Flowers are Pretty

In Which I Am Unbearably Full of Myself

First: I forgot to mention that I rode my bike to work two weeks ago for the first time.

I did it on a Sunday so I would have no time pressures in finding the best route to work--i.e., the route with the fewest opportunities for a grim driver in an SUV to unwittingly--or deliberately--crush me to death. So: side street down to Aurora, bike lane partway around Green Lake and up Ravenna, non-arterial street through the U District, Burke Gilman trail to the Montlake Bridge, sidewalk across the bridge, trail under highway 520, and side streets to work.

I took it easy, like I said. This was three Sundays ago, a clear sunny day that nearly hit 90 degrees. I found the route I'd marked out on the map, and I made it back home again with nary a scratch.

And I had a blast! I hadn't realized it, but my brain associates getting on a bicycle with being on vacation from all the summer breaks spent riding bikes around the property. I found myself cruising down Brooklyn Avenue with a big smile on my face, enjoying the wind in my hair and the bright morning sun.

So I did it on a workday, four times since then. It's almost exactly 6 miles one way and in a stroke of brilliant convenience, the home-to-work way is mostly downhill. I can cruise to work in 35 minutes (driving to work takes a little more than 20 minutes, usually) and hardly break a sweat, change my clothes and be ready for work in two shakes of my little chamois. I've ridden about 60 miles in the last two weeks. That's not much, really, but it's 60 miles farther than I rode in the 2 weeks before that, anyway.

Second: I was coerced into going with a friend to Wild Waves / Enchanted Village in Federal Way last Saturday, and for the first time in my life I went on a roller coaster that goes upside-down.

I went on it twice.

Uncharmed ones

Chloe's been slightly favoring one paw so we took it slow on our walk tonight. We ambled down to the park and strolled around in the playground for a few minutes. A group of teenagers was clustered in and around a car parked on the street next to the park. Their voices carried across the park. "Oh, quit it!" screeched one girl. "Just stop hexing me!"

I casually led Chloe a little closer, interested in hearing more about the hex. The girls kept up their chatter, bits of it carrying to me across the street. "...I bet she was a total virgin..."

"...Ohmigod, I turned soooo red..."

"...Right, that's when it started, like right after we had sex in the car!..."

Chloe snuffled in the grass at my feet. I decided "hex" was probably one a them newfangled slang words I'm too square to understand, when I heard the girl say it again. "Dude, I told you to stop hexing me!"

I glanced over, curious. "You've already hexed-ed me like eight times already!"

Oh, texted. Well, that's a disappointment then.

Alley

One of the alleyways where I walk Chloe. It's a Seattle City Light right of way; about ten blocks north of here they've turned the right of way into a fine little segment of the Interurban Trail, which leads more or less up to Edmonds, and supposedly thence to Everett.

Stanley Park Stairs

Stanley Park

Book Resolution 2006: Books 9-12

Book #9
Title: The Boy Who Loved Windows
Author: Patricia Stacey
Date Started: February 7, 2006 (yes, I'm quite behind in cataloging what I've been reading)
Date Finished: February 8, 2006
I had just finished Michael Berube's book and found this one next to it in our small "library" at work. Although I'm not a therapist, I do know that several of our therapists use the method that this mother describes using in this book as a therapy technique with autistic children. I thought it was well-written and engaging. I know there are some uncomfortable questions around the issue of hope versus realistic expectation for children with developmental delays, especially autism, but I thought this story was told well and didn't at all present the attitude of, "Well, if only EVERYONE would do this method, autism could be no more!" So, thumbs up.

Book #10
Title: Barrayar
Author: Lois McMaster Bujold
Date Started: February 15, 2006
Date Finished: February 16, 2006
Dude, I told you I was an adoring fan of her writing. And I am absolutely going to indulge my desire to read this entire series over the next year or so. I liked this one just as much as the first.

Book #11
Title: Teckla
Author: Steven Brust
Date Started: February 17, 2006
Date Finished: February 20, 2006
I need to read this one again more slowly. Brust sets up the plot to drive forward so compellingly that I forget I'm supposed to make myself read slowly to get all the nuances, and hasten forward to see what happens next. I like Vlad well enough--the sense of humor doesn't overlap much with my own, but I'm starting to get used to it. I didn't love this book, but I like the writing and the stories well enough to go ahead and read more of this series.

