WALKIN', WRITIN', WIT & WHIMSY

Yet another tempestuous weather day is in the offing, and my thoughts have been occupied with the storm’s projected arrival and potential path of destruction Murmurs of tornadic activity, or even high winds worry me – we have many old, large and neglected trees in the yards behind. I’ve kept an eye to the sky and an ear to the radio, waiting, hoping it will fizzle out, and wishing for all the world I could turn the clock twenty-four hours ahead to better weather. I write this post early as clouds are already on the horizon and predicted volatile weather will keep this writer’s computer turned off and unplugged. I will, instead, stay hunkered down, listening … and waiting … and worrying … as this wicked heat butts heads with the cold front. I hope once again we remain unscathed; I hope everyone remains unscathed.

My walk this morning was semi-pleasant; great, if you like steam baths. On a humorous note, I have to admit that sweat and that hang-dog feeling is tolerable only if you are doing a pleasurable activity … selective sweating, so to speak. Chores in the sweltering heat – not pleasurable at all. Early Thursday morning I spent about an hour watering around the old homestead, just dragging the hose and inspecting if the sprinkler was properly hitting the intended mark, and I was sweating as soon as I began unrolling the hose from the hose reel. Sweat stung my eyes before I correctly placed the sprinkler, and the mosquitoes were relentless and swarming en masse. Yikes!! I worked quickly, but still I was a sitting duck for them, despite being clothed in long pants and shirt plus socks inside garden boots, they still got me. I refuse to use repellent as I worry about the chemical risks, so the skeeters bit me with a vengeance, leaving my neck looking like I could play “connect the dots” with the mosquito bites. I had tried, unsuccessfully, to sport the preppy look – collar upturned to thwart any neck nips, but that was unsuccessful since the humidity made the collar droop and flop over, much like the person wearing the shirt. I think they find my Lever Brothers soap inviting. The spate of stormy weather the past few days has left little pools of water that don’t get a chance to dry up completely and instead become a watering hole for mosquitoes to congregate, much like the proverbial office cooler.

I only accomplished a short walk today. My thoughts while walking, were divided between the impending weather and an equally stormy subject – the filing of bankruptcy by the City of Detroit. I followed the breaking news last night and early this morning as well. The airwaves were filled with commentary by various legal experts on the mechanics of Chapter 9 bankruptcy, as well as many comments from the common folk – the current residents in Detroit, the workers with City-related jobs, the retirees who stand to lose pensions and benefits, earned long ago and thought to be viable the rest of their lives … the fear was very evident in their collective voices.

I watched the slow decay of Detroit, from the time I began commuting to the City on a regular basis, when I started Wayne State University in 1976. I attended school, then worked in Detroit for more than three decades after my first foray into the City. I rarely drove, but usually took the bus. After September 11th, the usual route into the heart of the Downtown Detroit business district was detoured, so that the federal courthouse could be cordoned off; bus stops were removed and buses never resumed their regular routes again. The bus route strayed from Downtown proper, by just a few blocks, but it was then I witnessed the decrepit buildings, replete with graffiti and boarded-up windows and doors. These were once-thriving restaurants, or other businesses, as well as some former court-related or government entities, which similarly were not immune to the deterioration and destruction. Whole blocks looked like war-torn areas. In fact there are some places just off Fort Street and near Downtown Detroit, that are still ravaged by the ’67 riots, and should have been demolished years ago. I watched the slow decay of Detroit over the years, and I think that although Dan Gilbert may continue to collect Downtown Detroit property, that it will never be the jewel it once was. Emily Gail, the perpetually pig-tailed ambassador of good will for the City, had a credo, as well as many bumper stickers, mugs and t-shirts, proclaiming “Say Good Things About Detroit” … well Detroit needs all the help it can get now. The national news has featured the bankruptcy of the largest city in the United States as the lead story for nearly an entire day. The late night talk hosts shall have a field day with Detroit’s misfortune, not that they haven’t done so in the past. Today native Detroiters and those who work or are entertained there, are sad; a gigantic pall has been cast over the City of Detroit, and I believe the stormy weather is here to stay – this is not merely a tempest in a teacup.

