Round UP

While Sleeping 

1. With daughter's birthday (23 days) coming and this loosely planned series (posted to FB) of micro-celebrations I've been looking at a lot of photos, bringing up a lot of memories, a lot of "feels."  Thus staying on an even keel has been a bit of a challenge. 

2. And staying on an even keel is vital given the medical terminology, medical billing, and ICD-10 CM proficiency lessons and testing. Cleared the first hurdle as far as the proficiency testing. I felt pretty good when I saw my score. I felt like break dancing. I didn't, of course. 

3. School is back in session which means there are students on the buses during my commute. This is not a cheerful happenstance. Students (okay, not all but some) are obnoxious. And loud. (Not all, I said). 

4. Something happened with our daffodils this season. Not just in my yard, but the entire neighborhood, possibly the town. I haven seen many blooms but precious few daffodils. 

5. Pancakes are awesome. French toast even more so. Noting trumps an omelet (esp. Greek) though. 

Two and a Half

MicroBlogMonday

As I remain challenged to stitch together much in the way of coherence please indulge a thimble full of random thoughts:  

1. The work (of more import, commute) week is shortened by two and a half days.To that I scream a resounding YaY!!  Well, the commutes will still be three full days as I must return even after the half day of work. But, still . . yay.

2. You shall be pleased to read that after much hand wringing and hair pulling, I have finally decided my contribution to the eve breakfast potluck: deviled eggs.

3. A joyous noise moment: the company holiday party won't happen until the ninth of January. It shall be a casual, family affair. In a bowling alley. To that I scream a resounding YaY!!!

4. The pooch (don't worry, she has since had her face done, eyes no longer hiding behind all that fur) and the catdog, Buttah continue to  navigate a, "I'm the favorite" course.  Neither need not worry. Plenty of love for them both (as well as for the more aloof, Pete.)

5. A condolence card arrived the other day which confounded
and astounded in equal measure. Quite moved by the outpouring of kindness expressed therein.

6. Birds are a common theme in greeting cards. Birds are a common holiday theme. My comfort threshold with birds is low. Not so low that I'm overly quacked out by images alone. But should I come face to face with a gaggle of geese, a covey of partridges,  a murder of crows, and so on . . way quacked out. Still, I shall be looking for every and all opportunities to shrink the bird themed greeting card collection currently in my possession.    

Train Tripping

Being trapped in a confined environment can turn an ordinary experience into a powder keg. Write about a thing that happened to you while you were using transportation: from your first school bus ride, to a train or plane, to being in the backseat of a car on a family road trip

Not a commute day goes by when there isn't something to talk, write about on the trains and / or buses. Not. One. As a lifelong user of public transportation I pretty much take it in stride that I will encounter a seat hogger, gambler, solicitor (that is to say, I'm homeless and hungry or an ex-con looking for help to get a let up) a thief (smartphones favorite target these days) a nose and / or zit picker   , a sneezer and / or wheezer, a snorer, a very loud talker, and let us not forget the folks who blast their listening pleasures beyond their inadequate ear buds, plus a few working stills like myself who just want to get to work and back home again relatively unscathed by the public transportation experience. 

Given that I work in and live very near a sprawling metropolis with a sometimes celebrated public transportation system I haven't ever worried about getting from here to there, just about what I would encounter on the journey. 

That is, until that day.  

Well, actually two days.

The first: I was a teenager, a high school senior. One of my after school activities met downtown once or twice a week. On one of these days, I was wrapping up my story (I worked for a city-wide, student newspaper) putting it to bed, trying to hurry as I wanted (needed) to get by to my neighborhood before it was too late, too dark.  

I had everything done, was saying my good-byes while putting on my coat, grabbing my bag when Hattie yelled, "hey, wait a minute!" Oh shit, Hattie talks a mile a minute for 45,000 hours. But, she's my home-girl, so I had to wait. And listen. For days. 

Not long after Hattie started talking I took note of the train I would have caught, rolled past the window. (The windows of the office the newspaper used were at eye-level to the elevated tracks). And shortly after that there was a large screech, a flash of light, and noises associated with crashing. Oh. shit. 

The train derailed at the turn that is just beyond the building we were in. Just out of our line of sight. But we heard it. I heard it. And when I went outside, I saw it. One of the cars was hanging over the side. Oh. shit. 
there were injuries but no one was killed. And while the rail services weren't out of commission for very long, it took a very long time for me to get back on the elevated trains. And longer still to be somewhat comfortable. I still don't like the turns. 

I don't think I ever thanked Hattie. So, Thank YOU Hattie. 

The second: Chicago is known as, "The Windy City" which, if you believe the lore, doesn't have anything at all to do with wind velocity in our fair city. Oh sure, Chicago is nestled on the bank of Lake Michigan and that prime real estate may explain some of the windiness, but Chicago is not significantly windier than any other city. 

