WALKIN', WRITIN', WIT & WHIMSY

It’s feeling like Fall though we still have a few more days until the official arrival this Sunday. Well, this morning those weathermen warned us we were in for a rude awakening when we stepped outside today and it was best to take a parka … well they were right about that. The last week we’ve hop scotched from tropical to chilly to downright cold temperatures. I donned a tee-shirt and a sweat suit and was grateful that at the last minute I pawed through my off-season clothes to find my sweatshirt cardigan to add an extra layer before leaving for my walk. It sure was crisp and beautiful but breath vapors came out of my mouth when I mumbled to myself how cold I was. I turned my head upward seeking some rays from the sun which was still high in the sky and not emitting much warmth, so I walked briskly to the Park in an effort to warm up. As I wound my way around the perimeter paths at Council Point Park, along the twists and turns where the trees are scarce and the reeds are raggedy, I was able to glimpse the Ecorse Creek and I saw vapors coming from the water. Wow – what incredibly wacky weather for mid-September!

Indeed, the weather has been weird since the Spring if you think about it. We had that one really hot week in mid-July and then a few scorching days last week and it looks like the temps will crank up at the tail end of this week; hopefully that will be Summer’s swan song. In the meantime, there already are yellowish, curled-up leaves littering the Park paths and every so often there are dabs of gold standing tall amongst the still-green leaves of wild rhubarb – yes, the goldenrods are still thriving as are many bright yellow wild daisies. I’ve even seen some yellow dandelions dotting the grass. What gives with that … aren’t they supposed to dry up and go to seed and fly away months ago?

When I saw those yellow wild daisies it dawned on me that something else was amiss this Summer. Where are the sunflowers? Did our lack of sunshine and warm weather prohibit the growth of those gangly but grandiose flowers in so many backyards? Perhaps the cool temps stunted the growth of all the sunflowers and instead of reaching beanstalk proportion, they are merely languishing in gardens masquerading as daisies. By late August the birds and squirrels from their high perches would be scanning the sunflowers in anticipation of the finished product and treats to be disbursed to all. I bought packets of Russian Mammoth Sunflower seeds several years ago. I planted some seeds in pots and put the rest in the ground. It was the first time for me trying to grow these massive beauties. Finally, one sprout came up and I protected it under a large pickle jar until it was sturdy enough to be tied to a stick for support. Gradually, that one sunflower grew to rooftop height, and then I waited patiently for the flower head to ripen and become laden with seeds. My goal was to put the flower head “pan” of seeds in the yard for the cardinals to feast on. All Summer I had a vision of offering the sunflower head to my feathered friends as they queued up to nibble the seeds, then politely stepped aside to allow their brethren to partake in the goodies. Well, only in the Birds and Blooms magazine does that scenario transpire. One morning I went out to water, and the flower head had collapsed and broken several of my Coneflowers when it crashed to the ground. I flipped over the flower head and put it on a stepping stone in the backyard where I could watch the feast transpire from my binoculars as I stood behind a back window curtain. Not a single cardinal appeared, but the squirrels gorged themselves silly, that is, until I went out and loaded the birdfeeders and they aimed their sights there instead. The flower head eventually started to rot and attracted bugs so it was pitched into the garbage while the squirrels and a few birds looked on. So much for good intentions.

The subject of water was definitely on my mind this morning before I left for my walk. I am a newshound and like to catch up on the news of the world since I went to bed, so when my alarm goes off every morning, I reach over and grab my radio headphones and put them on. The two biggest news stories early this morning involved water plus both local weathermen were predicting rain. The weather forecast sounded iffy for walking … sprinkles for morning drive time. I decided to self-forecast and check it out with my own eyeballs instead. I took out a bag of garbage and the sky looked a little ominous, but what the heck, the last time I looked I was not made of sugar. I ran back into the house, snagged my umbrella off the hall tree and trudged off, the preoccupation with H20 still lingering while I walked. There were leftover puddles from yesterday’s rain, and it sure felt chilly enough for frozen precip.