The incessant Florida climate persists. I say this weather is for the birds. When I think of Florida, I think of several long-ago trips to visit that fair state. The landscape along the Sunshine State Parkway seemed a little barren to me – a palm tree here and there, but mostly tall trees from which Spanish moss dangled from every limb, and on those branches devoid of moss, many egrets perched, almost motionless. I also think of flamingos, who should be officially listed as Florida’s state bird. The very name “flamingo” brings a snicker to most people, who associate these gangly, yet graceful, hot pink birds with the kitschy yard ornaments, those plastic flamingos strutting around the yard on metal stakes, er … legs. My mom threatened to order “Flamingos by the Yard” for me when I turned 50 years old. This gag gift is by a company where someone sneaks over to your house in the middle of the night and places one flamingo to mark each year of your life on the front lawn, then leaves a huge sign wishing you happy birthday. I finally convinced her not to do it (thankfully).

I felt like I was living in Florida when I took my walk today – hot and steamy. I spied a planters box where a pair of pink plastic flamingos arose out of the cannas. At first glance, I thought it was part of the actual plant, but their bright pink color gave them away. The flamingos were gazing at one other as if deep in conversation, their long necks craned in a graceful “S”. I’m always looking at yard art during my walks. I’ve often seen artfully done metal flamingos gracing a garden; their feathers seem almost three dimensional and the coloring is more of a sedate pinkish-gray. They enhance the garden, but no … not hot pink plastic flamingos which are not a good look.

Another flashback is coming. I used to be the proud owner of an identical set of plastic flamingos a long time ago. I’ve spoken fondly before about my former neighbor Jim, who was like a father to me. He loved coming over to help in the garden, then when all his friends and family came to visit him, he’d lean over the fence and show them “our” yard. One day I came home from work to find Jim had stuck two hot pink flamingos into my front garden bed. I had just finished my planting over Memorial Day weekend and the garden was looking just the way I liked it, i.e. no room for improvement. I had my usual country theme going – my pink and white flower combos, my favorite colonial blue knick-knacks and baskets and my perpetual “deer family” scattered around the front and back gardens. A pair of kitschy hot pink plastic flamingos with steel stakes stuck in my front garden simply was not going to do! What would I say? I wouldn’t hurt his feelings for the world. I didn’t have time to figure out just how to express my thanks, because as I rounded the side of the house, Jim came running over and in his Southern drawl said: “Girl: did you see your gift I got you from when were in Florida? I was waiting for you to get everything finished in your yard before I brought them over for you. Do you like them?” Gulp …what was I to say? Quickly, I crossed my fingers behind my back and told him they were absolutely beautiful; in fact, much too beautiful to put in the front yard because someone surely would steal them, or damage them, or what if they blew away down the street? I was breathless by the time I finished the possibilities and also my gratitude for the unexpected gift. I then assured him I would find a nice place in the backyard near my bright Pink Bonica Shrub Roses where they would be more striking and his special gift would be less likely to get damaged or stolen. He warmed up to that idea and said he would get them right away and pick a place to stake them in the rose garden. Whew, that was a lot easier than I thought.

The flamingos “lived” in the backyard for years, until they finally faded from the sun and looked pale pink, almost white. About the time I was thinking I could relegate them (finally) to the garage, Jim saw their putrid pale coloring and offered to paint them for me. Hmmmmmm. Again, I did not want to hurt his feelings so I asked if I could think on it and perhaps next year? I never had to worry again because soon thereafter he and his family moved to Monroe, and eventually to Roscommon, and I never saw him again. Well, a little white lie (or maybe in this case a pink lie) never hurt anyone.

