WALKIN', WRITIN', WIT & WHIMSY

Today I went to church to light my June candles. I’ve not missed a single month since my mom passed away three years ago. I like to go early in the morning when no one is there – a few minutes of solitude after lighting a few candles, a little prayer and I am on my way until the next month. Sometimes I visit twice in a month … perhaps friends are ill, or having surgery or have passed away. In the past three days I have heard of two friends who passed away. We lost touch through the years, and though our paths might likely have never crossed again, I still felt a profound loss upon hearing they were gone. Sometimes I go and light candles for friends who appreciate my prayers for their loved ones who are suffering, or have passed away and on still other occasions I light candles when my heart is heavy from world events. Well, Christ the Good Shepherd Church was my morning destination, and I followed it up with a stroll through the memorial garden bordering the Church. The garden, like my own, has not reached its full potential as it is the beginning of the growing season. But even in early June, slipping through the gate into the memorial garden is like a little slice of Heaven. This morning as I rounded the street corner, tiny pink shrub roses just spilled out over the iron gate which surrounds the garden and there are already plenty of pretty perennials and flowering shrubs galore. By the peak of Summer a variety of hostas are in full bloom and the many types of rosebushes compete with one another for beauty with each emitting its own wonderful scent (especially if you go on in the early morning or after the rain). The parishioners of the Church tend to this garden and there are several concrete benches to stop and rest, reflect, meditate or pray; this tranquil place is here for you. A sign tells you the garden was blessed by the Archbishop. God’s creations are everywhere, just begging to be enjoyed. Life is over too quickly so take a minute out of your day today to bask in the beauty He has created for us. June is National Rose Month … stop what you are doing for goodness sake and bend down and inhale deeply – now that wasn’t so hard was it?

In the spirit of yesterday’s Gran Prix on Belle Isle, I endeavored to complete a few laps of my own this morning. It was a beautiful day – only 45 degrees when I left the house at 7:15 a.m. This is my kind of weather. I needed to take the car for a spin, and get some groceries, so the only way to do that and get my walk in is to head to Meijer. I did six laps around the perimeter of the store before grabbing a cart and starting my shopping; then I left my cart in one location and sprinted to each aisle to pick up my items and just kept re-visiting the cart. Factoring in lugging everything into the house, according to my trusty pedometer, I managed to rack up 1 1/2 miles this morning. Just call me a multi-tasking machine, though considerably less revved up than that of your average race car. I was looking at the photo gallery of pictures from both Gran Prix days this past weekend– the track at Belle Isle looks beautiful. Years ago, when Detroit hosted its first Gran Prix in the early 80s, they ran the race in the streets – they had Friday Free Prix Day and you could walk in downtown Detroit and mix and mingle with drivers (and their groupies and pit crew) as well as get up close and personal with their cars which were sitting right out where you could touch them. The photo ops were wonderful. Open-wheel racing conducted in the streets outside your office was very exciting! Round and round they went, brightly colored vehicles looking like different crayons from the Crayola box, as they passed the Ren Cen, or negotiated a hairpin turn at Cobo Hall and then sped along the River. The event had the Goodyear Blimp floating around and it seemed you could reach out and climb aboard. For weeks before the streets were blocked off and buses re-routed so that the heart of the downtown Detroit business district could be re-configured into a racetrack, complete with piles and piles of rubber tires for bumpers at each dangerous turn. The noise was near-deafening during Friday’s time trials; the high-pitched whining of the engines and tires as the Formula One drivers and later in the day, the mini F-1s, whizzed round and round the track, made it virtually impossible for business to be conducted so most office workers were given Friday afternoon off. Detroit was in its heyday then and I am sure a Gran Prix in our downtown venue rivaled any other exotic locale back in the day.

