN', WIT & WHIMSY

I glanced at the clock as I stood impatiently tapping my foot, fully dressed and ready to go. I crept out the side door just as the sun burst through the clouds, which, up to 7:45 a.m., had been throwing dapples of shadow but no promising big bursts of light. The air had a definite bite to it and I hunched further into my sweatshirt cardigan and dug my gloved hands into the pockets. I made a mental note to drag out still more woolens from the cedar closet this weekend.

I stole down to Council Point Park and the sun hit me full in the face as I walked toward the start of the pathway. Once again, the fog permeated the low-lying soccer and baseball fields and eerily hovered over the vast grassy areas. Perhaps the mysterious extra-large, wet paw prints I saw yesterday on the perimeter path belonged to the feet of that feline fog that Carl Sandburg writes about. For sure those big paw prints were not from “Paws”, the Detroit Tiger’s mascot, hoping for an early a.m. photo op.

In the early morn, the media was conflicted whether they should be more abuzz about today’s Kilpatrick sentencing or tonight’s Game 5 of the ALDS series. The Tigers seemed to be the happier subject though, especially after our boys clawed and scratched their way to a win in Game 4 Tuesday night. That victory helped the somewhat dubious and fair-weather fans to once again proclaim them as OUR Tigers. I’ve enjoyed seeing the Photo-shopped pictures of a tiger chomping on an Oakland Athletics’ bat throughout this series, yet no images were to be found to accompany this post. So, will JV do well? Will the Tigers prevail or will we see you next Spring boys? Go get ‘em Tigers! Everyone should sing along, even if you’ve not yet perfected “the growl”: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jzmAuKXfhP4

The Tigers hoopla got me thinking about big ol’ striped tigers of the warm and fuzzy variety causing me to remember my bus buddy, Pat Quinn, who works amongst these beasts. Pat and I rode the suburban bus to and from Detroit for eons. Fifteen years ago, Pat decided to take a week’s vacation to Arkansas. She was an animal lover with a pet house cat and decided to tour the big cat preserve called Turpentine Creek in Eureka Springs, Arkansas (www.turpentinecreek.org). Turpentine Creek, then as well as now, is not a zoo but a refuge for rescued big cats and they later added other non-feline wildlife to the mix. Well, Pat was instantly enamored with the compound and its inhabitants. Turpentine Creek was sorely in need of volunteers and Pat was invited to bottle feed the baby tigers and later to give them some exercise by walking them around the compound, under the watchful eye of another more-experienced volunteer. She was ecstatic and asked what else she could do to help. Well … the cages needed cleaning. Pat was game. They also needed someone to help with some administrative duties in the office. Pat had worked as an executive assistant at a large bank in Detroit for years so she was more than qualified. She went in and met the owner/operator of Turpentine Creek, (before mucking out the cages of course), and they talked cats, credentials and pipedreams … a story he had in his head and wanted to create into a memoir about his experiences at the compound. Was she game to join their little family? As infatuated as she was with Turpentine Creek, it was a big step to take. Pat told him she needed to mull it over and he told her to take her time. A handshake and the “interview” was over but Pat visited the compound every day for the balance of her vacation, communing with nature and the baby tigers plus doing alot of oohing and aahing over the big, beautiful cats.

The following Monday, she recited her experience to me enroute to Detroit and I said “wow, I’d go for it Pat” and she said she was still conflicted. That night on the bus trip home, she told me she gave her boss, a banking exec at Comerica Bank, two weeks’ notice and she had alot of plans to make. A long-time divorcée, with her kids now grown and on their own and no other family, she had no strings to hold her here. Within a month her house was up for sale and she was living in Arkansas. Pat took her computer with her and a makeshift office was created for her to do her administrative duties for Turpentine Creek. But not all her chores kept her office-bound. While she no longer opted to muck out the cat cages, she still found time to walk the baby tigers who were now growing in leaps and bounds. She knew each of the big cats by their name and would call out to them as she walked through the compound. She told me she was never scared as she thought of them as “just big kitties”. At night she worked with her new boss on the manuscript to memorialize his life-long dream. We’ve kept in touch via e-mail through the years and she never regretted her decision. She had a house built on a big hill, just a stone’s throw away from the wildlife sanctuary. She is now semi-retired and only works two days a week. Think of the stories she could tell – perhaps one day she will write her own tale about mingling with the big cats.

