I left Sunnybank's front door clutching my errand list, and meandered along Sixth Street, noting snoozing mallard pairs on the neighbors' lush, green, sun-lit lawns.
Grinning, I quacked quietly at their indifferent backs, then gleefully recalled a fascinating factoid: Donald Duck comics are banned in Finland -- because he doesn't wear pants! I nearly died laughing, having stepped into traffic after looking dutifully -- the wrong way! It was a near thing. The horrified driver stood on his brakes and shouted, "Are you nuts?!" while I stood there, gaping. Idiot! I'd come safely home to the U.S., only to be nearly flattened by a two-ton car while giggling about "The Donald" running a-fowl of Finnish political quacks.
That near-hit got my attention: when walking, I'll focus on American traffic patterns. Silly thoughts of ducks in pants will be (temporarily) banned.
Speaking of cars, and confusion, I've just remembered a curious incident.
One morning an electrician rewiring our cottage in England had to pop out for a part, but my car blocked his. "I'll move it for you," he said. Paint-spattered, and high on a ladder, that suited me. He got in, turned the key, then actually broke into a sweat when he discovered it wasn't a stick shift. The car jerked and hopped as his left foot pumped the brake, and his right foot pressed the accelerator while he shifted the protesting gears. It was too much. Exiting hastily, he returned the key. "YOU do it. I could never drive one of those; I'd ruin it, or get distracted and cause an accident. Automatics are too confusing."
I was amazed.
(The vast majority of cars in Britain are stick-shift models.)
Anyway, while reorienting, which takes a day or two, friends have driven me to appointments. Yesterday, I walked all the way home from the dentist's office, from up M-22. I found 62 cents on the sidewalk, admired Grand Traverse Bay's elegant swans and diving, noisy ducks (all without clothes), while subliminally relearning American traffic rules.
Passing Tom's Market I popped in to purchase a cinnamon roll. Walking through the parking lot I noticed a mother and grandmother trying to round up four small, rambunctious children to buckle into their car seats. Mountainous folded clothes sat in stacked plastic laundry baskets, which were squeezed into their car. Seeing me, Gran looked startled, then grinned. "Oh, I remember you; you were the topic at dinner two months ago. Where do you get your ideas?"
I thanked her happily, visibly puffing up, while mentally reviewing my columns. Which one ...? Expertly corralling another youngster, she went on, "You're really clever, you know, pulling tons of laundry through snow and ice to your car without breaking a sweat, using bungee cords to connect your three baskets. Inspiring! That idea changed how my daughter and I manage laundry. I've got four grandkids, you know, including triplets. My washer collapsed ages ago, along with my back. Now, leaving the laundromat, we just hitch four baskets together, settle the kids in with the folded clothes, and 'pull the train.' Easy as pie! Thanks!"
Waving, they drove off, honking.
Staring after them I downed the last bit of roll, and licked my fingers thoughtfully. It wasn't me they'd remembered.
Walking along I reflected that the elderly, white-haired, but still vigorous Donald doesn't duck helping his mischievous nephews, triplets Huey, Dewey and Louie, but never does the laundry. His life is simpler.
Finally, featherheaded Fins have forgotten that Donald Fauntleroy Duck (who has an occasionally explosive temper) always wears a swimming suit.
Dee Blair's Sunnybank Gardens officially open today at 325 Sixth St. in Traverse City. Check the sign out front for hours. Visit her Web site, www.deeblair.com for more information. Find more of her columns online at record-eagle.com/deeblair.
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