I walked to the borderline of Lincoln Park and “the Dot” and crossed the Ecorse Creek bridge. I passed the “Welcome to Wyandotte” sign then turned on my heel to head back home. As I strolled back over the bridge, this time I looked into the “Crick” water which was brown and murky looking. I just couldn’t help but think that a similar watery muck is oozing into so many homes in Colorado as a result of the river overflowing and torrential downpours. Can you even fathom the devastation? I believe they have lost count of the homes ruined and beyond repair or those that will be supposedly salvageable in more than fifteen Colorado counties. Our home has sustained basement flood damage years ago, plus smaller annoyances like a ruptured hot water tank, a toilet tank which cracked in half and a pipe that rusted through after a full bathtub was drained which caused alot of damage to the suspended ceiling downstairs. In each instance, it took only a matter of minutes and water was everywhere. While these were catastrophic events at the time, I have to concede they pale in comparison to the Coloradans’ dilemma. Since the flooding began last week, every day seems worse than the day before. It is all very sad – the devastation, the people and their pets being collected by helicopter from their rooftops in a disaster that now rivals Hurricane Katrina. There are well over 1,000 people missing. Mother Nature is certainly stomping her foot and having her way this year, is she not?

On the other side of the world, the international news was all aflutter about the long-awaited extrication of the Costa Concordia from the pristine marine sanctuary in Giglio Island where she has lain like a large beached whale since striking a reef on January 13, 2012. That was a Friday the 13th event to be sure. Today’s early international news advised a bad electrical storm tabled the original start time of the engineers’ efforts at this tiny Italian island. It seems Mother Nature was wreaking havoc over there as well. The engineers have vowed to get the ship righted if it takes all night – they will not shut down their operation until completed. I’ve been following the events leading up to today’s salvage operation, so when I returned from walking I was eager to hear about the progress of the Costa Concordia’s parbuckling, or the righting of the ship. I switched on the news, but sadly, that news story wasn’t even mentioned, pre-empted of course by the unfolding events of the Washington Navy Yard shooting. That tragedy has continued to take precedence in the news throughout the day, but as of the time I posted this blog, the Costa Concordia endeavor endures. I’ve bopped over to the Huffington Post’s live streaming video, pics and posts throughout the day and just peeked again at their progress. It is amazing how nearly upright the ship now is. Have a look at this site:
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2013/09/16/costa-concordia-livestream_n_3934025.html?ir=World

I guess part of my fascination with the Costa Concordia stems from the fact that my first cruise was on the T/S Flavia, which was from the same Italian shipping company, Costa Line. I sailed with my parents on the T/S Flavia in the Summer of 1972, for a four-day jaunt out of Miami to the Bahamas. The accommodations were wonderful, the service impeccable, and food so delicious; the weather couldn’t have been better the entire time. The T/S Flavia was based in Genoa, Italy and had an all-Italian crew. My folks bemoaned the fact they each gained five pounds on our short cruise, but with my youthful metabolism, I don’t believe I gained an ounce. Our young, all-male waitstaff were eager to please and hovered around our table competing with one another to bring the most goodies to the 16-year old teenage girl and her parents and table mates. The language barrier existed bigtime, but smiles go far to bridge that gap. It was a wonderful experience and I was sorry to see the tragedy transpire on the Costa line. The picture above was taken in the picturesque town at the port of call of Nassau.

On this gloomy-looking day, perhaps I’ll pay homage to honey and tug at your heartstrings as well.

Earlier this week I received a care package from Carol, my high school chum, who now lives in New York. Carol knows I swore off sweets several years ago, but sent along some of “nature’s sweets” – some pure peach preserves and some organic honey to slather on my toast. Carol also skimmed off a sample of her friend Betty Jean’s recent batch of honey. I tucked the first two jars away for the holidays but decided it was time for a little self-indulgence. Yesterday I picked up some cornbread at Meijer to enjoy with Betty Jean’s honey. This was an eight-inch square of cornbread which the nutritional information defines as nine servings. Hmmmmmmmm, not in my opinion. Suffice it to say that the cornbread will not go stale nor will it be consumed over nine separate eating sessions. (Smile.) I am smacking my lips in anticipation of the cornbread, some which will accompany a plate of beans and slaw and the other which I will be liberally drizzling with Master Gardener and Beekeeper Betty Jean’s dark, sweet honey. I walked 4 ½ miles today and if the long walk doesn’t cause me to nod off way too early, the carb overload surely will.