Went for a wee walk this morning … it was just so warm and sticky out again. Oh, let’s not mince words – it was a jungle out there!! How do people ever adapt to this hot and steamy weather? Well, the good news/bad news scenario is that it was 102 degrees a year ago today which kind of makes our 94 degrees today pale in comparison. I liken our weather this week to the El Yunque National Forest in Puerto Rico where I visited during a stay with family friends, Werner and Alfonsa, in 1973. Our senior class trip locale was the Bahamas and I’d been on a cruise to the Islands with my parents the year before so my adventure was a ten-day trip to Puerto Rico. You really have to like hot weather if you visit Puerto Rico; it is an island, after all. Forget about island breezes – it is just downright hot there, breeze or not. The apartment where my friends lived was landscaped with huge cacti which was home to lizards, whose favorite pastime was sunning themselves on the concrete around the cacti during the heat of the day. When you walked past, there would be a flurry of leapin’ lizards activity as they ran for cover. It horrified me at first, and I would take great pains to go around the cacti, but what really done me in was going to the Condado, a Vegas-like strip of casinos, large hotels and similar neon and bright lights along the beach in Old San Juan. We visited a renowned hotel for dinner and a little slot machine action then left to go home near midnight. While Werner went to the parking garage to retrieve the car, Alfonsa and I waited in front of the hotel. Just as he pulled up, we watched a huge tarantula drop down from a tall palm tree onto the roof of the car. We watched in horror as it righted itself and on eight hairy legs climbed inside through the open window. We started screeching like banshees and refused to get into the car. Werner drove over to a brightly lit lot and looked everywhere for the huge spider which was nowhere to be found. Declaring we would not ride in the car until we saw a corpse, Alfonsa and I hailed a cab and left Werner to get home on his own, which was, after all, the manly thing for him to do. He returned home in one piece, shut the windows up tight and the next time we went out in the car, he proudly produced the creature’s carcass. (We hoped the darn thing had been asphyxiated in the hot car, and Werner had not just paid someone to find another tarantula, and killed it, just to lure us into the back into the car.)

As to hot and steamy attractions in Puerto Rico, one of the many sights we visited was El Yunque, the only tropical rain forest in the United States, where the over-200 inches of rainfall a year yielded the tallest trees I’ve ever seen. Standing amidst the flora and fauna in this paradise made you feel very small and insignificant … there was such magnificent beauty that you really could not drink it all in at one time. There were thousands of species of tropical flowers and plants, all which were simply gargantuan, probably because it rains at least once a day or more there. We visited twice and each occasion was extraordinary, plus rain-filled. The rain lasts just a few minutes, but it is a quite a soaker and there’s nowhere to dash for cover. Soon it is over, you’re drenched and post-showers, El Yunque is all the steamier. There were many jungle dwellers who just leapt out at you at every turn through the dense forest. Birds of every species serenade you with songs and calls that could never be imitated by our local warblers. The birds, with their brilliant and most-unusual plumage, greet you at every turn of the footpath that you follow. The birds’ coloring is seemingly duplicated by the multi-colored chameleons and cute little geckos that dash to and fro. Hopefully you conquered the phobia from the lizards in the cacti, because here were dozens of swift little critters running amok by your feet and across your path, as you continue your promenade through this amazing mountainous paradise. All through El Yunque, you see tiny frogs everywhere; they hop down from trees to inspect you, then just as quickly hop and bop away and are lost in the dense foliage in search of other more-palatable food than you. These cute little tree frogs, or “Coqui”, are considered lucky, and you simply cannot leave the Rain Forest or Puerto Rico, for that matter, without buying a Coqui good luck charm or trinket. The flora and fauna that exist in El Yunque thrive in that venue as do the many “keepers of the rainforest” who strive to keep this gem as pristine as possible. I guess those folks are accustomed to the hot and steamy clime. My heart goes out to people who must earn their living working in this heat; likewise, the seniors or disadvantaged who must exist without fans or air conditioning in their homes. Hopefully, Mother Nature will allow this heat wave to abate and restore our normal weather soon … perhaps this weather is just our “new normal”. Sadly, I believe Al Gore might really be correct.