This morning was simply gorgeous – brisk, bright and it had a glad-to-be-alive feel to it. My destination was Council Point Park to get a dose of nature, and thus a peaceful start to what promised to be a busy work day. I chatted up some of the “regulars” and we compared cold-weather gear and bemoaned the length of time to get suited up and out the door compared to a few short weeks ago. Conversations with fellow walkers are usually short as everyone is there on a mission – their morning constitution blended with Mother Nature’s offerings. I reversed my path perimeter direction this morning as I saw two huge flocks of geese flying in formation overhead and I had nowhere to duck for cover and I wasn’t wearing a hoodie. Thankfully, they passed by without incident leaving my head unscathed by goose plops.

I couldn’t believe how bare some of the trees were since I was last here. The green leaves were now in the minority, with red, orange and yellow hues quickly encroaching. The Park grounds were cloaked in heavy dew and I saw some interesting footprints on the pathway. I eliminated any kind of birds right away, and they were too big for squirrel paw prints, so what was lurking out there? There were several sets of four paws that were running or hopping. Hmmmm. I looked around and saw no one walking a dog. I abandoned the idea of any wild thing running through the Park and continued on my way.

I rounded the curve and soon I was walking parallel to the Ecorse Creek. There was no breeze whatsoever, and, as I peered between the bulrushes and reeds, the water was very still and leaves littered the surface. I rounded the second curve with the view of the Creek still to my right, but this time, I saw a mallard drake and his mate swimming down the very center of the water. Each was silent and, but for their straight path and tiny ripples in the water, I would have thought they were decoys. Rather than swimming companionably side-by-side, the drab, brown-mottled female swam behind the multi-colored male; her acquiescence to pull up the rear annoyed me just a little. I watched them as they continued gliding through the murky waters until I could see them no more.

To my right, next came the baseball diamond which is enclosed by a chain-link fence and here was a rather amusing sight with three Canada Geese. Two were waddling around the field, alternating between grazing and making a horrible honking noise, in fact altogether too much noise for just two birds. But … on the outside of the fence, looking in, was a solo goose. I want to say he was looking at his counterparts wistfully, like he wished he was joining them. Crazy as that sounds, in the duration of time that I watched him, he walked around the entire fenced area and kept looking it. Don’t you know that I just wanted to go over and give him a boost over the fence? Then, the tender soul that I am, started to worry he was injured and could not fly. I stopped, thinking if he was hurt, I’d call the Animal Control officer when I returned home. In the blink of an eye, the secret password was exchanged between the trio, and they simultaneously lifted off and flew up in the air together. A little goose attitude going on there perhaps?

I heard a new birdcall – very strong and a pretty warble. I searched the trees overhead for the mystery singer, but could find no bird up there making such sweet music, yet it continued through the last leg of my journey. Phantom singers and phantom critters making fresh, wet paw prints. Maybe my mind is playing tricks on me.

Before I knew it, the two-mile trek was over and I was back at the parking lot. I hated to end my walk so I continued along River Drive to the Lincoln Park/Wyandotte border for a last glimpse of the Creek then headed home. I shed my warm weather clothes and perused the pedometer and was pleased to have packed in 7,595 steps, or a scoch over 3 ¾ miles, during my peaceful promenade, especially at Council Point Park.

Well, today’s perfect weather more than made up for the past few dismal days, but how about those chilly temps? Time to throw another cozy comforter on the bed and dig out the well-worn flannel shirts. Or, if you’re so inclined, get some wood to throw another log on the fire. That always sounds so warm and comfy, even though my electric fireplace in the living room merely glows orange embers and doesn’t emit heat; in fact it is not even plugged in. When we repainted and wallpapered several years ago, we were weary of the mess and pushed everything back and later realized the cord was buried inside the guts of the fireplace, so it merely lends a touch of holiday ambiance as a place to hang your Christmas stocking.

I started my morning with a furnace tune-up and the tech proclaimed the furnace in good shape and ready to use any time. I told him I am a hovering pet parent who babies her canary and I’ve already had the furnace on multiple times through the month of September on those chilly morns. To test the furnace, he had me crank the thermostat to 80 degrees. I thought he would never tell me to shut it off and I could hardly wait to get outside and cool off when he was all finished.

