WALKIN', WRITIN', WIT & WHIMSY

I was walking loops around Memorial Park today – the air was crisp and cool with all the feeling of a Fall day, with temps hovering in the mid-50s in this second week of June. While the sun worshippers stew, still others like me, are enjoying the refreshing cooler air, just perfect for walking or any outside sport. I know I racked up 2 ½ miles and felt cool as a cucumber when I got home. While walking the perimeters of both sections of Memorial Park, I watched in delight while a man and his golden retriever played in the park. The man unleashed his dog when he got to the park and the dog galloped around like a new foal’s first time in the paddock. I saw the man clutching a Frisbee in his other hand and he did not throw it right away. The dog, impatient with his master for taking so long to get going, nudged the Frisbee first, then put his nose near the man’s well-worn pants pocket, then finally sat down next to his master. The man was graying at the temples and similarly the golden retriever had a few silver streaks on his forehead and muzzle. They stood there companionably, a long-time master/dog combo to be sure, and I suspect this game of delaying of the Frisbee fun was a regular ritual. The dog gave a little bark and the man said “let’s go” and a second later a bright red Frisbee was sailing through the air. I watched this game of catch for about ten minutes. The golden was doing the job he is best suited for – searching and retrieving. Time after time he laid the Frisbee at his master’s feet. The dog was rewarded with an occasional Milk Bone treat from a stash in the man’s pocket; the man in turn, was rewarded with alot of wagging from a feathery tail and a short, somewhat impatient bark. Do you think dogs smile? You betcha! This dog was grinning ear-to-ear, tongue lolling and ears flying in the wind, just delighting in this game. Heck, it made me smile just watching him. The Frisbee was airborne again … going, going … gone.

A smile is just a frown turned upside down. I’m sure you have heard that phrase before. Perhaps your mom consoled you or cheered you up when you a child by saying those words and demonstrated a happy face by putting her fingers in the corner of her mouth until you made a big toothy grin. I don’t remember growing up with anything but a smile on my face; maybe I was just a happy child. I was an only child, and didn’t lack for anything, but I wasn’t spoiled either. Money wasn’t plentiful when I was growing up, but I never knew that until I got older. I was happy-go-lucky until age 10 when I was somewhat traumatized by the move to the United States because I had to say goodbye to my friends and I loved school. When I started school here in the U.S. in the Fall of ’66, I was placed in sixth grade and I found the schoolwork was way behind what I had learned several years before. I was very bored and I hated the teacher who ridiculed my Canadian accent, my use of Oxford English and my pronunciations of some words. Much to my chagrin, he made me read aloud to the class while he criticized me and my classmates howled in laughter. I despised Mr. Schreiber and was disgusted with my peers who often ganged up on me on the way home simply because I was different from them, i.e. a foreigner. The bullying continued in middle school on a near-daily basis in the girl’s bathroom at Huff Junior High, and this round still included a teacher, but this time I was paddled several times a week for things I never did or said. Many times on a whim, she would call me by my last name and say “out in the hall” and many times she paddled me based on the hearsay of my peers. Her class “pet” would report that while Ms. Barany was out of the room Linda Schaub did such incorrigible deeds as chew gum, throw spitballs, pass notes or talk while others were studying. The truth was I never spoke to anyone and stayed to myself, but that didn’t matter because the teacher returned, read the “list” and I was soon invited to step out into the hall and bend over. Then came the whack from her big paddle. While the paddle stung and smarted, “smart” was not the word that I was becoming, because while at Huff in seventh grade my grades dropped to an all-time low. My parents could not understand what happened because I was on the honor roll in Canada and double-promoted one entire school year. I had Ms. Barany for three and half hours a day: for English, History, Study Hall and Homeroom – it made my seventh grade school year intolerable. I muddled through each day the best I could and refused to tell my parents what happened at school and the kids never beat me up where bruises would be evident. One time they broke my glasses and my parents punished me for being careless and letting the frame break. My father had a volatile temper and I worried he would come to the school and all h*ll would break loose. On the Monday after Easter break, I went to school and before first period, Ms. Barany took me aside and said I would be expelled for making obscene telephone calls to her home on Easter Sunday. I asked to be escorted to the principal’s office where I called my mother and told her to have my father leave work right away and to come with him. We gathered an hour later – my father, not unexpectedly, exploded in anger alternatively between the principal, teacher and then me for not saying anything to him. My whereabouts on Easter was corroborated by my parents and also by a phone call with neighbors whom had invited our family to their house for the holiday dinner. So, it was not me, but my teacher, who was forced to end the school year that day. She did not return while I was still at Huff Junior High. Finally, the taunting by teachers and relentless pummeling by my peers was over.