These reviews are a lot shorter than the last batch, but after all, they're only for my own future reference anyway. Onward:

Book #12
Title: Spin
Author: Robert Charles Wilson
Date Started: February 21, 2006
Date Finished: February 23, 2006
Oh, this book was brilliant. I never would have picked it up if not for a hearty recommendation from Making Light, and I would have missed out on a breathtaking story. One night the stars go out when the Earth is inexplicably wrapped in some sort of shield that slows down the pace of time on earth to about a millionth what it should be--for every million years elsewhere in the galaxy, only one year passes on Earth. Thus the world will end within the span of the characters' lifetime, as the Sun enters its last stages and expands to consume the planets. I enjoyed everything about this book--the characterizations, the story, the philosophy...excellent stuff. I think this might be my favorite yet this year.

They wrestle their daughter's stroller through the narrow doors of the Vancouver bus that will take them from Stanley Park back through the downtown area. The woman's bright coral salwar kameez flows loosely around her lithe form as she tries to angle the stroller's wheels to squeeze through the entrance. Her husband wears jeans and a crisp white buttoned shirt, tucked in.

Having managed to board, they sit near the center of the bus, on opposite sides of the aisle with the stroller between them. The little girl in the stroller kicks her legs and babbles, exchanging adoring smiles with each parent in turn.

Two stops later an old man boards the bus and sits behind the father. They exchange pleasantries, finding a commonality in their histories. The younger man reveals that he and his wife came to Canada two years ago; the old man has lived here for fifteen years. "This is a very good country," announces the older man. "You will do very well here."

The younger man nods. "Yes." He smiles and glances swiftly across the aisle. "My wife, she gets homesick though."

The older man shakes his head and bats his hand at the mother. She is smiling at her daughter and does not turn at his motion. "Hello!" he calls, tapping her elbow. When she raises her head to look back at him he raises a finger to point at her. "You do not be homesick," he says. "This is a good country. You will be happy here. You do not need to be homesick." He shakes his red-turbaned head emphatically at her.

The woman smiles and nods politely. She looks at her husband, who smiles sheepishly and averts his eyes.

Now the old man's attention is diverted by the little girl's sudden outburst of babbling and clapping. He playfully wags a finger at her. "Naughty girl!" he says. She stops and stares solemnly at him, her brown eyes wide. The old man reaches out a gangly arm and taps the back of her hand in a mock swat. "Naughty, naughty girl!" he tells her, smiling a gap-toothed smile. "Your daughter is a very naughty girl," he tells the father.

When the toddler remains shy and quiet, her father tries to impress the old man. "Say something to him," he urges her quietly. "Say, 'hello!'"

"You are a naughty girl!" murmurs the old man, swiping at her hand again.

The tiny girl is silent. Her dark curls tremble as she whips her head around to look at her mother's friendly face, silently and innocently dismissing the old man's rebuke.

Ready to make nice?

What I bought this morning:

Forgive, sounds good
Forget, I’m not sure I could
They say time heals everything
But I’m still waiting
....
I know you said
Can’t you just get over it
It turned my whole world around
And I kind of like it
....
I’m not ready to make nice
I’m not ready to back down
I’m still mad as hell and
I don’t have time to go round and round and round
It’s too late to make it right
I probably wouldn’t if I could
‘Cause I’m mad as hell
Can’t bring myself to do what it is you think I should

Yesterday was strange. I got some really good news at the beginning of the day, but by about noon the good news had percolated through my brain and collected into a brew of memories and emotions I didn't know I still had.

Some issues never go away completely, I guess. Usually I accept that as one of those immutable facts of life, but sometimes it makes me extraordinarily depressed.

The city of Seattle has made an effort to make bus stops visually stimulating.



Various artists and community groups have attempted to create works of art on many of the bus shelters around the city.



My favorites--and frequently the most hilariously surreal--are the ones created by earnest groups of students.



A bus stop near where I work is one of these; children at a local school painted bright scenes from Greek mythology all over it.



Stylized images of Greek gods, goddesses, heroes, and villains entertain passengers as they wait for the bus.



But what's this? Someone has scrawled angry graffiti across the large back panel. What critique of the students' artwork do we find?



"Paint over this," the anonymous defacer demands. "Too violent for the children."



Gasp! They're right! I just can't understand why these children artists can't bring themselves to think of the children viewers. These children are corrupting the children! Won't any of the children please, for God's sake, think of the children? It's all so very upsetting. I think I'm going to have to go lie down for a bit.