Just Trying for a Picture

As I was enjoying my daily constitutional this morning, I reflected on how pretty nature can be even in the big city. The wispy red clouds which greeted me as I left my house were sublime; a thin mist held sway just above the grounds of nearby Wayne State University. A few minutes later I noticed the morning Sun shining straight down Warren Avenue, wonderfully illuminating even the asphalt pavement in a yellow glow. I decided to try to get a picture of that.

Taking out my phone, I tapped on the camera icon. I sought the best angle for the shot without the bright Sun obliterating the scene. Too much Sun and you wouldn't see anything; it would overpower the lens. Once or twice I tried but things weren't quite right. A third attempt seemed to offer the best picture. 

As I began to take it, other sweet morning sounds came to my ears. There was the blaring of a bugle which may have been a car horn; there was an earnest voice which offered, "Hey old man! Get out of the street you're gonna get killed!"

So maybe morning rush hour traffic isn't the right time to catch nature's beauty. At least not in the middle of Warren in the city of Detroit.

Near and minor injury

Getting older means, among other things, being more careful about little stuff. Stuff such as picking up your feet when you walk.

Hiking around the neighborhood the other day I nearly went end over end when I hit my left foot against a slightly high section of sidewalk. I managed to keep my balance, not falling even though I took a couple drunk looking steps regaining my balance. Laughing as I got back to walking properly, I reminded myself that, particularly as Woodbridge and the Wayne State University area have their share of uneven walks, I really should pick up my feet as I go along. Or at least pay better attention to where I'm headed.

But wait, there's more. As I took my glasses out of my pocket when I arrived at the old barn with morning exercise over, I pinched my finger between the earpiece and the lens as I went to put them on. I tell you I drew blood. Putting my glasses on. Can you imagine that?

I would should you but it's my middle finger and, you know, decorum.

Technicalities

One of the things I like best about this time of the year is that I can take my morning constitutionals early. Why, as early as 5:30 AM in fact, about the time I'm typing this out. But this morning I can't walk.

Well, I can walk. I walked from the bedroom to the library to the computer to hammer out this thing. But there's a thunderstorm, and the radar indicates that rain will last for several more hours here in the D. So I'm taking a weather break. I've walked eight days in a row before now, so a day off isn't tragic.

And why would you have thought I couldn't walk? Just don't try it while chewing gum. It's a challenge.

Good Mornings

This is just about my favorite time of year for my morning walks. It's warm, and you can start early as dawn begins around 5:30. In da U.P., Michigan's Upper Peninsula - I'm sorry, Michigan's glorious Upper Peninsula - you can be out before 5 AM and it's light enough to see.

Yep, I like walking this time of year. I surely do.

Go on now, that's all you're getting out of me today. I have to walk the walk.

Not just for chips

Yesterday for the first time ever, I walked in February.

Well, all right, I have walked in February before. Routinely in fact. But it was stuff such as walking to the kitchen for chips. 

Yesterday I walked in February for exercise for the first time ever. February mostly is too cold, icy and snowy to allow walking, at least at the faster cadence of a walk which I employ when exercising. When I walk I hoof it: meandering isn't enough when you're on a mission. You've got to move, buster.

Winter had been mild enough that I had been walking until around the third week of January, which is unusual in itself. But as it's 36 right now, with a real feel of 36 (imagine that: 36 degrees when it is actually 36 degrees) and the sidewalks cleared of the recent snows, I'll be out walking again in about an hour. Then it's off to my Sunday adventures with Mom. Who knows what treasures await us at the Ollie's Bargain Outlet in Monroe? 

So I will be walking. In February. Twice. And not just for chips, although it is far too early in the day to rule that out.

 

The standoff

You know how people, when driving, never quite know how to react when four cars come together at the same moment at an intersection where every direction has a stop sign? There's those precious few seconds where everyone is eyeing everyone else, waiting. Then one guy creeps up at the same time as another, so they both stop. Finally everybody is waving everybody else through, and it all snowballs until someone decides to hell with it, I'd rather crash my car than sit here being polite. With one car gone there is an audible sigh of relief from the other three, as now there's a reference point and everyone can go about their business. You know how that is, right?

Thanks to the corona virus (don't fret, I'm not going to rant about t today per se) I had the experience of such an instance while walking this morning. With social distance and what all, I have learned to watch ahead for other walkers, joggers, and those who have their dogs on a morning constitutional, and cross the street well ahead of time to avoid each person, as even near contact means certain death to us (okay, I'll rant a tiny bit). Others apparently do that for me too. Although I do realize that they tended to cross the street ahead of me before the virus struck, now that I think about it.