If only honey could sweeten the woes of the world it would be a blessing. Over the past few days I heard the poignant tale of Patty, the poor little dog who was skinned alive (http://www.clickondetroit.com/news/reward-offered-to-find-whoever-skinned-dog-alive-in-detroit/-/1719418/21925446/-/dcsjbd/-/index.html and today WWJ relayed the horrific story of “Hope”, a cat who was set on fire and left for dead. Hope’s plight and a plea for donations may be found here: http://tailwaggers1990.org/.

If I was a bleeding heart a few weeks ago when I saw the falcon take out the smaller bird in mid-air, just imagine my horror over the cruelty of these two domestic animals. Why? It is not only animals of course; we humans are not exempt from cruelty from our fellow man either. I just shake my head and wonder about the state of the world anymore. Sadly, there is not a large enough jar of honey at the ready to provide the balm we so sorely need these days.

It is Powerball fever once again. This morning’s trek took me to Meijer and as I entered the door I saw an unusually long line snaking around the customer service counter area. Based on the interviews with hopeful winner wannabes on WWJ early this morning, my brilliant deduction was folks were queued up to buy a Powerball ticket for the $317 million jackpot tonight.

I used to buy Lotto tickets on a regular basis but my luck was so abysmal with both the instant or with any of the other varieties that I just quit trying. Years ago, when the weekly Michigan Lotto first started, my mom and I ginned up a combo of numbers based on our respective birthdays and street address. We thought we’d give it a shot. I got the ticket and we won about $25.00 which was for a four-number match if I remember correctly. We were ecstatic, and of course vowed to become regular players going forward using our “magic numbers” … truth is – we never won again. I used to buy an occasional scratch-off ticket and put it inside a Mother’s Day card or my mom’s birthday card and the most she ever won was a free ticket. These lotteries cannot be “fixed” as you see the smiling faces of people holding up the large fake check … perhaps I should consult a numerologist.

But, while I am not so lucky with the lottery, I must share a winning-streak phenomenon that happened to me about 18 years ago. My current-boss Robb and I worked together at a law firm before going out on our own. But before Robb, I worked for a pair of attorneys named Ed and Howard. Howard had a degree in securities as well as his law degree and he left the Firm in 1995 to pursue a career at H&R Block as in-house counsel. I liked Howard alot and he asked me to join him at H&R which was a block away from our building, but I declined. I got a nice going-away card for him, however, and while at the cigar store in the Buhl Building purchasing a weekly lottery ticket for myself, I got an extra ticket for him and tucked it into the card for good luck. It was a Saturday night drawing and first thing Monday morning Howard called me to tell me he won $250.00. I had a dud ticket and had won nothing – so basically it was just a matter of which ticket I chose for myself and which I gave away. Some poor planning on my part, eh? Howard took me to lunch to celebrate his windfall and thank me.

About a month later, local radio station WJR had a contest for an all-expenses-paid ski trip to Vail Colorado for two people. All that was required was sending in a postcard with your name on it and you could enter as often as you wanted. I sent in two postcards with my boss Ed’s name on each. I don’t ski and I knew he did and he often lamented that with four teenagers, three of them triplets, he and his wife Chris had not taken any kind of vacation in years and would probably not do so until the kids were out on their own. I answered an incoming call for Ed a few weeks after entering the contest, and an excited WJR promotions manager asked to speak to him. Ed was on another line and instantly my radar went up. I never told him I entered his name. I inquired what it was regarding and she told me that he had won two prizes: first and second prize. She advised she had pulled one postcard for the Vail ski trip and the second postcard was in another barrel and he had won a $500.00 pair of Rossignol top-of-the-line skis. I was speechless … she asked to hold until he completed his call. He finished the call and I bolted into his office and told him what I had done, what he had won and to shut his mouth as it was catching flies. I told him to just act like he had entered the contest himself and this is what he did. They took the trip just before the holidays and he said it was the trip of a lifetime and he and his wife were treated like royalty and the new skis were an added bonus. For my efforts, I received a comfy, warm sweater with “Vail” on it and a snowflake earrings and pendant set.