If you follow my posts, you know I aim to get my walking miles accomplished any way I can get ‘em and today was no different. My boss was out of the office until late afternoon and was headed to the Tiger game, so my day was programmed for productivity instead of keyboard interaction. When the Flame tech departed, I wavered on just taking a walk or running the car and opted for both by going grocery shopping. I’m happy to report I drove three miles roundtrip and walked three miles in the store and hauling in the groceries so I’ve still got the car mileage beat by seven miles. We have a week of beautiful weather stretching before us, so I must work hard to make up for the last few “slacking” days.

I did several tours of the entire store, marching along all the while to the tune in my head – the earworm of my favorite spooky song, “The Monster Mash” by Bobby Boris Pickett. I love that song and always look forward to hearing it this time of year. The Michigan Lotto has a commercial running for “Monster Cash” using a close variation of the original song, so it has infiltrated my brain and has been running non-stop through my head since the ad campaign launched.

For years I’ve heard that Halloween is fast becoming the second most-decorated holiday. Today the Halloween candy was out … all miniature sizes, which is supposed to make you feel better as you hand out one goody, and unwrap another goody for yourself. The time to buy it is now, and then tuck it away lest it be gone by Halloween evening. I gave up sweets for Lent a few years ago and have not touched any candy or baked goods since, but I also no longer buy M&Ms either. I could tell tales about having those small bags of M&Ms too close in proximity. I always had candy on my desk at work and we dishes of M&Ms around the house for all the holidays and plain or peanut – they were always my downfall.

Round and round the store I continued, pausing briefly at the pet department when I saw all the costumes on display. There was quite the array of Halloween costumes for your pooch or cat. It seemed that roly-poly chenille pumpkin costumes came in every size, and how about this get-up for a husky who wants to collect treats masquerading as a piñata? Talk about morphing your holidays together. Hmmmm.

A mere fortnight ago, the dregs of the gardening supplies and knick-knacks were still stocked on Meijer’s store shelves and today they are missing, the shelf stock having morphed into holiday fanfare. Hopefully no slugfest happens in your garden in the near future as the bug-fighting gear is now relegated to the storerooms as the Christmas decorations are slowly appearing on those same shelves. This morning, half the offerings were sitting on shelves or hanging up, while heavy, four-wheeled dollies were groaning with corrugated boxes, marked “wreaths”, “stockings” and “bulbs” with those boxes emblazoned with a “Fragile!” warning.

On the heels of the holiday décor section, and with visions of sugarplums now dancing in my head (thankfully replacing the strains of the “Monster Mash”), I finally grabbed a cart and stopped to pick up a small case of mac-and-cheese for my contribution to Buddy’s veterinarian’s annual holiday food bank collection. Meijer had a super sale so I loaded up on “Sponge Bob Square Pants Kraft Mac-and-Cheese”. Who knew Sponge Bob Square Pants’ mug is now featured as squishy orange squares dripping in cheese? Don’t get me wrong; I love mac-and-cheese and make it sometimes, except I am prone to standing and eating a large portion right from the pot after stirring in the cheese without at least delivering it to a bowl first. I could wax nostalgic on my mom’s baked mac-and-cheese, chock full of three cheeses and crumbled bread on top that got to be an oh-so-cheesy baked crust. I wouldn’t attempt this feat, since, as I’ve mentioned before, the baking and cooking genes passed me over long ago.

I’m glad to be back walking and tomorrow I’ll set my sights on Council Point Park for it has been one week since I’ve been there and to paraphrase the saying – seven days without an infusion of nature in your life makes one weak.

Well, the torrential rain finally ended so the ark-building project could be abandoned, but then the wind started gusting with a vengeance. It was a chilly breeze too, not the tropical stuff that we got used to the last week or so. Early this morning, I was still curled up in bed with my radio headphones on wishing the weather prognostication was better than the last few days. I kept switching from one meteorologist to the other willing the weather to improve, but both proclaimed sprinkles, sprinkles and more sprinkles throughout the day. The anchors on both stations quizzed the weathermen repeatedly about the conditions for today’s Tiger game at 1:07 p.m. but their forecast throughout Game 3 of the ALDS was glum and they urged everyone to take rain gear. I decided to throw off the covers from my cozy little cocoon and get up and at it and wait ‘ til daylight and scope it out then for myself. I puttered around and then peeked outside – yup, the wind had kicked up but no rain yet. I had to go out anyway as I wanted to mail my Canadian buddy her birthday card today. I decided I was not going to fly away, even though ‘tis the season for flying, and besides I have no wart on my nose, nor a tall conical hat and my broom is tucked away in the back of the garage.