It’s been a long week. First, it was the rain. Then, it was the heat. Followed by the humidity. Then, I got behind at work due to shutting off my laptop each time it was storming so badly, so I had to catch up before the next storm happened, or was threatening to happen. Today it was the wind. I went to take the garbage out at 8:00 a.m. sharp, all intent on taking a walk. I haven’t walked since Memorial Day – weather and work issues encroached on my special “me” time. I looked out the window at 7:00 a.m. and the sun was shining brightly beckoning me to come out. I don’t like to walk too early on a Sunday – not enough people out so I decided 8:00 was early enough. In the meantime, a dark and brooding cloud settled overhead and the winds whooshed all around me. Too often this Spring I’ve set out on a walk only to abort it a few blocks later as it started to mist or drizzle. As disgusted as I’ve gotten with the weather thwarting my walk, I still feel blessed so far I’ve been spared the ill effects of Mother Nature’s fury as evidenced all over the country. Tornadoes are everywhere, from the humdingers in Oklahoma to lesser ones, like the one in Flint last week. Three Weather Channel tornado chasers were killed when a 160 mph winds twister picked up their supposedly safe car and had their way with them – they were only researching tornadoes to better understand how they work. Yesterday was the first day on the calendar for hurricanes – forecasters are predicting a volatile season. There was even an earthquake this morning. I cringe when I hear the people recounting the scenes of the wildfires in California. All natural disasters … angst-filled days for mankind and Mother Nature’s way of reminding us she is in charge, not us mere mortals. I’ll live with the inconvenience of a few days’ worth of rain (though I’m expecting slugs to make their merry trails any day in/out of the hostas). As Annie sings: “The sun’ll come out tomorrow. Bet your bottom dollar that tomorrow – they’ll be sun!”

Memorial Day has arrived with all of its reverence and solemnity – the first three-day holiday in 2013. What’s it all about? Patriotism and parades? Or beaches or backyard bar-b-ques? This morning I strolled through several neighborhoods and saw many flags, rustling ever so gently, in the light breeze. Yards of bunting festooned some of the older, large homes. I was humming the Pure Michigan ad theme song; I enjoy all their radio ads and it was the last music I heard while I still had my radio headphones clapped to my ears before I left for my walk. The background music in the Pure Michigan ads is “The Cider House Rules” movie theme. There is a video on YouTube featuring woodland scenes interspersed with birds and animals and the sweet strains of the “Cider House Rules” song – the scenery is so breathtaking, the music is very mellow. I try to watch that video at least once a day; it truly keep me grounded. Here is the video – it will take you to this special place in a heartbeat: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=csnUV3Gz4Pk

One of the Pure Michigan ads is called “Simple Sunrise” and I went on the Pure Michigan website to hear the ad again and I jotted down the words … the concept from “Simple Sunrise” is pretty simple and straightforward:

25,000 mornings, give or take, is all we humans get.
We spend them on treadmills,
we spend them in traffic,
and, if we get lucky, really lucky, it dawns on us to go spend them in a world where a simple sunrise can still be magic.
25,000 mornings.
Make sure some of them are pure Michigan

25,000 mornings – is that all? Sobering thought isn’t it? How many days have YOU used up already? How many days were unforgettable? How many days have you simply frittered away? There is a website where you can tell how old you are down to the very second. Have a look here – see how old you are in seconds, minutes, hours – even days: http://www.mathcats.com/explore/age/calculator.html

So, how old are you really? Well, I am 57 years of age, (although a day after working in the yard for four hours, I feel more like 67). The chart says I am 20,862 days old today. Wow! Following the logic of “Simple Sunrise” I only have some 4,000 odd days left to fill my life expectations, to meet my life goals or to complete my bucket list? Gee, and I was feeling old since my 40-year high school class reunion is this year!

Life speeds by. Make your moments count – be they second, minutes, hours or days.

And today for Memorial Day, remember our soldiers who died for their country. So many of those brave men and women died much too young – lives snuffed out leaving thousands and thousands of days unfulfilled.

