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Posts Tagged ‘memories’

** From September 2014 **

Today I, and 6 others, helped a friend load her moving truck. She is moving away to Texas and we are all really going to miss her.  It’s going to be really weird on Monday to not have her come downstairs to say hello or to talk about gardens and SI and games and Mahjong.  She’s become a huge part of my weekly routine and now that routine is gone.

Oh the flip side, seeing how organized and diligent she’s been about her move makes me want to get just as crazed and organized as she’s been. There’s so much to learn from the friends and people around you.  I forget this lesson from time to time and just wallow in my own head, but I’m trying to clean up that muck and push forward.

One organizational tip from her is to use colored duct tape on boxes, tubs, etc to mark what room it belongs in or a general hint to what it contains.  I’m currently using fluorescent orange to mark our book boxes. So far those are all the boxes I have, but we have other things already packed up that are the wrong season.  I need to make an assessment of those boxes and apply the necessary duct tape color.

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Experiences on Public Transit

Today has been a day of experiences and triggering some memories of other public transit experiences.

I guess to start off with I should say that the bus drivers here are wonderfully even keeled and put up with a lot of stuff — traffic, belligerent riders, disabilities of all walks of life, crazy pedestrians, school kids, people so focused on their phones they don’t see the world around them, etc.

My favorite driver is the one who says, “Here we go!” when pulling away from a stop. It’s the greatest. So enthusiastic.

So today started out with a crazy bus driver who was a bit brake happy and the bus was crammed with high school students. Some of who gave me that look of, “UGH.. an ADULT.” Sorry my age has messed with the enjoyment of your ride. Insert eye roll here.

I then hopped off the bus to get on the light rail and had a lovely ride in practicing my ability to not hold on to anything. Ankle strength. . . and pressure on the right part of your foot during a turn are key.

This afternoon was a different kind of experience. It started out with a fairly okay bus ride until we got near the end of town where I transfer buses.  *BANG* a window completely shattered into a million spider webs. It didn’t fall out of the frame, but the rubber seal around it was torn. We all jumped and looked from the window near the back of the bus to the driver. The bus driver went to the next stop and got on the phone to report the incident. I got off the bus to walk up to my transfer spot.

When your bus has an accident — GET OFF THE BUS. That bus is not going anywhere any time soon. They have to report the incident. You can always check with the bus driver to see if you should stay (maybe you saw something and can be a witness) or transfer to another bus.

We had a bus driver hit a parked car once when I was in high school. The road, where the accident happened, was super windy and the car was about 4 feet out from the curb so the option was to either knock off the side mirror or drive into oncoming traffic. I felt awful for the bus driver — she was one of the BEST bus drivers to handle us nightmare high school kids. She made sure we all understood that you always offer your seat to an older/disabled person. Doesn’t matter if you are in the seating at the front of the bus or not — you GET UP and you offer your dang seat. Truly one of the rare ones, because we mostly listened to her.

So thank you public transit drivers for tolerating all of us and fellow drivers on the road. You are appreciated.

 

 

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A few weeks ago I attended a concert of an artist I have tortured my mom with on a 5 1/2 hour car ride to Pittsburgh. I played ONE song over, and over, and over, and over. Occasionally I’d flip to the B side of the tape and play the first song on that side. Basically she tolerated her 8 year old’s obsession with a song she was pretty darn sick of. This repeated song made me sick of the album about 2 years later and I put the tape away. Refused to play it. Then, when I was about 16 I took it out of retirement and realized I still knew every darn word. . . of MOST of the album.

Cue to about 10 years ago when I introduced my husband (then boyfriend) to this album and he was pretty taken with how unique it was.

Cue to a few weeks ago, and I was done with the back and forth of, “should I, well, maybe not, but I could, but really??? well… okay… yes… no.. wait… REALLY!??!”  It was a moment of me saying, “You know what, screw it. People hate this artist and thing the songs are annoying, but I love them. I am going to burst into tears during my favorite song which HAD BETTER BE PERFORMED. . . *ahem*

Lo and behold, I went to the show, by myself, and sat in the back row on the arena floor. I made friends with the couple in the same row (there were 4 seats, and the one next to me was empty). They had been fans for over 20 years. I told them my story and they thought it was WONDERFUL I had decided to attend the show. I had paper towels from the ladies room, because I was going to cry. No doubt about it.

The announcer came on and said that there would be a solo artist this evening. No opener, no extra people, just… the ONE person, and the band. My husband was jealous because a favorite guitar player was in the band that night. I told him there was an empty seat next to me, he could come on down. . . but no.

So the lights went down, the music started, the backup singers did their thing, and then the door opened at the back of the stage and out came… Neil Diamond. It was possibly the best show I’ve seen in a VERY long time. His pants had sequins on the sides, like the band stripe for kids in band, only these were sequins and sparkled with every step and sway. He opened the show with Cherry, Cherry. The crowd went nuts. He did a few ballads, I lost it during He Ain’t Heavy, He’s My Brother. Sorry people, it’s a powerful song and whatever vocal training and warm ups Neil had done, they worked. He sang it beautifully. I learned that Red, Red, Wine is a Neil Diamond song. He sang I’m A Believer, like The Monkees’ version (if you hear his original version it’s more with steel drums and sounds a bit strange to the Monkees-trained ear).

So, this song that I played over, and over and over again — Cracklin Rosie. It’s the first song on Taproot Manuscript. I had never listened to another album, even though my parents have two others. I only knew every single song on Taproot Manuscript. During the show, he did a few others from that album (He Ain’t Heavy is one). Cracklin’ Rosie was during the encore, AFTER the 12 minute version of Sweet Caroline. It felt like it went on forever, and it probably did. . . but I was anxious to hope that he’d actually perform the song I spent many of my childhood years (which culminated in that 5 1/2 hour Cracklin’ Rosie marathon) listening to and not totally getting what most of the lyrics meant. He did it. I burst out sobbing. I was so happy. He bloody did it and I finally heard a song I’ve loved since I was, as my dad would put it, a tiny tiddle-toddle.

Thank you Neil Diamond for making insanely catchy tunes.

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I wish I had taken pictures, but I failed. . .

Today we had field verification training for those of us Dungeon Dwellers who get out once a summer for field work.  We were in the mountains nearby and saw a fawn (possibly mule deer) who we scared, a very awesome grasshopper (SO BRIGHT GREEN) and some very strange caterpillars. . . .

I do not profess to liking caterpillars very much, but I do like to see how many weird colors and patterns they are.  These looked like the gypsy moth caterpillars my dad used to drown in a bucket (they do bad things to the trees) but they had BRIGHT red feet/legs.  There was even one doing the, “… yes, but WHO.ARE.YOU??” like the Caterpillar from Alice in Wonderland (a coworker pointed this out — I wish I’d thought of it first).

No idea what species it was. . . and google has NOT helped me at all. HARRUMPH. . .  Google did show me awesome pictures of caterpillars though, including some really creepy ones that I might just have bad dreams about.

When I was a toddling little bumpkin (I think my dad termed it the year I spent more time falling into things than walking, i.e. about 3 or 4) we had a HUGE green monstrosity on our porch. It had orange antennae and black dots and bumps and just looked like the biggest hunk of booger someone had sneezed out. It was BEASTLY huge. I was fascinated by it. You could poke at it and it’s orange antennae would probe about angrily and then it would inch a bit. If you touched it, WOW did it squirm.

We were very nice and let it eat our tomato plant leaves in the hopes it would turn into something stunning. Pretty sure it didn’t. . . but I don’t remember. . . For all we know it was eaten by some cat roaming the alley. They did that. . . still do. . .

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