As a general rule, I check my work e-mail early every morning and usually give my boss a head’s up that I’m out for a walk, or errands, and will check back in later. He likewise fills me in on his schedule via e-mail since we last touched base. Well, what a surprise … Robb was in the office twice yesterday; the last time, an impromptu visit at 8:30 p.m. to make revisions on the work I did Sunday afternoon. Some of the work was labeled ASAP. So, all that agonizing over should I stay or should I go (not to sound like that song of yesteryear) and now it was out of my hands. I still suited up to traipse down to the end of the block and mail my card. I opened the screen door and a wayward gust caught the corner of it and the door soon left my fingers and nearly flew off the hinges. Whew! Whatever leaves were wobbling on their stems yesterday were now strewn on the lawn and sidewalk and starting to gather in small piles along the curb as they were whirling and swirling through the air like a Hallmark card with a subtitle “Happy Fall!!!” It made me a little sad – my favorite time of year and it looked to be almost over in one fell swoop. I enjoy watching Mother Nature dip her paintbrush into the autumn palette to apply those burnt orange, bittersweet and golden colors to be admired by all and then she gently nudges those beautiful leaves onto the ground. Ahhh Fall … but this is too soon! While the leaves were all aflutter around me, I whooshed along like a tumbleweed for that short, one-block trip to the mailbox. By the time the trek was over, my topknot was askew and tendrils were escaping in every direction. I came into the house with a few leaves amongst my loose locks and scattered onto my sweats as well. I brushed them off and deposited them in the garbage and went over and poured a cup of steaming hot coffee before taking on the day. Maybe tomorrow the rain and wind machines will be turned off and I’ll get in a short walk after the HVAC man does his furnace check … brrrrrrrrr.

My shoes are getting a well-deserved break today as my walk was interrupted by rain – the walk has to happen in the morning or I don’t go. Today promises to be an all-day rain. So, I’m sitting here writing this blog post since it is now quite addictive to write every day, whether I walked or not. This was not my original bargain with myself i.e. a trade-off … you walk, and you may write and have one large glass of chocolate milk for those walking efforts. It is good to try to strive for perfection, but sometimes you must fall off the wagon just a little. Buddy, my canary is singing so beautifully, I decided he deserved a paragraph devoted to him. He is singing at the top of his lungs right now so I no longer am able to hear the rain pelting against the window. Unlike me, Buddy does not bemoan the dismal day. This is because Buddy is a perpetually happy little fellow, who starts singing as soon as I uncover him in the morning and continues brightening up the kitchen with his songs until I say “it’s time for bed now kid”. Buddy sings when it is quiet and he sings when the radio is on, whether it is the news or an oldie on WOMC. When I have dictation from Robb, I put the speaker on the Dictaphone and transcribe the tape that way so Buddy does not feel excluded and he sings right along with Robb’s voice. He only stops when he is eating; the rest of the time he is a happy-go-lucky little bird with a beautiful voice You cannot help but smile to yourself when you hear him, just as you must grin when you see this little squirrel, who, unlike me, did not let the rain deter his plans.

Life is good.

“THE RAINY DAY”
The day is cold, and dark, and dreary;
It rains, and the wind is never weary;
The vine still clings to the moldering wall,
But at every gust the dead leaves fall,
And the day is dark and dreary.
My life is cold, and dark, and dreary;
It rains, and the wind is never weary;
My thoughts still cling to the moldering past,
But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast,
And the days are dark and dreary.
Be still, sad heart! and cease repining;
Behind the clouds is the sun still shining;
Thy fate is the common fate of all,
Into each life some rain must fall,
Some days must be dark and dreary.
–By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

What a soggy start to this morning, with thunder boomers and torrential rain and more of that ugly weather looming large. Sigh. Well at least the weather is not as bad as other parts of the country where they have alot of snow, tornadoes and tropical storms, so we are grateful for just rain.

This post hearkens back to my German heritage. I am Canadian but my father was German and my mother Canadian. My grandfather hailed from Quebec so there is a little French-Canadian blood coursing through my veins as well.