Still, Chicago is privy to the weather patterns just like any other place in the world. And on one particularly windy day, I found myself trapped on an elevated train, short of the station by too many feet to even consider the posted evacuation plan. At least in my view. I could have been inches from the station platform, but there was no way I was going to (willingly) exit that train care, walk along the electrified (3rd rail only, but still) tracks, and climb a ladder to safety. 

Elevated. I don't know how many feet the tracks are elevated over the street, but enough to have buses and semis ride underneath them. Oh, hell NO! It is a marvel that I can even get ON the train, but as I say, life long user. I was using the elevated train system before I knew enough to be afraid of heights. And, I'm no so much afraid of heights as I am afraid of falling down from a great height. Or even, not so great. 

Well, I was trapped on a train because the train had been stalled by debris blown by the great and powerful windy city wind onto the tracks. The conductor ran over a plastic trash can that, once blown onto the tracks, run over by the conductor, had become lodged in such a way that the train couldn't move, which meant we couldn't move. 

The train (7 cars long) was full of 5 P.M. commuters. All anxious to get home. Mom's who needed to get kids from daycare, dad's who were trying not to miss another (insert kid event of your choice) students who were eager to get home to get started on . . . whatever. Everybody who just wanted to be DONE with the day!! 

It didn't take long (2 minutes, tops) of being stalled before folks started huffing, puffing, and WHAT THE F*CKING!! Goddamn C T to the F*CKING A!!! Folks lost their shit. I had a book to read (I almost always do) so I wasn't so. . so. . quick to flip. What concerned me more than the non-movement was the possibility that we might have to evacuate. THAT, had me sweating through my cotton briefs. 

Well, we didn't have to evacuate. We were stalled and stranded on that train for about twenty minutes. It was an odd experience, seeing the meltdown of so many people. Even after it was known WHY the train wasn't moving (for that had been the biggest gripe--the why) folks still were . . losing their shit. Stupid wind. Stupid plastic trash can. Stupid conductor. . . ding. ding. ding. All manner of abuse and vitriol was heaped upon the conductor who probably couldn't avoid running over the plastic trash can. 

Probably. He was shaken enough by the events of the evening that he had to be taken away by paramedics. The last five minutes of stalled time was waiting for his replacement to take us all to our respective stops.  

I bring several things away from that day, but the one thing that sticks with me the most: the train stalled and was stranded a mere 3 stations from my destination. 

Like being delayed, by Hattie, so close, so close. 

  



   


   

Peggy

Like me she is a middle daughter with an older and a younger brother. However, unlike me she also has bonus siblings; an older and younger sister. So envious I was of those: sisters. I remember my mom telling me decades ago she always wanted four children. I've often wondered if  the fourth had been a girl and how I might have been different with a sister in my life. It was not to be. Mom and Dad stopped at three. In fact, it is my humble opinion that number three was pretty much the straw that broke that marriage camel's back. But, that is another tale.

Peggy had sisters and more to the point, more padding at either end of her middle-girl-itis than I. And while Peggy and I are the same age and shared other commonalities beyond living across the hall from one other in the mid nineteen sixties, there were differences. Chief among them, our levels of shyness; hers much greater than mine. Back then she shrank to the point of nearly disappearing into the shadow of all that sibling padding. Quite the feat, given her height.

My family moved away from that building (and neighborhood) Peggy's family and mine shared in 1969. Peggy and her siblings left my reality some time later. In 1974 Peggy and I met again when we she enrolled in the high school I was attending (having skipped a grade, I was a year ahead). While I'd chosen this high school to be as far away from my older brother and his high school experience as possible, Peggy'd followed both her older siblings to this school. The shyness I remembered from our early grade school experiences was still in full effect, for both of us. Neither went out of our way to re-kindle. We were friendly when we met in the halls but didn't become friends. She continued to shrink in the shadow of her siblings and I muddled along trying to escape any connection to or resemblance of my familial relationships.

Fast forward to 2011: Peggy and I hadn't seen or spoken since our occasionally meeting in the high school halls.  I had met one or the other of Peggy's older siblings once or twice over the years with all of us making the usual, "good to see you noises" and promises to say, "hi" to our respective parents and siblings. About a year ago, I started seeing a woman on one of my commuter routes who reminded me of Peggy. At some point I decided that it was Peggy but made no move to speak to her.

Then in August she saw me sitting in a seat, across the aisle of the commuter train car. Her bespectacled eyes lifted in recognition and she stage whispered, "Debbie?!" I smiled and nodded a greeting.

Peggy smiled back, took out her cell phone, made a call, and then began to pepper me with questions about my brothers, mother, and the like, all prompted by her older sister. That's who she'd called. When the passenger in the seat next to Peggy exited I moved to take that seat. Peggy appeared uncomfortable with the change but I wasn't going to conduct this inquisition conversation across the aisle. 


Finally, Peggy hung up from her older sister and began to talk at me about her brothers, mother, sisters, her dad's death, and the other's respective lives. There was scant opportunity for me to say anything about my life or to ask after her own. She didn't volunteer anything except that she was on her way to church, why she happened to be on this train, at this time. (Which, by the way, not the same commuter route I'd seen her on previously.)