After Christmas WJR had another contest, this time for “best boss”, and I really liked Ed so I thought “what the hey?” … this time they were picking about a half-dozen bosses and their spouses for an all-expenses-paid weekend in February to a resort in beautiful Garland, Michigan. On a lark, I once again sent in a postcard and did not tell Ed I was entering the contest as I figured they’d say he was exempt since he’d won other recent prizes. But, as luck would have it, Ed’s postcard was one of the chosen entries and he was not exempted and enjoyed a wonderful snowy weekend in Garland and the opportunity to use the new skis again. I received another piece of jewelry as a thank you.

Well, Ed was as Irish as they come and very big on his heritage. On the first floor of the Buhl Building, a brand-new bakery opened on St. Paddy’s Day. There was much fanfare the morning they opened, and they had alot of yummy samples and free coffee, along with a huge fishbowl to drop your business card in. There was to be a drawing at day’s end for an exquisite Irish gift. The gift was displayed in the bakery: a huge coffee-table book about Ireland and assorted teas, jams, jellies and fresh scones all wrapped in a shamrock-themed bag. Figuring I was on a real roll by now, I went upstairs and asked Ed for a business card and told him my motive and to keep his fingers crossed. We were not in the least surprised at 4:45 p.m. when the Buhl Bakery called for Ed to come and collect his prize!!! My mom and I enjoyed scones and jam for breakfast the next morning.

At that point, the talk around the water cooler at Wise & Marsac was that I possessed some type of magical powers and I was dubbed “Ms. Midas” by many. Alot of the young attorneys pooled their money and formed a lottery club awhile back and they decided going forward I would be the go-to person to take the pooled money downstairs to the Lotto agent and purchase the twenty weekly tickets. For my efforts, I would receive a percentage of the winnings. Being attorneys, they offered to draw up a contract for my “take” and me, always the pragmatist, suggested “we’ll wait and see how we prevail first”. I must have been prophetic because there were never any winnings, large or otherwise. I did my ticket purchases for about six months and they realized my luck had run out and I was never asked to buy a Lotto ticket again. It was not a win-win situation for the group and my moniker of “Ms. Midas” soon got very tarnished. To my knowledge, the internal Lotto group never won a dime on their own. Shortly thereafter, our Firm was acquired by another law firm, Ed left to work for the City of Detroit Law Department and I started working for Robb. We eventually formed our own firm and our former Firm went belly-up the following year.

“Luck never made a man wise.” – Seneca

I opened the door this morning and peered out. First I glanced to the left, then to the right … there were no black cats or ladders lurking about so I ventured out. One cannot be too careful since it is Friday the 13th after all. While I do not suffer from “paraskavedekatriaphobia” (or the fear of Friday the 13th), if I’d have seen a black cat coming at me, I would have crossed the street in a heartbeat. I certainly did not want to have another angst-filled odyssey like this past Monday. Well … there were no chilling effects this morning, except perhaps the temperature! I knew before I left it was windy, but to paraphrase Gordon Lightfoot’s ode about the wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald – I think the “Gales of November came early”. The wind was whipping around out there pretty ferociously and despite layering up in a tee-shirt and a sweat suit, I was shivering. A long-sleeved turtleneck sweater would have been the better choice and speaking of turtles, ten minutes into my walk, I was almost turtle-like, as I started slinking down into my top and pulling my hands into my sweatshirt sleeves to warm up.

Then, just as I was musing that in yesterday’s post I had suggested cooler temps would be nice, I glanced at the sky which was an ominous dark gray. It was that same kind of ugly sky that portends snow might be on the way. Snow way!!! This morning I was walking loops around Ford Park and a house across from the park had a wreath with snowmen decorations hanging on the front door. There must be some unwritten rule, similar to not wearing white before Memorial Day or after Labor Day, that dictates one cannot put out Christmas decorations before Halloween. This would be fodder for Jeff Foxworthy to add another sentence to his spiel about “you know you’re a Michigander if …” – yup, the calendar dictates one event but you celebrate another.