Anyway, that all works well. Until today. Today I had the experience of four of us coming from each direction about to meet at a corner. At that point the car stop scenario came into play.

Initially I began to slow my gait, intent on waiting for the others to pass. Yet each seemed to be doing that exact thing for me and the other two as it were. We all slowed until facing each other from four corners at Commonwealth and Warren Avenues. And we stood. And we stared.

The glances were next flying about as four sets of eyes (actually six as one young woman had her dog) studied the all others, none of us with any real clue what to do. We weren't masked and that's too bad. We might have seemed like a recreation of the O.K. Corral or an old west bank robbery if our faces were half covered.

Someone broke and took a step precisely before someone did. That caused them each to stop and take a turn back. The dog looked about as though we were all stupid. The staring, the watchful glances, began anew.

I finally did what a car cannot do easily. I turned around and went back from whence I came. I still had a few blocks to go to make my quota anyway.

The sigh of relief from behind me was indeed audible as I retraced my steps, the remaining three happy to have an exit strategy with an open corner available. And I'm going to get back to starting my walks at 6:30 when there ain't so many people about.

Every Marty's a comedian, or, every comedian's a Marty

As I strode out of my neighborhood dollar store yesterday I heard the sound of a man's raucous laughter. Then I heard, "Hey, hey!"

I turned towards the call and pointed at myself. "Me?" I asked stupidly of this fella standing about 50 feet away.

"Yeah you. You look like that comedian, uh, what's his name. Don Rickles. You look like Don Rickles."

"O-kay. Thanks, I guess," I responded.

"No, no, not him," the guy began again. Apparently thinking deeper he decided, "Jack Benny. That's right, Jack Benny. You look just like him."

I just laughed and got into my van and drove home. I'm still not sure what his intentions were.

What a hockey puck though.

Internal argument

I took my usual morning walk about an hour ago. But I argued with someone as I walked. Myself.

I lumbered the four blocks to Wayne State University's athletic fields, which I typically make a circle or two of as I go. They're about a mile around so a couple loops takes up a big chunk of my daily grind. I arrived at the corner of Warren and Trumbull and began hiking east along Warren.

"What are you doing?" my internal voice asked me, vaguely panicked.

"Taking my walk?" I responded to me questioningly.

"I know that, but what are you doing?"

"What do you mean what am I doing?"

"You're going counterclockwise!"

"Yeah, so?"

"We go clockwise around Wayne State!" my voice demanded of me.

"So I'm doing it differently. Big whoop."

"But, but..."

"But what?"

"But we go clockwise around Wayne State!" insisted me.

"Who is this we? It's just me and, and, me."

"You know what I - we - mean. We go north on Trumbull and, you know, clockwise. It's what we always do."

"Not always," I responded smugly to that guy in my head who sounded a lot like me, as I continued resolutely eastward on Warren.

So I walked around WSU counterclockwise. Twice. But now I'm wondering if maybe I should have went clockwise. If maybe I ought to retake my walk.

But I hate being told I told you so.

Going where?

I'm late. I should have been out the door a half hour ago. Instead I'm writing to see where this leads.

That's the nice thing about Sundays though. I don't have to take my walk super early because I have time. No getting exercise out of the way just to get to the Shop for a head start on the work day. Just hang around until I decide, okay, time for a walk. Then I take that walk.

I believe I'll head out about seven. Not exactly seven, about seven. Seven's a good time, take a walk, get a paper, maybe a cinnamon roll, have a coffee and read the comics. Yeah, that sounds like a plan.

Where was I going with this?

Watch your step

Of all the troubles in the United States today, of all the troubles in the world at large, I just had one of the scares of my life come from one of God's furry little creatures. On my walk this morning I was threatened very definitively by a raccoon.

I came around a corner and heard this violent hissing. At first I couldn't see what or where it was and took another step. Then I heard it again and, looking around and finally down, this raccoon was letting me know in no uncertain terms that my presence was most unwelcome.

That scared me. There was that instant where I didn't know what to do: do I run, do I keep walking, do I back off, what? The animal leaned back into the hedge it was up against and hissed further warnings so that I about half expected it to pounce. I noticed no foam at the mouth, which I thought good. But how much that would matter if it actually attacked I don't know.

After a long second or two where I had momentarily stopped I simply altered my course and crossed the street at an angle, my head cocked around to keep an eye on the animal. It hissed one final time and slid back into the hedge. That was fine by me.

Perhaps I had startled a momma concerned for her kids. I in fact assume that, for if it was rabid, well, I'd likely be in Harper Hospital just now. And you wouldn't hear about this until tomorrow. For me, I'm simply happy I didn't take one more step forward. I'll surely avoid that particular hedge the next few days as well.