I don’t understand, speak or write German, but I can turn my German heritage on like a toggle button, just like any other ethnic-related holiday. I am American for your Thanksgiving, munching away on a slice of turkey breast and dressing with a spoonful of cranberry sauce. On St. Paddy’s Day I enjoy my version of corned beef and cabbage, albeit two slices of rye bread piled high with lean corned beef and a side dish of coleslaw, followed by lime green Jell-O for dessert. I’m not Irish, but I am for this holiday. I fix myself a plate of spicy Mexican food to celebrate Cinco de Mayo. Oktoberfest will be no different. Today, I will celebrate this festive event, which occurs between September 21st and October 6th this year, with a bratwurst sitting on a bed of sauerkraut and a side dish of green beans and spaetzle. I will forego the apple strudel and have some apple-cinnamon yogurt instead (don’t tell anyone it is Greek yogurt though.)

I am no stranger to German fare. After marrying my father, my mother perfected her German cooking through the years and became a quasi-frau whipping up such favorites as wiener schnitzel, sauerbraten and potato dumplings. She made a sinful Black Forest Cherry Torte. Our family frequented Ray’s Prime Meats, a butcher shop that carried Dimpflmeier hearty German bread and every type of German sausage, or “wurst”, available. My father would make potato pancakes several times each Summer. He was relegated to the backyard to cook them, otherwise the smell of Crisco and frying potatoes permeated the entire house for weeks. My mother would peel a huge sack of potatoes while my father sat patiently hand-grating them (and skinning many a knuckle) for hours, then the patties were dropped into the hot grease in an electric skillet. We had to eat in stages as the hot, crispy, grease-laden potato pancakes were stacked onto a platter and taken quickly into the house to enjoy with a generous dollop of applesauce, while more potato pancakes were sizzling on the skillet outside. It was the only time growing up I can remember eating food with my fingers because I was brought up with the European dining method, i.e. only eating with knife and fork, not matter whether it was finger food or not.

When I was younger, I accompanied my parents to the Germania Club where Germans gathered and talked about the old country while they drank beer, ate alot of fattening food and watched a band where men pranced around in lederhosen and Tyrolean hats and women swung their hips in Alpine-style dirndl skirts with-crisscrossed bodices, puffy-sleeved blouses and had rosy cheeks and braided coiffures. This was the German way … alot of “oom-pah” music and dancing and accordion playing. My mom and I spoke no German and it was not much fun since everyone spoke German at the Club. Oh, sometimes they would speak to us in English when we first arrived, but as the evening wore on, and the beer flowed more freely, English was abandoned and the partygoers reverted to their native German tongue. Alas, there was always the food to try and enjoy.

If you’ve got a hearty appetite then you will enjoy delicious German food. When my parents and I visited my great Aunt and Uncle in Germany in 1979 we tried different German specialties every day for two weeks; there was good eating all around because Uncle Karl’s occupation had been as a chef on a train and he was eager to please and impress us with his culinary skills. He was a wonderful cook and loved making desserts for us from fruit trees he grew in his garden – plum kuchens, pear strudels … all topped with fresh pure whipping cream. We travelled through Austria with them and they wanted to have a large meal at mid-day and at night as well. They laughed at my mom and I who ate a large mid-day meal but opted to split a “wurstplatte” every night for dinner at each restaurant in every venue where we stopped. The platter was laden with at least a whole loaf’s worth of bread and no less than three dozen samples of different sliced sausages. Plenty to feed a family of four!! Germans like their food, their beer with friends in a biergarten and their music. It is the Teutonic way of life … this is probably why, when my parents discussed their only child learning to play an instrument, my father insisted I take accordion lessons. This photo above is me with my first, full-sized accordion, circa 1964. Such an ungainly musical instrument for such a little girl and I wonder if I was playing a German polka in this picture? Most likely I was playing “Lady of Spain”, a song in every accordion player’s repertoire. When we moved to the States there were no music conservatories offering accordion lessons so my studies were tabled and I haven’t played in years, so I’m likely not hooking up with any German bands anytime soon.

