WALKIN', WRITIN', WIT & WHIMSY

After two weeks of fits and starts and trying to get out for a walk, I set out on what finally felt, and looked, like a Spring morning. Green was everywhere – the grass greened up (too much and now needs cutting) during the last two weeks’ non-stop rain pattern. All that rain put a kibosh on walking and made any available, non-raining day (or non-snowing day; yes, we even had snow and black ice on April 21st!!) transform into an errand day in lieu of a walk. I was feeling restless to get out and clear my head – alot of stuff has been happening between news events and the house maladies including a leaky faucet and kitchen light going kaput; all disruptive frustrations. I sprung out the door like a caged tiger getting released for good behavior. So “Animals” become the topic of the day and I have to grin as I write this. I got up super early this morning as I had an early dentist appointment and was trying to do things in the kitchen without a light and was determined to make some hard-boiled eggs for Buddy and me. I can’t use the stove during the day since Buddy sits too close on the left side due to the draft behind the cabinet and I have a floor lamp sitting to the left of the stove … consequently, I’ve been eating a lot of cold food the last two weeks. The Sandwich Queen is my new name. Anyway, Buddy’s eggs were bubbling and boiling away by 5:15 a.m. and I bustled about to ensure I was done and out the door by 8:00 a.m. I had my radio headphones and heard Rewind, a nostalgic, one-minute segment which celebrates the day’s events in the entertainment industry … today they played “Animal Crackers In My Soup” by Shirley Temple which she sang in the movie “Curly Top” … I’ve had an earworm with that song playing over and over all day long!! In fact I just listened to it on YouTube with the lyrics added to her dancing and prancing and singing – I really enjoyed the song and sang along with Shirley Temple for goodness sake. Buddy was even chirping and crooning happily as he tried to keep up with me. The song took me back – not a sad memory, but a funny memory of my mom. When we went grocery shopping when I was a toddler she always bought me a box of Barnum’s Animal Crackers. It was a small, oblong red and yellow box and had a pale pink carry string on the top; the sides of the box looked like the animals were in a cage. Back then, when we got home and after we packed away the groceries, we’d open the box and sort out and name all the animals and then divide and eat ’em and wash ’em down with a glass of milk. When I was older and doing the grocery shopping on my own, as a lark one day I brought my mom home the same Barnum’s Animal Crackers (the box style never changed and still hasn’t) and plunked them on the kitchen table. Fast forward how many decades? She opened the box and divvied them up between us so we had equal amounts of animals then we downed them with milk. From that time on, I bought us a box each grocery store trip and we’d do the same ritual. Only Barnum’s Animal Crackers would do. My mom would often sort and divide the animals while humming or singing a few stanzas of Shirley Temple’s “Animal Crackers” song … sweet precious memories. Here’s the link to the song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cntYIkuthYg