Well, those of us who live in Michigan are used to the widely varying temps and as the saying goes “if you don’t like the weather in Michigan, wait five minutes”… the way I see it, we Michiganders are made of sturdy stuff and who wants to live in a place where the weather is the same all year long anyway? All those who are smitten with the Mitten raise your glove-encased hand now on this near-frosty Friday the 13th.

The wind whooshed into Wayne County last night as part of the cold front that will eventually erase that nasty humidity and heat. It looks like our part of town was unscathed and while I heard that torrential rain last night, I didn’t think it was all that windy; it was nothing like the howling wind you hear sometimes in the dead of Winter. Once the storm’s arrival was predicted for 7:30 p.m., I hunkered down with the computer unplugged, blinds down, battery-operated lamp and the portable fan standing by in the kitchen so I could switch off the AC when I heard the first rumble of thunder. The storm arrived right on schedule and there will be no need to water for a long time. The wild birds are ecstatic as they can bathe and drink again in my next-door neighbor’s gutters, which they often prefer to the birdbath. (Hey, whatever works!)

This morning when I opened the side door to leave on my walk, my ceramic pots and ornaments were scattered all around the front and side of the house. The garden flag must have wrapped itself at least a half-dozen times around its hanger. I was rather taken aback, but since nothing was broken, I quickly restored everything to normal, then checked the backyard and went across the street to see if there were any bare spots on the roof from missing shingles. I was pleasantly surprised to see nothing else was amiss … whew! The news reports were not so favorable for other parts of the Tri-County area though.

Man, it was murky, muggy and misty this morning and those conditions coupled with my quickie yard repair and scoping for storm damage made for an abbreviated walk. I managed two meager miles and during that short stint I saw some significant tree damage … large limbs and small branches were everywhere. Huge strips of bark had peeled right off the trunks of many of the trees! I sure hope we can soon pack away the shorts, tank tops, heat and volatile weather until 2014 and just ease into Fall going forward.

I was looking for a picture of Mother Nature to accompany this post and Google Images yielded some very interesting interpretations of her persona. I have to admit my image of Mother Nature was more along the lines of the lady in the old Chiffon Margarine commercials back in the 70s. I loved that clever commercial and I am sharing it to help you reminisce and give you a giggle: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nY8kfiQzOis

Oppressive heat enveloped me as I headed out this morning. The atmosphere was heavy and the sidewalks were wet with condensation and dew. The sun was trying to peek out, but was unsuccessful so far. The sky should not be radiant at all today, but instead it should be raining hard with a gloomy sky which would match the tears and moods of our nation as we remember the events twelve years ago when nearly 3,000 people lost their lives, buildings lost their moorings and many of us lost our faith in mankind.

I walked along deep in thought about today, the anniversary of one of the saddest days in history. Patriot Day they call it now, but to most people it is simply “September 11th” or “9/11”. Like President Kennedy’s death almost five decades ago, nearly everyone is able to recall what they were doing on that fateful day when we heard about the first plane that crashed into one tower of the World Trade Center at exactly 8:46 a.m. I was reading e-mails at my desk at the law firm when my mother called to tell me what she just heard on the news and asked if I knew – I did not. There was no commotion at work at that time, so I went to the administrative partner and asked if she knew anything – she did not. We gathered our co-workers who were there and left a note on the front door for arriving employees to go directly to the conference room. Within minutes of that first crash we assembled around the television in the conference room, pressed close to one another, mouths open as we watched the horrific scenes unfolding before us. There was no more legal work to be done that day – not only did work seem superficial at that point, but the Firm immediately shut down and dismissed us for the day. Our law firm was located in downtown Detroit, just a few blocks from the Federal courthouse and the Detroit River. Robb and I were the last to leave, however, since we needed to finish preparing an abatement chart with a client for a MIOSHA hearing in Lansing the following day. We were counseled by the Firm’s administrative partners that to stay was at our own peril, but we assured them we were safe and would leave as soon as possible. We left about an hour later – the Buhl Building elevator, adjoining garage and all of downtown Detroit was completely emptied out, devoid of the usual hustle and bustle of a busy metropolis on a business day. I had taken the bus in and Robb drove me home and he decided to take surface streets for the 13-mile trip; it seemed to take forever to get there.