Nearing the end of our ride together she hunted down a piece of paper, scribbled a number on it, offered it to me saying, "you can call me if you want." She seemed surprised when I offered mine own piece of paper with my number scribbled on it in return.  I stuck her piece of paper in my messenger bag, bid her adieu, and got off the train.


The entire exchange felt weird the rest of the evening and well into the next day and the days beyond.


For several days, I went back and forth about calling her. There was weirdness. There was something just . . . off. But then, I took a deep breath and decided to take the plunge. I thought we'd have lunch and take a stab at a really conversation. Maybe we'd find we'd developed more commonalities in the thirty some years since our youthful exchanges. Maybe, while clearly very different women now, we could break through those barriers and forge some kind of  friendship.


Maybe.


But it was moot. For, after deciding to call, I dug around in my bag to retrieve the piece of paper with her scribbled on number only to discover it gone. Missing. Lost. Likely bundled up and trashed with stray receipts, gum wrappers, and other like debris that litters the bottom of messenger bags after a few days.


I presumed she hadn't married or otherwise changed her last name. I presumed that I probably could find her and her number if so motivated. But, I wasn't. And neither apparently was she. For weeks (months, really) have passed and she hasn't called me either.  


Now I wonder whatever shall we do, however shall we act if we happen to meet again, face-to-face on a commuter train on the way home to the reality of our respective lives, further and further away from our respective pasts?

DAGNABBIT

Driver A was in the right lane of a two lane roadway, travel in both lanes, west-bound. Driver B was in the left lane 1/4 car length behind driver A. *I* was standing on the median between the service drive and the 2 lane west-bound traffic, waiting for traffic to clear so I could continue crossing the street(s).

It is just beyond 5:00 p.m. so traffic is heavy and near the intersection where I'm waiting to cross the street stands a Montess*rri school, parents and care-givers double parked retrieving youngsters, buckling in youngsters, admonishing youngsters, bribing youngsters to get in the freakin' car. It is a rather congested intersection at just past 5:00 p.m. I know better than to come this way, but I was taking this different route home and had forgotten.

Driver A and driver B ride along (I pick them up two blocks away) nearly side-by-side, with driver B fading behind ever so often. As they get closer to the intersection where I am waiting to cross the street(s) and where all the double-parked, blinkin' flippin' youngster activity is going on, something strikes me. I don't know what but before I could could think about what I see driver A veer to her left, prepping to make a left turn from the RIGHT lane. She nearly clipped driver B who veered to her left, right toward where I was standing on the median between the service drive and two lanes of west-bound traffic they were traveling.

AAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH FUUUUUUUUUUUCK!!! That would be me.

Horns blaring, middle fingers raised, traffic stalled, Montess*rri youngsters, parents, and caregivers paused to take note of possible horror.

I've been hit before, it hurt like a sum-bitch. And like THAT time, I was holding food in my hand, well, in a bag. Though, unlike that time it wasn't fried chicken from the colonel. It was 3 lbs. of ground beef and six cans of cat food.

My life didn't flash before my eyes. What flashed was that I was likely going to lose the ground beef and maybe a couple of the cans. Not to mention being laid up for a while. Shit. Fuck. Damn.

Hi-ever, I didn't get hit this time. Thankfully, driver b had just enough distance between her and A and possessed enough skill and instinct to avoid being hit and hitting someone namely, ME.

Thanks much to driver B and her skills.

Driver A can go suck it.

image cred

Morning Train Bus

I always get a seat as I get on at the very beginning of the route and there aren’t that many people yet. It’s usually me and 2 or 3 other women, now and again a few students from one (or more) of the several high schools along the route.

The regular riders usually have a regular routine, a regular seat. I like to sit in the bench-style seats, with my back to the window, facing the aisle, across from the rear door. Once settled in, I pull out my book, adjust the volume on the music player and hope today’s ride is adventure-free, or at least adventure-less.

Somewhere between Cicero and Pulaski, between Prince’s Peach and Anna Nalick’s Wreck of the Day, just as I’m reading about Faye finding a dead man in the tub, I hear…a distinct, insistent noise. I realize the noise is someone talking, no…not talking, calling. Miss MISS I then realize the miss is being directed at me.

Oh. Now. What?

I take my mind and eyes away from Faye’s exploits, look in the direction of Mr. Insistent, the question written on my face, “what?” He answers with his own question, “Are You Rose?” Oh, for the love of Susan! I shake, no. Again he asks, “Are YOU Rose?” Harder shake, NO. He persists, “do you know Rose?” While shaking my head no, I reach for the volume, trying to return my attention to Faye and her dead body find, and trying not to guess as to how the db fits into the case she’s investigating.

Though I couldn’t quite hear what Mr. Insistent was saying through-out the rest of his ride, I could hear him speaking. The collective sigh of relief upon his exit told me that the other passengers had been less than thrilled with his . . . contributions.

I hope he found his Rose, whoever, wherever she might be.