Is this a word?  Or is it a description that best describes how I feel these days?  I am upset that it has been nearly a fortnight since I enjoyed a long walk … and ten days since I wrote on this blog.  Both are therapeutic exercises for me.  I was enjoying the walking and the writing immensely and now feel no joy by my lack of participation in either activity.  My blog, at times, was leaning toward recollections and reflections, but that is okay – perhaps I should rename it?  Once sunrise was earlier again, I had hoped to increase my walking time and to annotate each walk with a thought – that was my hope anyway.  Last week the only nice weather days were used running errands and factoring in a small walk.  Same this week.  Walking clears my head and in an angst-filled week of terrorism and horrific explosions and poisonous letters, not just poisonous words but poisonous powder, being sent to our President, leaves me feeling very unsettled.  What a week indeed! Monday morning, across the United States, as we all awoke, our collective thoughts centered on if anything horrific happened overnight or in the pre-dawn hours via North Korea after many threats to launch missiles on April 15th. Whew!!! Everything was okay and as the day progressed and the U.S. was unscathed we all felt at ease and could relax. Then the horror of the bombings at the finish line of the Boston Marathon at 2:42 p.m. On Monday night after the bombings, President Obama reiterated that all Americans shall stick together and be as one – we are here for you Boston, he said; I felt somewhat hollow – I am not American.  I’ve lived here 47 years and as a Canadian I am as close to an American as imaginable, but times like these I can feel like an outsider.  I do feel like one of you though – I feel and grieve for those poor people who died, or lost loved ones, or lost limbs, and lost their very spirit and I have prayed for those who will endure a long climb back and know full well that their lives, their very psyche, will never be the same.  Such a tragic loss.  And the fertilizer factory explosion in Texas Wednesday night– another large loss of life, homes, businesses –  people missing and not yet accounted for.  Hopefully, this was not terrorism.  I woke up early this morning and while curled up in my bed with my radio headphones on, listened for several hours to news accounts of the killing of the first Boston Marathon terrorist but not before a young policeman lost his life.   Boston is on lockdown while authorities try to apprehend the other terrorist and question him, and try him if he is captured alive.   Once social media helped circulate the two bombers’ pictures, it was over for them.  Social media was good for something besides Facebook and Twitter utterings but yielded thousands of tips to the authorities after the pictures were posted.  All these events swirling around in the news this last week – the death of former Prime Minister Thatcher, the NRA and gun control legislation faltering and dying as I watched the news videos on my computer of tear-stained faces of the grief-stricken parents and siblings of the Sandy Hook Massacre.  I watched Gabby Gifford’s face mirror that of President Obama’s – clearly angry and asking why?  All these people touched by tragedy and whose lives will never be the same.  I need to clear my head but cannot go out today, but maybe writing it down here will help to erase some of the images that have collected in my mind and refuse to leave. The wind is raging outside and once again it is raining – could it be that God is weeping for what has become of mankind?

“It was a dark and stormy night; the rain fell in torrents” – everyone has heard this famous phrase from the 18^th century novel “Paul Clifford”.   I associate it more with Snoopy who pecks out that sentence while sitting at the typewriter atop his red doghouse.  Well, now it’s been a dark and stormy night, a dark and stormy day etc., etc. three times over.  Though I’ve peered out the window countless times willing the bad weather to go away, walking is just not going to happen again today.  I should go downstairs and ride my exercise bike and at least get the ol’ ticker going, but snuggling down under the covers and hitting the snooze alarm feels soooooooooooooo good.  I am a newshound and have my radio headphones right beside my bed.  The aggravating beeping of the alarm once again annoys me so instead I tap it off and grab the radio headphones to hear  what happened in the world since I went to bed.  I snuggle down deeper as another wave of this latest storm moves though; the thunder rumbles and the pelting rain drums on top of the patio roof  behind my head.  Another long rumble of thunder drowns out the news story and I think of my mom’s expression that “God is moving his furniture again” …  it sure sounds like it.  The meteorologists are as weary of giving the same forecast as we are of hearing it. 

Ever-present errands, miscellaneous and sundry things to do and even erratic weather all tap into “walking time”… well, they said it would rain this morning and it didn’t, so off I went to the allergist, Good Shepherd Church for my April candles and then walked the church block three times to sneak a quick mile and a half in before heading home and getting Buddy up, cleaned and fed and heading to “work”. “Work” is now defined as remoting into my desktop at the law office where I physically worked from February 1, 2003 until four years today. It was April 9, 2009 when I last sat in my secretarial chair at 5600 Stroh River Place in Detroit. Sometimes it seems like yesterday and sometimes it seems like a lifetime ago – it was a different life that existed then to be sure. I had a regular 9-5 job and now I work solely from home. People ask if I miss the camaraderie of an office or the routine. Nope – it does not bother me to work from home and I have Buddy for company, so it is not as though I lead a solitary existence. I speak or e-mail with my boss throughout the day. I do not miss the commute, the inconsistent people I rode to work with who became more unreliable every day so half the time I was forced to ride the bus which service deteriorated more every year. Since I didn’t work in downtown proper, I needed to take two busses each way to work. Half the time the City busses were late or a no-show, so often I took a taxi from Stroh Place to downtown – a one-mile walk, but in searing heat or a driving rain and no DOT bus, there were no other options…$10.00 one way. Now, I simply plunk myself down at the laptop and no commuting hassles. It allows me to be a bigger “Winter Wienie” than ever because I hate to drive in the Winter, so now I pick and choose my days to even embark on errands in the car. I am content with my work arrangement … it is a part-time job; no room for luxuries, but I do not want for anything anyway. People cannot understand that I don’t want TV., newspapers or magazines. I don’t need them. I have the Internet and everything you could need, want or desire can be found on the web … what more could anyone want? I don’t waste time on clothes, make-up – it is now the real me and what you see is what you get. (Smile) I was too vain back then anyway. For now I have my health and that is the most-important thing in the world. Having lived with my mom and her many medical problems, I have never taken my good health for granted. Good health is a gift … cherish it. Yes, life is good.