After multiple rainstorms yesterday, there was no need to water, so when I went to bed I figured walking this morning was a shoe-in. I awoke to my alarm, set to its usual 5:00 a.m., and wearing my headphones, while curled up in bed, I listened to the first news of the day. The 5:08 a.m. weather report was already touting this afternoon’s heat index and of course the meteorologist mentioned the current stats too: 77 degrees, hazy with 90% humidity. No thank you – I’ll take a rain check on that walk, if you’ll pardon the pun. So, alas, despite my good intentions, I decided to remove the headphones, punch up my pillow, then snuggle down and get in a couple more hours of beauty sleep. Ahhhh, what a luxury. I felt like a princess. But after all it is Summer and as Nat King Cole croons in “Those Lazy-Crazy-Hazy Days of Summer” why not take his good advice and have a lazy day? It is already hazy, so why not ease into your morning with some sloth-like activity, like getting in some ZZZZZZZZZZZZs? Later in the day I was thinking about ol’ Nat extolling the virtues of Summer, so I clicked over to YouTube to hear the song (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AoLogdbVS3U) (of course it has been playing in my head every since). As to the crazy aspect of the song’s title, I recall a neighbor several decades ago who annually celebrated Christmas in July. At the tail end of June, he decorated his house and yard with the identical ornaments and lights that he used during the real holiday season. How amusing it was to look across the street on a scorching Summer day and see Santa and his eight reindeer up on the rooftop, seemingly endless strings of lights, garlands galore, and even a full-sized decorated Christmas tree peeking through the front room sheers. Crazy Joe, as the neighbors fondly referred to him, then hosted a party every Independence Day and guests’ cars would line up and down the entire block and nearby cross-streets. Friends would arrive wearing shorts and t-shirts or tank tops and carrying Christmas presents, adult beverages and something to pass. Joe and his wife Delores, dressed as Mr. and Mrs. Claus respectively, would greet each guest with a big bear hug, then pose with each one in the front yard next to a life-sized snowman which sat atop a pile of fake snow. They’d hoot and holler ‘til the wee hours of the morn and there were plenty of firecrackers as well. The day after the annual “Christmas in July” gig, the decorations were torn down and stowed away until Thanksgiving. Different maybe, but it seemed a good time was had by all. Words to govern your life by:

“Happiness doesn’t depend on any external conditions, it is governed by our mental attitude.” – Dale Carnegie

…and grumbling … and, maybe whining too. Well, down girl!!!! Bright and early I donned my Wellies, instead of my walking shoes, to trek out to hydrate the gardens before they got too parched in these 90 degree + temps. I’ve got a bone to pick with the various weather people who were rather ambiguous on a rain event today … well maybe, maybe not. Plus, they are already forecasting Friday to be a severe weather day. Hope they’ve got that wrong too. I nearly wilted in the wicked heat and humidity and skeeters were whizzing by; one landed and got me right through my long-sleeved light gauze shirt. The nerve!! I always thought that the “Dog Days of Summer” occurred in August. Last week I learned an interesting factoid while perusing the “Old Farmer’s Almanac” site. Did you know that “Dog Days” actually begin July 3rd and last 40 days, or through August 11th?? This time period coincides with the sunrise rising of the Dog Star, Sirius. Well, I always thought “Dog Days” were just a string of hot, hot, hot days … but forty days? Well, doggone it, … cooler days are on the way and that’s something to wag your tail about. It can’t be that far off. After all, the back-to-school supplies are already on the shelves. The young pups will soon start ticking off how many more vacation days they have ‘til the school bells ring, while this old dawg is just countin’ the days ‘til August 11th.

Today was an A+ day. It was not just a positive day but an A positive day!!