It began as a low, slow, rumbling growl which was magnified by the still morn of the first day of a long weekend. Not many folks were out this morning; they either left for the north country last night or were sleeping in. The chilly 41-degree temps were not too conducive for sitting out on the porch sipping coffee in your jammies and bare feet. I am, what you would term, a “wary walker” – on Fort Street you must pay attention to drivers who are often oblivious to a walker crossing their path. Traversing through the neighborhoods on an early weekend morning, I am overly cautious and forever looking for someone lurking about. So, the sudden growl startled me. It intensified. I knew a rumble that loud belonged to a very large dog. The sunlight filtered through the trees, hitting my eyeglasses at such an angle that I felt momentarily blinded by the bright rays. In desperation my eyes darted from side to side, scanning the street for the owner of this ominous snarl. Then I saw him – a massive German Shepherd standing on the corner lawn. Was he growling at an errant squirrel or me? Perhaps I was not the object of his attention, but nonetheless I dashed behind a large tree and stayed put, heart pounding. If I were to cry “help”, there was absolutely no one out on the street to come to my aid. I quickly tried to remember what I heard or read about being confronted by a dog. Look him in the eyes? Look down? Speak to him? When I walk, I never leave home without my lanyard on which pepper spray and a huge whistle dangle. The “Storm Safety Whistle”, which I ordered from a sporting goods catalog, is recommended for underwater emergencies because its shrill sound is THAT piercing and intense. I had several pet dogs growing up and I’ve never been afraid of dogs, but this one just spooked me. It looked to be part-wolf. I stayed motionless for what seemed like hours behind my “cover” and finally the dog trotted off in another direction. Five minutes later I sheepishly stepped out, not knowing whether I had ever been in any danger. Still shaken, I switched from my regular route and went the opposite way from where he was headed. Soon I came upon a corner lot with a tall, old, stockade fence running the length of the property. By now, the sun was shining brightly and through the fence I could clearly discern the visage of a very large pit bull terrier; there it was – the unmistakable bent-over ears and square jaw. The dog was pacing down the side of the house, a very menacing shadow puppet which caused renewed fear in the pit of my stomach. I quickly backtracked and sped down still another street where thankfully I met up with nothing more than a few squirrels clambering up, down and around some trees. I let out a deep sigh as I entered the grounds of Council Point Park. There were many walkers on this cool, crisp morn and I passed a young couple and the woman was pushing an umbrella stroller. To be sociable, I glanced inside where I saw a small dog … they explained that they liked to walk but the dog couldn’t keep up, so they brought the stroller along. Well, that was different. After turning the first curve on the perimeter path, I was on the lookout for the pair of geese and their goslings. An elderly gentleman was peering through the marsh grass and told me he had seen the family yesterday. We walked along companionably and I told him my morning had gone to the dogs thus far. He mentioned that he has often seen leashed and unleashed Dobermans and Pit Bulls running around in the Park before. Well, so much for my safe haven. The goose family must have been tucked away somewhere but several brazen gaggles of geese meandered near the pathway. Though I never saw one songbird, I was able to identify five birdcalls – I’ve been listening to a website of birdsongs during the week. All too quickly one complete lap around the 1.9 mile Park perimeter was over. The trip home was thankfully uneventful. I plucked several maple seeds out of my hair and pockets when I pulled off my sweats, the remnants of my Saturday sojourn. Those little “helicopters” were flying everywhere – twirling and whirling and settling onto the sidewalks and streets, Stewart Avenue included.

Whew!!! Mercifully, there is no apparent post-storm damage of any sort in the yard despite that wicked wind which was rattling about on Wednesday night; really, what an ugly collection of weather days this week has been for Lincoln Park. Yesterday morning I got suited up for a walk, stepped outside to feel mist and light drizzle, so instead I took a quick trip into the backyard to check for any weather damage issues. Everything looked good so I beat it back into the house again. Today, the sun belied how cold and blustery it really was outside (dare I use the words “cold” and “blustery” on May 24th?). I left really early, stepping out at 7:20 a.m. in sweats, a sweatshirt cardigan and I even hustled back to grab gloves and a light raincoat (I refuse to don a hat this late in the season). I was still shivering for most of my walk. I got 1 ¾ miles in and while I walked I saw alot of large tree branches laying in yards and in the street. The last few nights, my neighbors’ front trees were swaying wildly as the winds whooshed through them; didn’t like that at all. But all this inclement weather pales in comparison to the devastating E-5 twister that ripped through Moore, Oklahoma this past Monday. I live in fear a tornado will come barreling through this city and wreak havoc and I will be homeless. My fear seems to intensify as I get older. I watched the videos and still shots of the tornado’s aftermath on my computer and the devastation was so horrific. There were so many interviews conducted with people left with nothing more than the clothes on their back – cherished mementos, a lifetime of memories, just reduced to rubble in the blink of an eye. There were stories of bravery, some which tore at your heart. I wept as I watched the older woman reciting her tale of the tornado’s appearance and destruction in her house, and while she was standing amidst the remnants of her home and lamenting the apparent loss of her little dog, who should poke its head out from beneath some boards during the interview? The woman cried out and said she asked God to spare her and her little dog and now she was granted both wishes. The loss of her home seemed inconsequential to her; she had her most-treasured possessions: life and her pet. And, how refreshing to hear positive stories about people banding together to collect money and items to send to Moore; sometimes mankind rises to the occasion, but sadly ofttimes it takes a disaster for people to shine doesn’t it? The news headlines are full of negative commentary about how we treat one other. Sometimes a life is treated like it has no worth. So sad. Perhaps Mother Teresa said it best: “If we have no peace, it is because we have forgotten that we belong to each other” … I know that quote sums up my this writer’s feelings. The people in Oklahoma are determined to rebuild and will stay on in that state in the very area known as Tornado Alley. Sometimes our people in our nation are more resilient than you could imagine. The people of Oklahoma are such folk. On the topic of resiliency, on a lighter note – I made an amazing observation during my walk today. I saw many broken Robin’s eggs laying on the sidewalks as I walked. I figured that the baby Robins hatched and the cracked eggshells remained in the nest and the little ones either got too big and knocked them out of the nest, or they blew out with the high wind velocity. Robin’s eggs are so easily recognizable with their pretty blue shell but what astounded me was how many eggshells, cleanly broken in a zigzag fashion, were laying intact on the ground … just perfectly cracked open but no other breaks and clean as a whistle. How resilient those pretty pastel eggshells are despite looking so fragile like a English bone china teacup? Imagine falling from those tall trees and not shattering? Those delicate eggshells were scattered everywhere I walked this morning. So they are not so fragile at all. I stepped around them as I was not going to be the one to spoil their beauty. They reminded me of several English bone teacup/saucer sets my grandmother gave me for long-ago birthdays. I prefer a mug but my mom and I said for years we were going to have a lazy Sunday and make a good pot of English tea and sip our tea from these fine, very thin teacup/saucer sets, and of course crooking our pinkies while doing so. Sadly, we never took the time to do this together, so I think I will put Twinings Earl Grey on my grocery list and have teatime. Scones anyone?