Raining cats and dogs right now. Time to build an ark because rain is predicted over the next four days. In fact, it won’t just be a spit here and there, but drenching rain and thunderstorms as well, or so the weather authorities say. It’s time to go on YouTube and find the old Bill Cosby “Noah and the Lord” routine where Noah, a carpenter, is recruited to build and then load up an ark with animals since forty days and forty nights of rain are a’comin’. Decades ago a childhood friend loved Bill Cosby and played his comedy album with this particular skit over and over ’til the grooves were nearly gone; I believe I had that Noah routine memorized. Smile. Speaking of critters, this a.m. I headed to Meijer to pick up some more broccoli for MY little critter, Buddy. During the Winter I plucked out a broccoli floret from my rainbow salad bag and offered it to Buddy who went crazy, devouring the entire floret. I now call him my Little Broccoli Boy. Buddy and I went through many bags of broccoli over this long, never-ending Winter. Meijer is always a safe haven for walking laps. Today, I walked four laps plus a hefty hike from the parking lot where I always park as far away as possible. At least today I didn’t feel like a tumbleweed. Yesterday, I packed my pedometer before setting out and walked 5,700 steps and the wind felt like it blew me all along my route. As the saying goes “March winds, April showers, bring forth May flowers …”. Well, that’s in a perfect world. In an imperfect world, you have blustery, Wintry winds all March, then forty degrees warmer today than last Monday and a warm breeze, then a week of showers … well, at least they are April showers. Then all this wet weather will bring on all the creepy critters who make my skin crawl both inside the house or outside. Bugs are the bane of my existence. I’d like to revert back to the cold but snow-free and rain-free climes from last week … I might get my wish as the weather prognosticators are calling for dramatically colder weather and yes, gulp, even the “S” word by week’s end. Nice. Real nice.

Sometimes I saunter by a corner house at Ferris and White Streets where the double garage is a man cave.  I knew it had to be a man cave the very first time I drove by and saw the navy garage door emblazoned with the huge yellow “M”.  The garage is surrounded by flowerless planters boxes where maize and blue wooden boards have been plopped onto the top where the blooms should be allowing for makeshift extra seating.  When the garage door is open, you get an up-close-and-personal look at the “M Man Cave” … it has low lights, carpeting, a huge bar, couch, comfy chairs and a big screen television.  Very manly for breaking bread with your buddies and drinking adult beverages.  There was no crying in their beer by the boys last night after the Wolverines’ victory over Syracuse Orange in the Final Four.  A similar camaraderie exists at the Yum Yum Donut shop every morning where a group of elderly gents gather to yak about the state of the world, rumors of shrinking Social Security and re-hashing our local sports teams’ ability or inability to get a “W” the night before.  Every swivel stool is filled and the waitress bustles about with refills of each mug since the slightly dry cruller has sucked up half the coffee after one swift dunk.  A daily fixture in the parking lot is a navy blue pick-up truck with a U of M bumper sticker.  I have decided it is Mr. “M Man Cave” himself who has convened and presides over the kaffeeklatsch, reminiscent of the circa 1950s housewives in the ‘burbs who gathered every morn for endless chitchat or to exchange complaints about their respective hubbies.

You can call it my sixth sense, perhaps possessing a nose for news or maybe I am just channeling my inner Angela Lansbury, but the disposition of a dilapidated bike’s owner mystifies me.  Since I’ve resumed walking, my two-mile trek takes me from home to Southfield Road and back.  Every day I pass a SMART bus stand and nearby tree to which a two-wheeled bike once was chained.  To clarify that last statement, when I first passed this bike some three weeks ago, it was in good condition and chained to the tree.  As time has passed, I’ve watched the back wheel, then the front wheel go missing, now just the main cross-bar remains in place –  I’m sure that, too, would be gone but for that remaining part which is still chained to the tree.  What mystifies me is that it was a multi-speed bike in good condition so obviously the owner left it there to take the bus.  Query:  Did he never complete the round-trip bus ride?  Did he forget he rode his bike to the bus stop that day?  Is he lying dead in some alley in the bowels of Detroit?  I prefer to think that he went to Motor City Casino, won big time and said to h*ll with the two wheels, I’m upgrading to a car.  A niggling bad feeling persists nonetheless.