Breaker-breaker!!! Today is “National CB Radio Day” – well that’s a big 10-4. It is also the day where many of my former high school classmates will be part of a convoy headed to Arnaldo’s Banquet Hall to attend our 40-year high school reunion. I am opting out of this reunion, having decided to await the 50-year gathering and catch up on everyone’s life post-retirement. I have to admit that with the advent of Facebook, there would not be much to look forward to at a high school reunion nowadays, since the element of surprise in seeing former classmates and rekindling friendships is rather wrecked from glimpses of their lives via Facebook. Yup, Facebook should carry a “spoiler alert” as to high school or college reunions. We don’t even have to exert alot of effort to look up our old buddies. Once you plug in your high school name and graduation year, Facebook searches and gravitates former classmates’ profiles to your home page. Once you’ve “friended” one another, it’s time to reconnect to recollect old times. You can even check out Facebook friends and/or former classmates’ photo albums to view their significant other, children, … maybe even grandchildren. It is the modern era equivalent of the little “brag book” mini photo album that people used to carry around. So, essentially reviewing forty years’ passage of time is now accomplished with some messaging and a few mouse clicks through a friend’s Facebook pages. Perhaps nametags at reunions are no longer necessary since most people are on Facebook now.

I have connected and revisited old times with many high school chums since joining Facebook in 2010, but the girls I spent the most time with my last few years of high school are absent from my connections. I detailed how my very close girlfriends (or what you’d call your “BFF” nowadays) drifted so far apart soon after high school graduation in my July 28, 2013 blog post entitled “Wondering???” https://lindaschaubblog.net/2013/07/28/wondering
Sadly, our promises to one another to remain “forever friends” never applied once we set out in different directions, and an attempt at a five-year reunion amongst just us girls turned out to be an abysmal evening that could not end soon enough.

Via Facebook, I have been monitoring the LPHS Reunion Group which has added more and more grads from our class as the reunion plans progressed. I know I would not recognize most of these people if they stood next to me on the street; actually I’ve never met most of the people in the reunion group. We had 613 students in our June 1973 graduating class! A few people are trekking in from out of state and one is coming from Poland where he now lives. People are promising to take pictures tonight for the Facebook reunion site so I will look forward to vicariously enjoying the post-reunion dialogue and photos.

Sometimes it seems like just yesterday that we hastily scrawled “RMA” for Remember Me Always in one another’s class yearbook or on the back of a sepia-toned, wallet-sized photo. Can it really be four decades since we grouped together the morning after the all-night party to tearfully say our goodbyes? Those days are long gone but not forgotten. My handle is still “Linda Schaub” and I’ll catch you good buddies on the flip-flop. Over and out now….

Wondering and walking often go hand in hand for me. I love the solitariness of walking without a care in the world, sometime pondering life and sometimes just drinking it all in. “It” would be nature or perhaps people-watching sometimes … I love this little “me time” that I have allotted myself and as I set out this morning on a balmy day which feels more like August or early September, I was greedily wishing it was still Summer and I had more months to enjoy my daily walks. I was musing to myself that Autumn is the only season with two monikers – we refer to this season as “Autumn” and “Fall”. Spring, Summer or Winter are simply as stated. Who decided Autumn is also called “Fall”? Why “Fall”? Well everything “falls” in autumn – temps are usually falling, leaves are falling – well, that is stating the obvious. In the last week alot more leaves have fallen. Not enough to rake yet, but noticeably leaving some branches looking bare. Fresh leaves are strewn all about, as well as old, crumpled-up ones that are crispy beneath my feet as I trek down the sidewalk.

Today while walking I spotted a perfect maple leaf laying right-side up on the sidewalk. It was a brilliant brandy color and must’ve just dropped off the nearby tree as it was still supple and unmarred by sidewalk irregularities and not trampled by footprints. I stooped and picked it up, and admired it, then I was absently twirling it around in between my forefinger and thumb as I walked along. I decided to take it home with me – a little touch of the harvest season in the house until it withered. Perhaps I should press it between the pages of a book like I did so many years ago?

Dwelling on that idea, my thoughts were transported via the way-back machine to an assignment by my first-grade teacher, Mrs. Deakon, at E.A. Orr Public School in Oakville, Ontario. Our class assignment was to go to a beautiful, wooded area on Speers Road, not far from our elementary school, to gather and identify leaves. We had to find one near-perfect leaf from as many different deciduous trees as possible in this tiny forest. I remember going on the weekend with my father. We trudged through the woods, striving to get a few samples of maple, elm, oak, chestnut, sycamore, poplar and birch leaves. I recall this memorable assignment with such precision now … plucking some leaves from the ground or having my father bend a high branch down to my height to get that perfect leaf, then putting it into a brown paper bag for safekeeping until I got home. I had many different maple specimens as I recall. Once the leaves were gathered, each different leaf had to be carefully “pressed” between waxed paper to preserve them, layered into the pages of a heavy book to totally flatten them, then later scotch-taped to a sheet of paper. Lastly we had to oh-so-carefully print the Latin and common name of the tree in the lower, right-hand corner. We had to make a front and back cover with construction paper for our scrapbook of leaves and submit it to our teacher by the end of October.