I bring this story up because the whole event tarnished my school days from the Fall of 1966 through the Spring of 1968. Now, I cringe every time I hear the public service announcements on how to stop or report bullying. Especially poignant is the radio ad with teens talking about their rough times at school and the name calling by their peers. I empathize with the many kids who have to deal with school bullies. It ain’t fun. I think it is worse now because of social media. If kids were hurtful 45 years ago, imagine a world today when bullying is not just physical, but oral, or written, showing up as videos or posts on social media. Teenagers commit suicide nowadays, not only because of pictures or words on social media, but because they deem themselves unpopular because they lack as many Facebook friends as their classmates. It is a sad commentary on our society. These painful school days, or maybe I should say school “daze”, are fresh in my mind since walking past Hoover Elementary School on Tuesday and then past the Lincoln Park Middle School and High School yesterday, I glanced at and studied the faces of the many school kids I saw. It seemed to me the only kids who showed spirit, who were laughing and jumping around, and acting like “kids” were those at the elementary school. They were in high spirits in anticipation of their school day. The school bell rang at 8:00 a.m. and they streamed into the door, just unencumbered by anything but being a kid. Often, while walking, I come face-to-face with groups of teens enroute to school. They walk as a group, or some alone, and there is no laughter. They walk together, yet are alone – they are looking down at their phones half the time. And when they are not looking down they have a sullen look – an attitude. Why do all these kids look so d*mn angry? Why does it seem that every one of them is wearing a hangdog look? Why are perpetual pouts pasted on their young faces? Why are they wearing a scowl? What are you all so angry about? Their swagger and attitude belies their age. Where are the joyful expressions that these youths should be wearing since school is out in one week and a long vacation is just around the corner? Looking at these kids, day after day, makes me want to drag out the tired old expression from my father that was given ad nauseum whenever I complained about homework or tests. The perpetual lecture given to me was that “school is easy, you’ve got it made right now, so enjoy it while you can; just wait until you are an adult in the cold, cruel world” … well, that was probably the sole piece of advice that I ever received from my father. Once the cruel antics of my teachers and classmates stopped, I was finally free to enjoy the rest of my school years unhindered by those idiots who tormented me. I never again became the stellar student that I was in Canada – a culmination of all these events recited above never brought my scholastic aptitude back to that point, and I was just an average student going forward. But, all this heartache aside, I was never sullen or ornery and school was just one of those rites of passage that you had to do. I just shake my head as I look around me and wonder why this perpetual chip on the shoulder permeates the attitude of our young people? I saw students being dropped off by parents and before the car pulled up, the kids seem to sit in a semi-catatonic state, next to their parent, never even talking. The car stops, they hop out, slam the door and away they go – not even as much as a “goodbye” or “thank you” escapes their lips. Some kids want to be dropped off blocks before – that I see as well. I guess the lack of civility in the world bothers me a great deal because I would have never had the nerve to brush off or ignore my parents and “get away with it” so I conclude that respect is lacking in our world today. Kids walk along the street, either tuned in to their iPod or texting away, oblivious to the world around them. They walk along, hoodie-encased heads down and shoulders hunched. Yet, many times as I walk in the morning, older people pass on the sidewalk and there are always greetings and salutations. There is often a quick exchange of pleasantries, a comment on the weather or some similar topic. Maybe the art of conversation has been relegated to the older set now, and I include myself in that group. I shudder to think of the future young people after they are launched into the world and must meld into the workplace and interact face-to-face instead of via a digital device. It is indeed a scary thought. There is too much dissatisfaction among the masses. I think a lot of people take life for granted. I am reminded of a newspaper clipping my mom tore out and gave to me many, many years ago. She told me to read it and carry it around with me and one day there would be occasion to hand it to someone to “smarten them up” with a little advice. My mom was always dispensing wisdom but this little gem said it all. I folded it up and carried it in my wallet for years until it literally fell apart, but I have tracked this verse down on the internet and am putting it below this post. I wish everyone could read it and abide by it.