Once home, I hugged my mom who had been listening to the news events on the radio since the first crash. Our house was in disarray as we were mid-way through a painting/wallpapering job and the television and VCR were unplugged and tucked away in a closet to keep them dust-free and heavy furniture was in front of that closet. My computer was in the basement but we stayed together, at the kitchen table, never switching off the all-news station, for hours until daylight turned to nightfall. The next morning I bought several different newspapers and that night we caught up on the photographs of the scarred city, people jumping out of windows or fleeing the thick acrid smoke crawling through the streets. It seemed that the news reports the day before did not exaggerate the events at all. This is how I remember 9/11. We each have our own remembrances of the images of September 11, 2001 – none of them are pleasant of course. The only good that came from that day was that it brought some unity to our nation. Any disparities prior to September 11th melted away as we all cried and bled as one.

While walking this morning I passed an elementary school where the Stars and Stripes hung limply at half-mast in the moist air, the bottom edges rustling a little in the slight breeze. I presume the flag was at half-mast for Patriot Day – perhaps it was for State Trooper Paul Butterfield who tragically lost his life this past Monday … still another senseless tragedy. The sad memories of 9/11 encompassed my thoughts and after I headed into the house and closed the door I glanced at the kitchen clock – 8:45 a.m. – time to stop and to take a minute for a solitary prayer for the desperation, death and destruction and also for those who lived whose lives will never be the same again.

Today it was four wheels instead of two feet for travelling. As much as I hated to do it, I took my car for a 17-mile spin. I’m laughing as I am typing since this is usually the sum total of miles I drive in a month. Of course that only makes it harder for me to catch up with the car mileage since there is 42 miles’ difference as of today. I will get it done though.

It wasn’t the tropical weather that made me reach for the car keys. My boss was out in back-to-back meetings and had left me no work to do. There were weeds (there are always weeds) that could have occupied my morning but it was too hot and sultry out, so I took care of errands instead.

I went to Loveday’s for an oil change. The guys there think it is pretty darn funny when I come in for a yearly oil change, whether I need it or not and I am the butt of their friendly jokes. No problem, but when the tech reached inside the car to slap the reminder sticker on the windshield, I couldn’t help myself and said “Norm, you really think that 3,000 mile reminder sticker is necessary since I only drove 214 miles since I was last here on September 24, 2012?” He grinned.

Really, a run on the freeway instead of rolling up and down Eureka making multiple stops would have been preferable. My boss suggested to me the other day that while it was admirable that I was walking more than I was driving these days and this was good for my health and fitness, I wasn’t doing the car any favors by letting it languish in the garage. (What a party pooper!) So I took the advice to heart and out we went.

We even topped off the gas tank at the Sunoco station that I frequent; that is, if you can call buying gasoline six times a year “frequenting” the gas station. The owner always has a joke about my infrequent visits to gas up as well. I just tell everyone that foot power rules!

After today’s respite from walking to tool around town, I will be back at it again tomorrow in the quest for the cup … (that cup would be filled with cider of course)!

Very early this morning, the weather forecasters were all aflutter about Tuesday’s potentially record-breaking, 90-plus temps. Also on the a.m. weather agenda was impending sprinkles destined to arrive Downriver about the same time I’d embark on my walk. Sigh. So, do I don my sweats, lace up my walking shoes and walk loops around Memorial Park to stay close to home, or do I stay inside and have a leisurely second cup of coffee and ease into my day? Decisions, decisions … nope, I have to meet my walking goal, but just before I removed my headphones I heard the news anchor ask the weatherman what the ominous big green blob on the WWJ interactive radar map signified? A big green blob didn’t sound too promising, but I went anyway since it was cool and refreshing and I vowed to keep an eye to the sky. It seems since Labor Day the shorter days are really noticeable, especially on an overcast morning like today when it takes forever to get light. Against my better judgment I left when it was still a little dusky out and after turning the corner in the dawn’s early light, a series of unusual items really piqued my interest and gave me cause to pause … in short, to use a popular phrase, I was “creeped out”!

