It's a delicious sort of day out there; the world is wedding cake white.
As usual, I delight in winter. Though the season is young, the city's been challenged by four inches of snow, then a thick ice slice, topped by more snow -- a formidable sandwich. Shifting it has been quite a job. Two strong young men with shovels keep access to my driveway and garage possible.
As I crunched out to admire their efforts, and to dump trash, a very big, sparkling clean, black four-door sedan, with a very small, warmly bundled elderly lady at the wheel, crept down the alley and, with great deliberation, stopped next to me. The car was put carefully into "park." Then, after a small search, the woman located, and pressed, a button.
Soundlessly the window lowered, and she leaned toward me, politely. "Hello, dear; can you reassure me that I'm heading for Munson hospital?" There was an opened city map on the seat.
Before I could respond, she continued, "There is one thing: please direct me via the alley system. I try to avoid busy streets, as I don't always have enough time to make decisions; people are whizzing about, impatient, wanting me to move faster. These alleys are much more peaceful.
''And interesting. I can go slowly; no one minds. In fact, residents wave their thanks. Traverse City has a wonderful network of alleys that I suspect are under-appreciated as throughways for the slower set."
Huh. Fascinating thought. I'd never considered them in this way before.
She went on. "I'm eager to arrive there; I'd love to manage it before 1 o'clock."
Oh, no. Was someone very ill, and perhaps scheduled for surgery? She did look slightly anxious.
I leaned in and explained that she could continue as she was going; the alley opened onto Division.
From there she could cross, then continue along a fairly quiet Sixth Street until she saw the hospital; it would be impossible to miss.
Looking pleased, she made minute adjustments to the mirror, straightened her hat and said, "I don't travel to faraway places anymore; I'm too old. But I still love mini-adventures. Alley exploration exactly suits me. I see things people miss: Cats, and dogs with coats -- one lady had fashioned boots for her dog, Hector."
She laughed at that name choice.
"Parents pull children on bright sleds (my father used to do that with me). Plus, I view old homes from an entirely different perspective." Her face lit up. "Once, I saw a fox crossing! One Sunday, quite early, a raccoon family stopped to let me pass; they'd been inspecting garbage cans. That was a while ago ... it gave me the idea for these little adventures. I use hardly any gas, and Tom's happy the car is driven."
Seeing my interest, she carried on.
"My grandson gave me Tank -- he calls this car a tank because it's so solid -- to use for my forays; it IS a comfort, I confess."
She looked at me, her eyes shining, and said, "I'm 90 years young, still curious, still able. Today I've planned a visit to the hospital's cafeteria for a light lunch. My friend recommends their lemon meringue pie. But I mustn't arrive after 1 o'clock; pie pieces vanish.
''I still have plenty of time, though. Afterward, I'll explore their gift shop for intriguing stocking stuffers. It's such a nice day for an 'alley-venture.' I usually wind up in interesting places. Merry Christmas!"
She smiled her thanks, rolled up the window, put the car in gear, and moved slowly away, missing nothing.
Who says 90 is old?
Dee Blair has cultivated her English secret garden at Sunnybank on Sixth Street in Traverse City for 15 years. Open to visitors in season, the garden is now closed. She will write throughout the winter, and can be reached care of the Record Eagle, or via e-mail at dblair@voyager.net. Also, see her blog, which often elaborates on columns, at http://blogs.record-eagle.com.
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