Shin splints split my stroll in half this a.m. I knew I probably overdid it this weekend, logging in about 6 ½ miles over two days, but I was all caught up in the high that walking brings. This Spring’s erratic weather cheated me out of many walking days in which I would have built up my daily walking distance a little more slowly so that three miles by late May would be a breeze. Today and the future forecasts are predicting some sticky humid temps and severe weather over the next few days, so it’s just as well I am not out walking and will plant to be back at it Thursday.

Today I trekked three-miles roundtrip to Meijer to pick up fresh produce which I packed into my schlep bag and my shoulder is feeling it tonight as I write this post. For years I carried a purse and a tote bag on the bus, gradually paring down to one backpack, thus easing the burden on my right shoulder. I much prefer walking with my hands and arms free but this was a mini-shopping trip via foot power rather than using the car. Despite it being early morn, many people zoomed by with convertible roofs down or windows cracked wide open, music blaring. I heard Adele belting out “Rolling in the Deep” enroute to the store, and that was an earworm for me until I was nearly home, then I heard the harmonious strains of the LPHS marching band, in perfect tempo, and so I stopped in my tracks, did an about-face, then marched over to Memorial Park to watch the in-progress Memorial Day parade. The crowd’s enthusiasm was contagious as the drum cadence intensified, almost-deafening at times, and the beginning of the parade drew closer. Young children, perched on parents’ shoulders, were giddy with excitement from the noise and they waved American flags or clutched yellow bows in tiny fists. Many parade goers were dressed in patriotic colors. An impressive group of over one hundred flags, all on eight-foot poles, and called “The Healing Field”, honored fallen servicemen and encircled the patio “quiet area” where the park benches offer a place to reflect and remember near the war memorial, cannon and bronze soldier’s boots and rifle. It is good to have a Memorial parade in our City again – far too many years Lincoln Park had no funds to sponsor this event. Throughout high school, I participated yearly in the parade by walking with other members of the American Field Service. I remember toting a flag holster which helped balance my huge and heavy flag. Somewhere, in my vast collection of old photos, someone snapped my picture hoisting my flag. The Memorial Parade always has featured a performance by the LPHS band and many band members had been high school buddies. I can still see Drum Major Pete Tirpak, clad in his huge bearskin hat and rigid chin strap, waving his baton wildly. After the parade, we’d all gather at the Bandshell and “Taps” was played and the frivolity turned to solemnity as heads were bowed in prayer for those lives lost. The Memorial Day Parade was the unofficial start of ensuring the front yard was in tip-top shape until November – picture perfect and nothing out of place because our street was where traffic was diverted from Fort Street. As I walked home, I calculated that it was forty years since I attended the parade; probably the last time I marched in it for AFS. Tempus Fugit.