This morning I went to an American Red Cross Blood Drive at Christ the Good Shepherd Church. The church sponsors three blood drives annually and I try to make each one. I have always enjoyed good health and so I am happy to participate and help those who need blood … my little one pint donation today can help save three lives. A trip to the blood bank is like a “mini physical” and to ensure you are fit to give each time, it is imperative that you eat and drink properly so you are not disqualified and miss a donation opportunity. I loosely follow the Mediterranean Diet, and I no longer eat any fast food, fried food, sweets, salty snacks, nor anything else with salt. Today, my blood pressure was its usual low 110/70. My height and weight of 5’ 9” and 135 pounds, respectively, is perfect for my frame, and at age 57, I gotta tell you – I feel terrific. I started walking in late 2011 as I was too sedentary, working from home and not getting as much exercise as when I worked on site. Since heart disease runs in my mom’s side of the family, to keep my ticker strong, I added a walking regimen to my occasional exercise bike riding. I so enjoy walking!! The abundance of rain through June allowed me to walk nearly every morning rather than watering the shrubs and flowers. It looks like we have another stormy and unsettled week in the forecast, and if so, this will bode well for more walking. I have now walked 135 miles so far in 2013; I even squeezed in two miles this morning back-and-forth to the blood drive. I always gave blood in my early 20s, then with several back-to-back international trips, especially the cruise with various Middle East ports of call, the Red Cross prohibited me from donating blood for many years. But I’ve been back to donating regularly over three years now and it is a good feeling to help out my fellow man. Side effects? None at all for me – I do admit to being a little waterlogged right now (I drank over a gallon of water yesterday and another half-gallon overnight and early this morning). Glug, glug, glug … can you say “sloshing” around? P.S. – Nothing like a blog post that is all about me. (Smile)

What a perfect Summer day we had today; they just don’t get any better than this. Do you remember when you were a kid and returned to school in the Fall and your first assignment was to write a paper entitled “What I Did On My Summer Vacation” ??? Whether you and your family spent time at the sandy shore, on a scenic tour, camping or maybe a car trip to see Grandma and Grandpa, you got to write about it … maybe even read it aloud to your classmates. But admit it – the best part of Summer were the simple pleasures. The stuff that Summer is made of – maybe not worth committing the memories to a piece of paper and turning in to the teacher, but good times anyway. What Summer memories do you have? If I had to list some of my best Summer moments growing up I’d have to say:

SPLASHING with my best friend in a three-ring pool that took my mom a half-hour to blow up, then waiting for the sun to warm the pool water before stepping in and testing the temperature with my big toe.

SQUEALS of delight from running through the sprinkler or soaker hose.

SAMPLING raspberries that grew wild on a huge bush in my best friend’s yard. We’d sit on the back porch and reach over and grab a handful – no worries about pesticide, disease or bugs – we just popped them into our mouths like M&Ms.

SCOOPS of vanilla ice cream in a tall glass and a big straw and watching fizzy drinks like Red Pop or Vernors melting and creating a frothy treat, half of which ended up around the corners of my mouth.

SLURPEES and frozen Cokes, so cold I swore I had brain freeze because the sweet frozen crystals jammed up in my straw and I’d inhale ‘til I’d nearly burst.

SADDLING up for horseback riding at Boots and Saddles Stables after swimming and grilling hotdogs and hamburgers on the Hibachi at Holiday Beach in Amherstburg.

SIZZLING on a hot Summer day while I rode my bike or played outside. I’d be having so much fun, I never wanted to go inside, even when my mom hollered my name to come in for lunch or dinner.

SPENDING allowance at the sidewalk sales or the art fairs every weekend.

SWIGGING sun tea right from the container.

All of these events and treats were tumbling around in my head this morning while I was walking. Two slice-o-life instances got me thinking and reminiscing about simpler times and simple pleasures. I walked later than usual today and it was nearly 10:00 a.m. when I finally left. No problem since it wasn’t hot, but more there were more people to people-watch.