I cannot help but wonder if teachers today would have their young charges compile and submit a collection of real leaves. My assignment was five decades ago … (gulp) a half-century ago. Go ahead and call me a cynic, but I am sure the same assignment in 2013 would involve school kids “collecting” clip art of leaves from Google Images, cutting-and-pasting those pictures into a Word document and submitting it to the teacher online.

Well, I kinda sorta like the old way better. I toted today’s maple leaf home and propped it up on the windowsill . It will last a day or two before it wilts or turns brittle on the edges – maybe it will last until the Canadian Thanksgiving holiday on the 14th, but I doubt it. It shall brighten up the kitchen and it has made my heart light as well … thanks for the memories little leaf.

Is “foodie” still one of those trending words, like “selfie”? I originally thought it applied only to cooks, but I think it fits the general description of anyone who likes to eat. I don’t think you have to be a gourmand or a gourmet to be a “foodie” … I’m neither, but I appreciate food, especially this time of year with all the fun Fall food out there. As to food, I am certainly not hard to please … so this begs the question of “do you live to eat, or do you eat to live?”

Food was on my mind this morning as I went to the grocery store, and in between chocking up 2½ miles walking amidst the aisles and store perimeter, I perused pumpkin and apple delights galore, and I don’t mean in the produce section. Meijer’s goodies were arranged to grab your attention when you entered the store and the displays didn’t disappoint. There was a Halloween extravaganza in the bakery section – lots of orange-and-chocolate cupcakes and cookies infused with harvest-colored M&Ms (OMG) just to name a few. Plus, it is Oktoberfest time, so please do bop over to buy some brats and buns and a package of sauerkraut to get the full flavor of a Bavarian meal. Sounds yummy and why not try one of these beers with that? Well guten appetit to you too! As your head swirls round and round at each display, please remember to pay homage to harvest time. There were plump pumpkin donuts and apple cider donuts paired up with pumpkin latte and apple cider and while you’re tossing some or all of those items into your cart, might as well pick up a few caramel apples as well because after all, they are more fruit than caramel, so they are good for you, right? It hardly depends on whether you say “carmel” or “caramel”, enunciating that extra vowel, they are yummy. As I strolled through the bread section, apple and cinnamon plus pumpkin spice wafted from the bread wrappers, saying “try me”. I may have passed up the donuts and taffy apples, but I am a sucker for bread so it was here I succumbed and decided to treat myself to Thomas’ Special Edition Pumpkin Spice Bagels, Once the bagels were in my hot little hands, I hustled over to get the Special Edition Philadelphia Cream Cheese in Pumpkin Spice. Right now my whole kitchen smells of the as-yet-unopened bagels, so I will close this post now for some self-indulgence. I’m so very thankful for the harvest season. (Smile)

I wish I had been clever enough to coin today’s weather word “Aug-tober” to describe how it is feeling like August in October, but that was how our WWJ meteorologist handily defined our first day of this new month. The temps truly belied the calendar date and while I appreciated the warm and sunny day, I’m glad we didn’t climb to near 80. I’m still hating these darkish mornings and when the sun finally came up, I headed out with multiple layers and I shrugged out of my sweater before I was a block away. Two blocks later I shucked my sweatshirt top and looped it around my neck and walked in a tee-shirt only. I passed nearby a schoolyard where kids awaited the morning bell wearing shorts and tee-shirts and one had on flip-flops! I thanked a young man, who was the “safety” for the corner, who permitted me to cross the street. He, like I, had left the house overdressed and I saw a lightweight jacket, a sweatshirt and his backpack laying in a heap at his feet. He was clothed only in a tee-shirt and his bright orange safety harness was sagging, no doubt because he adjusted it for more layers of clothes during the past week or so. It didn’t matter and it didn’t take away from his “safety” credibility, because he was in charge and he was all puffed up with importance as he instructed his classmates (and me) when and where to safely cross the street.