Another peaceful promenade in Council Point Park this morning. I was up at 5:30 a.m. doing household chores so I deemed I’d earned my “me time” and thus headed out at 8:00 a.m. for a walk. I use the word “sketchbook” today for this blog post because my path through the Park reminded me of some photos and passages from a book entitled “Nature’s Sketchbook” by Dutch artist and author Marjolein Bastin. Bastin was featured in many Hallmark collectibles and my mom and I had several cardinal Christmas ornaments and we bought her greeting cards exclusively through the years. She was a naturalist whose soft-focus artwork entailed scenes of wooded or marshy areas, garden delights — butterflies, bees, bunnies, and various birds and their offspring. So, today as I walked through the park the trail evoked memories of so much of Bastin’s artwork. As I began the circular pathway, Canada geese milled about in the two baseball diamonds cackling noisily. Then, the ever-present Red-winged blackbirds perched on fallen trees, their warbling songs filling the air as I strolled past them. A few bunnies went bopping by in search of clover and high grass and I later caught up with them munching contently. It was a little breezy and I saw a mallard duck swimming solo in the rippled bend of the creek. My eyes were darting back and forth in search of the Canada Geese mates and their goslings. I peered through a thicket of bushes which turned out to be the familiar scent of honeysuckle. I breathed in deep, drinking in the intense aroma – mmmmm, so nice and very heady. And, then I saw them – the pair of geese with their goslings tucked into a small brush-filled alcove. The little ones were strutting about as their parents warily watched me and their offspring as well. Thankfully, I immersed my head amongst the honeysuckle blossoms or I surely would have missed the family, I scurried back to the footpath lest I should disturb them more than I already had. One the way home, I thought again about Marjolein Bastin and her work and recalled myself as a budding artist. When I was in my teens, I took art classes and we went on many trips to various Downriver venues to hone our sketching skills. The only medium we ever used was charcoals/pastels. I got pretty proficient with my charcoal and pastel renderings and I enjoyed the classes immensely. I have not thought about sketching and drawing in many years. I packed all my sketching pads, drawing tools and art books into my powder blue briefcase my parents bought when I graduated from college, and at that time I remarked to my mom that it was a hobby I would resume when I retired. She kind of harrumphed at that statement, but nonetheless surprised me one Christmas with an exquisite coffee table book entitled “A Sketchbook of Birds” ; I have occasionally paged through this book which details how to draw every type of bird imaginable. She had faith in me that I would put the book to good use, so as I write this, I am silently pledging to my mom that the first sketch I make will be in her memory. For now, I’ll quell the urge to retrieve my sketchbook and charcoals since soon my presence will be needed out in the garden to tend to the roses and butterfly bushes and unfortunately will be encroaching on my walking time as well. Perhaps in the Winter when I am hunkered down in the house, peering out the window at the mounting snow, I will start up again. Perhaps being the “artiste” will be as easy and enjoyable to pick up where I left off decades ago as it was to start writing this blog so many years after graduating from college with a journalism degree which has never been used. In the interim, I will just enjoy Mother Nature’s offerings “in person”. When I got home I flicked some cherry blossom petals that had landed in my hair, but the picturesque images I saw today were not to be as easily cast aside, but instead cherished as an interlude in my daily routine and to be carried in my mind until my next trip there. Likewise inspired by nature as is Marjolein Bastin, I will close this post with her quote below:

Those who look with their eyes and heart discover there is so much natural beauty around us to enjoy and admire.
I see every day as a new gift, full of new discoveries which I want to share with everyone through my artwork.
–Marjolein Bastin

Who went missing you ask? Answer: my feathered friends. The Ecorse Creek on the borderline of Lincoln Park and Wyandotte is now devoid of mallard ducks and Canada geese. In 2012, when I first began my walking regimen, my favorite daily walk was to the “the crick” just past River Drive. This 2 ¼ mile roundtrip trek beckoned me, and, unless I was running errands on foot, it was my daily place for a few minutes to enjoy these birds in a natural habitat. Plus, I was able to say that every day I walked to another city, since this bend in the Ecorse Creek rests right on the border of these two cities. I made sure to cross the bridge to get to the “Welcome to Wyandotte” sign. I often carried a bag of crusts of dried bread to toss onto the grassy banks of the creek or if a thin layer of ice had formed on the water, the bread chunks were tossed over the bridge and onto the hard surface. There were always “takers”, no matter what the weather and I was usually rewarded with some raucous squawking as each bird scrambled to grab a morsel. There were always large groups of geese in the water and on the bank area which butted up against the backyard of a church. The ducks were only in the water. Last Fall I noticed a bulldozer in the church backyard and on the sloped bank, as well as other heavy machinery. This Spring I noticed the bottom of the slope had a berm which looked to me that it was placed to prohibit any of the geese from congregating in the church backyard. Sure enough, my suspicions proved correct. Today was my third trip to the area and there are still no geese or ducks to be found. I am disappointed as now the only place to commune with the ducks and geese will be Council Point Park. I will continue to visit this serene spot, if only to pause on the bridge and take a breather before heading home; though the water is not crystal clear, it still evokes a feeling that you got away from the hustle and bustle of life, if even for a brief moment.