First, I heard the unmistakable sound of the ice cream man toodling down the street, with the sweet strains of “Turkey in the Straw” sounding his arrival. If anything is synonymous with Summer it is the frozen treats, whether sipped through a straw, scooped up or on a stick. If you want to see kids come out of the woodwork, just let them hear the music signaling the ice cream wagon is nearby. It is a Pavlovian response, even if the identical ice cream treats are in the kitchen freezer. This ice cream vendor was no slouch; he was headed next to a baseball field where Little League practice had finished and both teams’ players were flopped down on the ground or queuing up at the water fountain. Well, most of the parents lined up along the wooden bleachers had the same Pavlovian response as their kids when they heard the ice cream truck, only they started immediately digging for treat money. The moms reached over for their purses and the dads shifted to one buttocks to retrieve their wallet from a back pocket. Ah…the Good Humor Man. Well that takes me back, as I recall chomping on a Drumstick, mmmmmm … the chocolaty-peanuty taste was always my favorite, but sometimes I’d buck the trend and get an orange push-up Creamsicle. Treats on a stick were tricky and sticky. You had to unwrap and eat them in record time, because once a Fudgsicle starts melting, it becomes a brown, runny mess in less than five minutes and soon fudge “dots” would be freckling your already-brown-as-a-berry skin. Likewise for Popsicles. I wonder if they still make the side-by-side Popsicles with two sticks? It was an art to separate a double Popsicle to share it with your best friend, without losing half of it as it landed onto your toes. What parts of the Popsicle you salvaged, usually ended up running down your chin.

My walk took me past a corner house with a huge backyard in-ground pool. As I passed the yard with its five-foot high stockade fence, I saw four pairs of eyes staring at me over the top of the fence, à la Wilson on the TV show “Home Improvement”. The kids must’ve been standing on a picnic table and I waved “hi” and for my cordiality I received four, multi-colored tongues sticking out at me. I told them it was not cool to stick your Technicolored tongue out, even if you did it just because you just finished a Popsicle and you wanted to show off your cool-looking tongue. One of the kids asked me how I knew they had Popsicles? I told them I was a kid once too and had Turbo Rocket Pops and it did not take a rocket scientist to figure it out.

Next, I saw a woman filling up a low, metal wading pool with a garden hose while two toddlers stood by with restless anticipation; it seemed she could not fill it quickly enough as they kept dancing around and asking “can we go in now Mom?” … if I shut my eyes, I pictured Linda Crosby and I wearing our sunbonnets and sitting in my three-ring, yellow vinyl kiddie pool. I kept walking and on the return trip I decided to take a peek and see how the little girls were enjoying their pool. The pool languished there, looking inviting with its cool, clear water and instead, the kids were spraying each other with the garden hose and giggling in delight. I had to smile too. Kids!!

This morning’s destination was Meijer to get some produce since Buddy, a/k/a Broccoli Boy, was nearly out of one of his favorite treats, so I dutifully made my three-mile trek by foot to get him some more. I told Buddy the other day that he and the Prez have something in common – their favorite food is broccoli. Yesterday, I watched a video clip online wherein a cub reporter queried what the President’s favorite food was and he described his affinity for broccoli. The video went on to illustrate President Obama’s endorsement of broccoli was in sharp contrast to former President H.W. Bush who got an attitude when the White House and Air Force One chef tried to serve him broccoli and he protesting saying: “I’m President of the United States, and I’m not going to eat any more broccoli!” Can’t you just imagine the elder Bush, hands on hips and stomping his feet while having this little tirade?