Let me preface by saying it is garbage day in the neighborhood. The very first item I saw was rather macabre … a huge head rising out of a garbage can. In the semi-light, until I got close enough to see what it was, all I could see was a great horned “thing” with huge eyes. I had myself whipped into a frenzy that it was akin to “Nessy” – yes, it was nearly that big! On closer inspection, it became evident that the ghastly head was actually a large sea serpent pool toy. The critter was a cross between Dino from “The Flintstones” T.V. show and maybe some kin to the purple people eater. The head was still inflated and intact yet the rest of the flotation device had no doubt suffered a puncture because it was flatter than a pancake and rolled up behind the head. It had huge lime-green glassy-looking eyes that stared back at me. The humongous head had a pair of horns and a long tongue hanging out of its mouth. Yikes!

Happily I passed that scene and down the rest of the block it must have been an unwritten rule that every pool owner must drain their pool the weekend after Labor Day; I had to walk with my head looking down so I didn’t have a trip-and-fall because hoses, looking suspiciously like longish snakes in the lowlight, ran from backyard to curbside emptying pool water into the street. Further, it seemed to me that half the homeowners had trashed their inflatable kiddie pools and crumpled-up metal wading pools, resulting in more out-sized and sinister-looking darkish blobs every few houses in the still-shadowy morning.

I reached the street’s dead end and crossed over and started up the opposite side only to see still another strange silhouette in the gray morn. Well what have we here? A yard waste bag filled to capacity and standing on its own, but what is crawling out it? OMG! A huge bucket-like head was popping out of the top of the bag and very long tentacles were creeping down the sides of the bag. It looked like an octopus – but, no way! As I got up close, I could see it was a hanging basket, turned upside down with the hanger inside the yard waste bag. The bottom of the flower basket was sitting atop the yard waste dregs and the “tentacles” were actually the long-dead trailing stems of the plant that were creeping down the sides of the bag. What flowers were left on the vines were all parched and crispy à la the Addams Family’s floral decor.

I kept walking, then glanced down at my pedometer to check the time and my progress since I wasn’t on my regular route. While my head was bent I walked into a big spider web. Frantically, I got the sticky threads off my clothes but could not shake the feeling that its owner was along for the ride. Enough already! Mercifully, a shaft of light, albeit dim, suddenly lit up the sky; I sure was grateful for that measly sunbeam.

At least a half-dozen homes I passed already had their Halloween mojo going on and wild-haired witches on brooms and grinning ghosts greeted me along the way. Several scarecrows stood guard by the front porch stairs and I saw some plastic pumpkins plopped onto a hay bale. I have not yet toggled over to harvest mode so I couldn’t fully appreciate the decorating efforts, but by that last leg of my journey I half-expected to look up and see a large black crow flapping its wings and cawing angrily at me. I was finally ready to high-tail it home after strolling 3¼ miles on a rather coolish, but ghoulish, Monday morn.

Postscript – I did a Google image search and found a photo of the same sea monster that I encountered today. In its prime, it was a 115-foot Sea Dragon inflatable pool toy … cute of course, in its element on a sunny day in the pool or the lake … not so much on a horror-filled trip through the ‘hood.

Today is Grandparents Day. Essentially this is a Hallmark holiday started in 1978 by Jimmy Carter to honor our grandparents and it always falls on the first Sunday after Labor Day. Back in ’78, my grandmother was surprised when she got an unexpected card and a gift from me – I remember her asking “Linda, what did you say that holiday was again?” and I told her it was merely an American Hallmark holiday but no reason we couldn’t celebrate it over there. She liked that reasoning. (Smile) Besides, you should not need a calendar event to celebrate your kinfolk anyway.