P.S. Before I climbed upon my soapbox to write this post, I managed to squeeze in a two-mile walk today, all the while fretting and stewing as I meandered along while trying to make sense about life’s SUPPOSED inequities. (Smile)

“The World Is Mine”
Today upon a bus I saw a maiden with golden hair.
I envied her, she seemed so happy. I wish I was so fair.
Then suddenly as she rose to leave, I saw her hobble down the aisle.
She had but one foot and used a crutch, as she passed she gave a smile.
Oh, God, forgive me when I whine. I have two feet, the world is mine.
Then I stopped to buy some sweets. The lad who sold them was kind.
He said to me, “It’s nice to talk to folks like you.”
“You see”, he said, “I’m blind.”
Oh, God, forgive me when I whine. I have two eyes, the world is mine.
And then I saw a girl her eyes so blue. It seemed she knew not what to do.
I said to her, “Why don’t you join the others, dear?”
She looked ahead without a word, then I knew she had not heard.
Oh, God, forgive me when I whine. I have two ears to hear, the world is mine.
With feet to take me where I go,
With eyes to see the sunset glow,
With ears to hear what I would know,
Oh, God, forgive me when I whine, I’m blessed indeed, the world is mine.
–Unknown–

During Tuesday’s walk, I saw a passel of cars loaded to capacity with teenagers hanging out every available window. Each occupant’s head was adorned with a blue mortarboard and attached orange and blue tassel swinging to and fro. It seemed each kid tried to out scream the next. I heard shouts of “we’re free at least!!!”, “no more school” and “we’re outta here now” plus similarly scrawled messages, including “Class of 2013”, were painted all over their cars. There was much maniacal honking in between the screaming – mayhem indeed. Lincoln Park High School seniors are ready to graduate. In fact, commencement is tonight. I may have wanted to plug my ears with my fingers, but it was not all that long ago that I indulged in the same crazy behavior. Ahem, well a mere four decades ago!! We had our clique of six inseparable school chums through the latter years of high school and we similarly celebrated the end of our LPHS days and were equally raucous and rowdy. Best buddy Sheila Howard borrowed her dad’s gold Montego and we collectively emblazoned every available inch of that car with LPHS’ school colors of orange and blue, splashed our school motto, our names, flowers – you name it, everywhere. We all kicked in for gas money and spent hours riding up/down Fort Street honking at all our class members – there was a helluva lot of honking going on because we had 613 in our graduating class … that was the June class alone. Our class had weathered six long years together ,three at Huff Junior High and the last three at Lincoln Park High School. We spent more time together as a group in the last week, then we probably spent in every assembly, talent show, school dance, queuing up on Bagel Day, etc., etc. There was Senior Skip Day on Friday, June 8th which was an all-day trip to Cedar Point; Baccalaureate on Sunday, June 10th in the school auditorium and lastly, the Senior Banquet was held Monday, June 11th . The Banquet was a chance to dress up in our finery, flaunt our best manners and break bread with our classmates in a grown-up setting, instead of the round tables in the LPHS cafeteria. Finally, the big day was upon us. We had so many seniors participating in commencement we had to go to Cobo Hall. It was a sickening hot evening and little if no air conditioning was present. I unzipped my gown a bit for some air as I awaited the “S” names to be called. Then the zipper got stuck and panic set in. Just before my name was announced, four people managed to put the zipper back on the track and I got myself together enough when I heard “Linda Schaub” to march across the stage in my three-inch platform shoes. (I needed those – I was already five feet nine inches tall.) After our graduation ceremony ended, with tassels flipped to the left side, the entire class headed back to the high school for our All-Night Party. We ate, we danced and we watched “Play Misty for Me” (us girls swooning over Clint Eastwood all the while). We were running on empty by then. Soon, after a night of cheers and a celebration of our years together, it was time for tears as the sun came up and our group gathered together to say our goodbyes as we uttered “Go Rails!!” on last time.