On the first leg of my mission, I was perusing the produce at Meijer when a young couple wheeled their shopping cart near mine as they likewise picked their produce. While they lingered near the cut-up fruit and veggie bowls, their little boy, who was sitting in the cart seat, was happily “sailing” his toy boat along the deep blue sea … er, shopping cart handle. I waved and said “Ahoy Sailor – what is your boat’s name and where is it headed?” and he just giggled and kept moving the plastic vessel along the blue handle. His parents, having heard the interplay, came over to deposit their produce in the cart and told me they were headed up to Bay City for the Tall Ships Extravaganza on the Saginaw River, and they, and their son, Josh, were excited about the trip. I regaled them with my own visits to the tall ship Christian Radich in 1976, first when it was moored on the Detroit River at Hart Plaza, and then I saw it again the following week on Lake Ontario near the Toronto Exhibition. Both ports of call were visits scheduled during the Tall Ships Parade for America’s Bicentennial. In Detroit, co-workers and I boarded the Christian Radich and got a first-class tour, both below deck after descending a very narrow, rickety ladder to see the sailors’ cubby-hole sleeping quarters and the galley, followed by an above-deck, up-close look at the riggings. It was very hot and rather cramped inside the ship but quite fascinating to see how these big rigs, which harken back to the tail end of the 19th century, travelled and survived on the high seas. Though I was, and still am a landlubber, both tours were alot of fun and very festive and presented some good photo ops. I didn’t have a camera handy in Detroit, but my friend Leslie and I were vacationing in Toronto and had our picture snapped next to some of the young Norwegian mates. We were both done with shopping so I wished the family safe travels and suggested Josh stand watch for pirates while he was aboard the ship. I left for home, travelling at 5.21386 knots per hour with very smooth sailing and all the while humming The Beach Boys’ hit “Sloop John B”.

What is that brilliant yellow orb up yonder? Could it be the sun? Well, we’ve weathered three plus weeks of wicked storms, torrential downpours and horrible humidity, and today – finally we got a well-deserved respite. How refreshing it was to step outside to the cool instead of clammy air. It made me feel invigorated instead of dragged down. I was so revitalized that in two hours’ time I got in a walk, took the car for a much-needed spin and re-energized my roses and perennials with some Miracle Gro. At least the fertilizer won’t get scorched by the sun or washed off by the rain for a few days, so they will reap the benefit. I’m relieved to find no black spot issues on my roses despite all that rain, but the humidity has caused some powdery mildew on one of the lilac trees. Hopefully all this dry heat will help the tree without resorting to chemicals. The same thing happened in 2010 and it recovered without treatment. I was ecstatic to see my Daisies have all emerged and really spread out since last year. My Coneflowers and Black-eyed Susans’ petals are just starting to unfurl. I miss my three Butterfly Bushes which suddenly bit the dust this past Spring. The bushes grew like weeds and were so hardy and welcomed a variety of beautiful butterflies as they alighted on the long and delicate blooms and savored the nectar. Perhaps the butterflies will continue to visit the Coneflowers since my butterfly books suggest they are attracted to pink and purple blooms.

I enjoyed my trek so much this morning but other duties called, so a longer walk will be on tomorrow’s agenda. Weather woes have left many gardeners’ annuals very waterlogged and a little bedraggled looking, but the perennials do not look any worse for the wear. I passed some very tall Tiger Lilies that were toppling over and they fairly roared when I walked past the garden, all ablaze in orange, and which ran the entire length of a corner lot. The mushrooms in Ford Park that I mentioned before have tripled in diameter and I swear one was the size of a dinner plate. So now you know the origin of the description to have “mushroomed”. I am surprised that the birds are not pecking at such a humungous fungus, which was rather striking looking with the dew drops poised perfectly on its flawless cap. I saw several birds splashing and frolicking in an early morning bath thanks to huge, deep puddles in the street. I really miss my birdbaths – I had two large, one medium and a small birdbath which attracted every bird imaginable and I topped it off several times a day. I stopped offering water to the birds when the rodent infestation began and it breaks my heart in the hot weather to think of my birdbaths just reposing in my garage. At least all the rain has allowed crevices, nooks and crannies to provide natural receptacles for the birds to drink and bathe. The budding chalk artists are now rejoicing since they finally can take their talents to the sidewalks again without worrying about the rain washing their handiwork away.