DQ, a/k/a Dairy Queen, has a marquis touting their new Orange Julius flavors.  I’m thinking that a Blizzard might be the better beverage for DQ to crow about given the temps this morning.  Another brisk and blustery two-mile walk, as I pulled my scarf higher on my neck and huddled down into my coat; when I departed this morning it was barely about freezing.  As to DQ, despite the cute curl on the top, DQ was never my go-to place for an ice cream cone.  It never beckoned me like Bob Jo’s Frozen Custard in Wyandotte or Calder Dairy here in Lincoln Park, both which never failed to disappoint.  The first trip of the season to Bob Jo’s to savor the luxuriously smooth and silky custard was one of the annual rites of Spring for my mom and me.  Whatever was our first work day off after they opened, usually Easter Monday, we would go to  Bob Jo’s; any other time – evening, weekend, it was crowded in their small parking lot.  My mom was a purist and nothing but vanilla custard on a plain cone ever touched her lips.  Yours truly usually only opted for chocolate on a sugar cone, occasionally straying to the dark side and having a chocolate/vanilla twist…but NEVER rolled in sprinkles or coconut.  We only went about once a month, but it was well worth the trip.  While I don’t eat ice cream anymore, I could conjure up some wonderful memories of frequent jaunts to the delightful Calder Dairy.  Calder’s rich and creamy ice cream is made at their farm in Carleton and always a delicious treat.  A Calder’s ice cream cone, while kind of pricey, was essentially massive mounds of ice cream that nearly toppled out of its base and the varieties offered rivaled Baskin & Robbins’ famous 31 flavors.  People packed the place, lined out the door and snaked through the parking lot on a hot Summer night or a weekend.  A high school friend worked at Calder Dairy during the Summer while attending college.   She would pack a generous cone whenever she was working and we stopped by.  Once my grandmother was visiting from Toronto, and, if I shut my eyes now, I can still see her face when I handed her a triple-scoop peach ice cream cone.  It was a look of awe and she was still eating it nearly an hour later.  And, by the way, when did the Dairy Queen become “DQ”?  I know Kentucky Fried Chicken became “KFC” so the word “fried” was not in their trademark name, but I must’ve missed when Dairy Queen took on the moniker “DQ”.  I scream, you scream, we all scream for ice cream!

Yup, I have to say I couldn’t resist doing a hop, step and jump on a sidewalk during my walk today.  It seems alot of Easter chalk found its way into Easter baskets because I’ve seen rainbow-colored scribbles and scrawls on quite a few sidewalks.  While most of the chalk artists drew flowers and some lopsided-looking rabbits, someone (probably a parent) had drawn a hopscotch diagram…well, I couldn’t resist!  Afterward, I chuckled to myself when I remembered a neighbor about ten years ago who had her little boy lay spread-eagle on the sidewalk and she drew an outline around him.  I watched out of the corner of my eye, while he did likewise for her.  She was a little large for such an exercise and I thought he’d run out of chalk before the outline was completed.  Their sidewalk looked like a police crime scene for days until the rain came and washed it all away.

We never really grow up, we only learn how to act in public. – Bryan White

Today is National Walking Day, a relatively new commemoration of this great activity. Before I laced up my walking shoes I heard the radio announcer proclaiming that a mere one hour of brisk walking will increase your life by two hours. Well, that’s a great ratio and it’s a great pastime. Your only cost is a good pair of walking shoes, and maybe some type of vessel to tote some cool water as it gets warmer. The pedometer is not really necessary because you can just as easily map out your route on Google maps, but it is fun to know just how many miles you can rack up during a morning of running errands and just even walking around the house. You can strive to stride the 10,000 steps per day that Michelle Obama encourages, but that many steps is a whopping five miles! Feet, don’t fail me now!