I’ve been thinking alot about high school the past month. Plans are in the works for our class’ 40-year reunion. I’m not interested to go at all. My five closest friends and I planned a five-year reunion of just us in the Fall of 1978 which turned out to be a debacle. In those days social media and cell phones didn’t exist and we soon lost touch with one another after being inseparable through school. During school, we had spent many evenings discussing how we would stand up in each another’s weddings or would name our first-born children after one other – I say this laughingly because three of the six of us were named “Linda” so it wasn’t an entirely impossible feat. At our reunion, we thought, rather stupidly, that we could duplicate one of our usual school-time Friday night events (dinner and a movie) as a great way to get together, reminisce and catch up. Sadly, we didn’t have enough in common to fill an entire evening of conversation. So, no – I won’t repeat that exercise by going to my high school reunion. In fact, recently one of my Facebook buddies who “friended” me last year posted an inquiry for all to see as to whether I would attend our reunion. I wrote him a private message back that I was not interested to see anyone and had not attended any of the prior reunions and he should not take that answer personally. Now, Bob and I had not communicated before now – we merely “friended” one another through Facebook, via old classmates. So we kibitzed a bit; Bob told me about his successful career, then asked what I was doing career-wise. Funny, but that seemed like an unusual question to me since most people who know me are aware I never fulfilled my dream of becoming a journalist (although perhaps this blog helps to fill that void – better late than never!!). No problem with the question – after all we had not been in touch for forty years. Well, I’m not embarrassed to say that I did not pursue my dream. You’ll not hear any apologies from me; no angst or inner turmoil exists in how I make my living, however, for some reason I did feel a little deficient when hearing about Bob’s career accomplishments versus mine. I am content with how my life has turned out – good health trumps wealth and is more important to me; all the money or prestige in the world cannot give you excellent health. As to school, you cannot put a price on education and no one can take your years of education away from you. That said, if someone were to ask me to impart some wisdom to the LPHS Class of 2013, it would be to follow your dreams and aspirations and never lose your spirit in the process. My spirit is still intact. At the end of this post are some of the highlights from MY commencement program.
Today’s walk marked the same trek I travelled circa 1970 to 1973, 2.4 miles round trip from home to my old stomping grounds and back. In fact, Huff Junior High was a mere stone’s throw away from the high school, so that round trip would have been about two miles. Six years, for nine months each year, I traipsed through snow, ice, rain, searing heat and similar inclement weather. No car ride for this kid. No wonder I was so skinny back in those days!! As I passed by LPHS today there was an aura of excitement in the air. The marquis touted tonight’s commencement. A few capped-and-gowned students were milling about, not clustered on the front steps as we might have done; now a six-foot high iron fence stands in the front part of the school. Times have certainly changed, but the exhilaration of new beginnings and the rest of your life stretching before you like an empty canvas has not. Also timeless – this morning I noticed the huge rock in the front of LPHS, which has had layers upon layers of orange and blue paint, still stands there festooned with the flourishes and comments by the graduating seniors….until the same time next year.
Class flower: Rose of Peace.
Class Colors: Navy Blue and Powder Blue.
Class Song: “Stairway to Heaven” by Led Zeppelin.
Class Theme: “Beginnings” by Chicago.
Class Saying: “Run through the fields, be happy and free, we’re the class of ’73.”
Class Motto: “A million tomorrows shall all pass away ‘ere I forget all the joys that were mine today.”

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.