At Council Point Park this morning I saw the usual groups of older women walking the path. We’ve kibitzed often throughout the Summer, never for more than a few minutes at a time as each of us are anxious to complete our walk. They called out “good morning” and waved – they were too far away or I’d have wished them happy Grandparents Day. In our first meeting along the path, each of the women mentioned their grandchildren to me and while we learned little tidbits about one another, I innocently asked if they were in the education field and had the Summer off from work as I saw them there daily. They each fairly beamed at that question, and proudly announced that they had been retired for over two decades – of the four ladies I see most frequently, they range from 85 to 88 years old. They are just as spry as any of the walkers in the Park and have been walking for years. In the Winter they walk at Southland and Fairlane Malls and they also informed me that the City clears the snow from the Park path so they sometimes walk there as well. God willing, I will still be walking that same path when I am in my mid-80s and beyond, and please may I also have my health and faculties like these wonderful women are blessed to have.

The grandparents of the new millennium are not the same as the grandparents of friends or my own were for that matter. Grandparents today are not content to sit in rocking chairs and have their grandchildren come and pile onto their lap. Modern grandparents do not resemble the characters Carol Burnett and Harvey Korman played for years; I remember laughing at these characters when they had to start each other’s rocking chairs. (Here’s a sneak peek and have a laugh on me at this funny skit: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QvuyAGOlius).

Today’s grandparents are driving way into their 80s, are very tech savvy, many are well into second careers because retirement was “boring” and still others are into all the hobbies they never had time to enjoy while they were working and raising their families. I think this is admirable and I wish them well.

I do not have grandparents anymore. I never met my paternal grandparents who lived in Germany and died long before I was born. My maternal grandparents lived in Toronto. I saw them about once a month until we moved to the U.S. then it was infrequently – perhaps four or five times a year. Everyone I know has a similar moniker for their grandparents … I’d guess Grandma and Grandpa or Gramma and Gramps are probably the most common. I called my grandparents Nanny and Omer. This picture was taken a few months before he got water on his lungs and was admitted to a nursing home.

Omer, my grandfather, was a cantankerous old coot who hailed from Quebec. He had a vile temper and spewed venomous words more often than not – he said what he felt like without any forethought. I never addressed him by anything more than Omer, which was his first name, but that was the way he wanted it. He was not the type of grandfather that you’d beg to climb up into his lap and hear about your mom when she was a little girl. He hollered at anyone and everyone without provocation and made me so mad when I was a toddler, that I ducked under the table and bit him on the ankle one day. It was a story that was laughed about for years behind his back and after his death – the brazen little girl having shown some spunk and wordlessly told him what she thought of him. He, however, as you can imagine was not so amused. But honestly, how can one be endeared to a man who never conveyed his love to his own grandbaby? He succumbed to pneumonia in a nursing home in April of 1969, a few days before my 13th birthday. I remembered being miffed that his death sorely interrupted my birthday plans.

My grandmother was a different story. She was the type of person that people liked to go to when they had a personal problem. She’d listen to their hard-luck story or sad tale, offer counsel and a pat on the arm and a hug. Often she opened her purse and tendered money to the woebegone visitor if she thought it would help their situation. Nanny had the patience of a saint and was a much-loved presence on the street where she lived for decades. She passed away from a massive heart attack in the ambulance enroute to the hospital. She would not have wanted to linger because in recent years issues with her heart wore down her ticker and her vitality for life. Nanny was very much like a big wind-up alarm clock at the end of the day – needing help to keep ticking through another day … she was alive thanks to a cache of meds, but not really living. But, she was luckier than her eight siblings – all but one passed away with heart ailments many years before she was taken from us on a cold Winter morning in 1986, just barely past her 80th birthday.

Cherish your grandparents while they are still alive. Don’t send candy or flowers … give them a phone call, or if possible, put in a personal appearance instead. My mom and I got on the phone in different rooms to jointly call my grandmother every Wednesday night at 7:00 p.m. sharp, and in her last few years we visited as often as we could. Let your grandparents talk about the “good old days” or when they were your age and spare rolling your eyes for another time. Don’t be discouraged if they walk or talk a little slow – take them by the arm and give them your rapt attention – always. Remember your roots and respect your elders … you will reach that plateau soon enough.