I for one am grateful that we have left this volatile weather behind for awhile. I held my breath each day when the rumbling began and torrential downpours quickly followed. Each day this week was predicted to be worse than the last, and two times I momentarily lost my power. At work, our office was one of many that lost juice following Tuesday’s storms and then a subsequent transformer problem thwarted any efforts to quickly restore the power. There had been brownout conditions all day yesterday, then it went kaput in late afternoon. This is problematic at our complex where access to the parking garage, building and the individual suites can only be done via swipe pass. After a power outage, the passes become virtually useless and the suites cannot be electronically locked and must remain open with buzzers and alarms incessantly shrieking until the power is fully restored. This syndrome happened during the big grid outage on August 14, 2003. We were in the suite on that wicked hot day and suddenly the power was gone. Of course, the first thing to worry and wonder about was terrorism since our building was right next to the Detroit River. We had radios but no electricity to turn them on and after this occasion I always ensured I had a battery-operated radio in my desk drawer. We left the suite post haste and luckily only had to go down three flights of stairs to reach the street level. However, no one knew what was going on, and naturally, as panic set in, people streamed out of the building, not in an orderly fashion as fire drills or emergency preparedness events had suggested to exit. A little pandemonium ensued, but everyone was out in a fairly short amount of time. Luckily it was the end of the business day so the crowd quickly dispersed once they got to the street. As soon as the car radio was turned on, the truth was revealed about the massive power outage and not an act of terrorism or something else just as tragic – what a sense of relief that was! I hope to never have to go through an ordeal like that again in my lifetime.

Do kids still say P.U. to signify something stinky these days?  I was wondering about that as I was walking to Wyandotte on this near-tropical feeling morn, when suddenly … P.U., the unmistakable PUngent aroma of skunk assailed my nostrils.  Someone in the neighborhood either ran over skunk road kill, their pet got “skunked” or a black furry varmint with white stripes got startled and was running rampant on Emmons Boulevard.  The whopping 95% humidity only made the little stinker’s M.O. all the more odiferous.  I double-backed and headed in the opposite direction lest that wafting smell permeate my clothes and then I, too, would smell like I’d been “skunked”.  Hopefully, for their neighbor’s sake, the offending car (or perhaps family pet) got a tomato juice bath pronto.

The moniker of “Little Stinker” brings a smile to my lips.  My former neighbor, Jim, who was like a father to me, hailed from Kentucky and he, like all other Southerners I know, never lost the twang, nor all those cute down-home expressions.  If ever I told Jim a story about myself that astounded him or made him laugh, he would call me a “Little Stinker” … it always made me grin, as it does while I write this post and think of him. 

As to Southern idioms, I worked at a diner on weekends, holidays and all Summer while attending college.  Everyone at Carter’s was a Southerner, except me, and I started picking up alot of the Southern jargon and even a slight twang by the time I headed back to college at Summer’s end.  Even now, when I look up into a darkening sky, I still cannot help it – I find myself drawling “well, it’s comin’ up a storm”.  Most of Carter’s clientele also were from various Southern states and came in on a daily, or even twice-daily basis and inevitably the conversation turned to “back home” or Southern cooking.  Long before Paula Deen and her Southern dishes made her a household name, Ann and Georgia, were always in the back kitchen fixin’ up some tasty vittles for lunch as they were bored with the diner fare.  They’d whip up a batch of fresh hushpuppies and drop them in the fry basket in the hot grease, and soon the whole restaurant would smell of them and customers were envious.  They were my all-time favorite.  I also often got to sample okra, pinto beans, black-eyed peas, grits, collard greens, fried green tomatoes and an occasional hearty chunk of cornbread.  There was always a tall glass of sweet tea to wash it all down with.  I loved immersing myself in the total Southern experience.  Well shucks, I’m guessin’ I’m jest a hillbilly gal at heart.