5:34 PM
I just barely caught the 84 home. It is stopping all the way over by
the MacDonald's on Madison as it's layover spot, instead of right in
front of Riverbank because of road construction. I see now that I
could also walk up to Davern and St. Paul for 5:35.
And that is where I should get off. Am thinking that this calls for
schlepping a bicycle.
This morning I got on the wrong 84, thr "H" instead of the "D." Once
he understood my plight, the bus driver made a valiant effort to get
me back across the river to a rendezvous with the "right" 84, doing
forty-five across the Ford Parkway bridge. Still missed the bus. But I
walked from "The Village" to work, and that was fine. The weather this
morning was gorgeous, as it isw now.
The minivan is listed as needing $2500 of repairs. If it weren't for
the need of a vehicle for Madeline, I think this would make the
perfect time to bail. A life of owning and operating a minivan with
100,000-plus miles on it is otherwise not my idea of a life
worth living.
8:27 AM
This is a lack of planning and understanding. I got on a 84H--no good.
I now understand that "H" is for Hiawatha. "D" is for Davern. I wanted
Davern, which is the street where my work is. Instead I went all the
way across the river to the "Hiawatha" light rail station at 46th Street.
Okay. I officially give up. Trying to figure out the bus schedule on
the Pocket PC while riding on the bus doesn't work. Close, but it is
not quite there.
But I am trying it. The route and schedule of going to the Y and back
on the 21, and then catching the 84, with the 84 home from could
amount to a substantial block of time on the bus. Unpleasant in so
many ways--currently as it is loud and bumpy.
The transfer is automatically calculated on the card I am using, so
that is good to know and simple. Realized when I sat down that I need
to ask where to get off for my work because of the road construction.
Watching the bouncing PDA is giving me a headache. If the bus is not a
good place to write, then I become much less interested in riding.
10/20/07
5:38 PM
The data connection here outside of Nevis doesn't exist. I got paged
from my co-worker Jim, but have no idea when or why. Only know that
for him to page me is rare.
On Friday morning when I went to Nina's, I took this picture of the
Statue of Liberty.
<INSERT PIX STATUE OF LIBERTY>
When I got home from the Y and Nina's on Friday, I took some pictures
in the backyard. The birch tree is the birch tree in need of trimming.
<INSERT PIX BIRCH>
A COUPLE OF "B" roll photos are of the back step
<INSERT PIX BACK STEP>
And the dual watering cans--
<INSERT PIX water cans>
(I publish everything I got, man.)
Here's the view from the back of the minivan, as if no one knows what
that view looks like--
<INSERT PIX minivan>
Ideally, I should be getting a thousand words out of each of these
pictures. Don't seem to be quite up to that standard.
But here is the picture of Madeline and her "O.M.G. Becky" shirt. Madeline was walking
in the hall of Junior High, the hall was really crowded. (Madeline,
who just came in the room where I am sitting and writing this, wants
me to make sure that you understand that this is a large school--four
hundred students per grade--and is a racially and culturally diverse
school.) So, she ran into this black guy, sort of accidentally bumped
into him with her shoulder, and then he, in mock horror, stood back
and raised his arms up in the air and said, in a high-pitched,
white-girly voice "oh my god, Becky!" In this context, "Becky" to be
understood as a generic white-girl name.
That was eighth grade. Fast-forward to the beginning of ninth grade.
Madeline has moved on to a new high school. One weekend with friends
from her old Junior High, she is with a group that is tie-dying. And
someone creates this shirt for her, harking back to the eighth-grade
incident.
And I've had the idea for this narrative for a while, and just now got
to taking the picture.
I also want to send it to Alan, who just married Becky, with a
comment--"Co-incidence?"
10/19/07
8:09 PM
In my in-law's in-laws vacation home waterbed. (Heated, no less!
Remember unheated waterbeds?) this has been a lot of writing--riding
the bus, back of the minivan. Lots of words of dubious value.
5:13 PM
Right after I got in the back, I got a GPRS network connection. That
was great. I don't think I have ever been on a GPRS network before. I
was able to see my Google Docs, which was a first.
A young fellow came to look at trimming trees in our backyard. He came
at 8:00 AM. Dorothea asked that I be there to take part in the
consultation. I begged off, saying that because I was taking a
vacation day, I was looking forward to lingering at the Y and Nina's.
The idea of having to be home by 8:00 AM saddened me greatly. I told
Dorothea that I trusted her judgement completely. My requests were
that
Tree branches not rub against the house
Tree branches not interfere with our neighbor's telephone line--which
cuts diagonally over our backyard
Tree branches not force me to duck as I walk about.
Dorothea said that the guy was a cute hunk. In his thirties and from
Frogtown, he looked as if he'd be more at home in northern Minnesota.
His philosophy was off making only small changes and not doing
anything drastic.
The birch tree is the one in most need of trimming. It is old for a
birch, but could be around for a long time if properly cared for,
according to our young arborist.
When discussion with the tree trimmer turned to the maples that
Dorothea got from her brother Thomas, Dorothea said that she began to
cry. She told the young arborist that she had trimmed one of the
maples, and that it died. A month later, her brother Thomas died.
4:01 PM
Now I am in the way back seat of the minivan. We're on our way up to
Akekey to stay at the vacation home of my sister-in-law's in-laws. The
weather: Cloudy, cool, and windy. In the city and to its immediate
north and west, we drove through intermittent rainshowers, some heavy.
At least it isn't raining here. Well, it is, a bit.
My sister in-law Mary is with us. We waited for her before leaving at
1:00, as she had an inspection to attend to for her real estate
business. She was on her cellphone quite a bit during the drive, even
when we had gotten to St. Cloud, talking to various people--the
handyman, the title company lady, the client, and others that I am
forgetting.
Things were kind of tense for awhile as I took what turned out to be
the wrong exit that got us stuck in horrendous traffic in St. Cloud.
That place has always had traffic problems, even thirty-five years
ago, when my parents and I would sit in the Embers Restaurant at 33rd
and Division and marvel at the traffic. The interstate wasn't
completed yet at that time, and the intersect of traffic from the two
main routes "up north"--US Highways 10 and 52--was controlled by a
four-way stop.
Back on the bus. 9:28. I thought about walking home, and started too,
but realizing that the bus was coming in a few minutes, I crossed over
to the westbound side of Selby. I was thinking that the bus was coming
at 9:23, and was pleased to see a bus approaching from the east at
exactly that time. Problem was, it was the 65, not the 21. This sort
of thing happens to me all the time.
And this makes me think of the story of Dorothea and the radio code
for the Honda. When she got a new battery put in the Honda, it's radio
went into anti-theft mode, and wouldn't play. Rather, it displayed
with it's LED screen the word "code." Dorothea looked and looked but
could not find the code. It was supposed to be on a sticker on the
inside of the glovebox.
So, she called her brother Joe. Last Sunday she and Liam drove south
to Joe's house in rural Northfield, anticipating the Joe would take
out the radio. Instead, when they got there, Joe opened the glove
compartment and showed Dorothea the stick with the code written on it.
When Dorothea told me this story, I laughed, because, with my vision
the way that it is, and my brain the way that it is, I go through just
that sort of thing all the time. (Like with the bus schedule.)
Which thought, along with riding the bus, gave rise in my head of the
notion (long held) that I am naught but a high-functioning handicapped
person.
On Wednesday, as Liam, Stella, and I walked out the door on the way to
Liam's bus stop, he spotted a huge shit on the grass just off the
sidewalk. Could have been human. Turned out to not be so bad to just
pick it up into the plastic bag with Stella's (took two scoops), but I
dreaded it nonetheless.
This morning, I was listening to a podcast of Science Friday, and Ira
was talking to a woman who'd written a book called "Math Doesn't
Suck."
6:26, and I am on the bus, on the way to the Y. It's not the Paris
Metro, though this morning's light drizzling rain is Paris-like. With
my Tilley and water-repellent jacket that I bought for golf, I feel
prepared.
I just thought about trying to complete the loop to my work.
Simultaneously, I thought of how as a kid I thought it would be cool
to just ride around on the Mankato city bus. I never did do that,
though. Maybe I was too young. I never got that feeling about the city
bus in St. Cloud after moving there at fourteen.
6:35 AM at Lexington, realizing that bus speed is about bike speed.
--
David
www.schons.net
