Your poem, on a bus
Calling all bus poets! Poetry on buses is back. This year's theme is "writing home." You can find submission guidelines here.
Bus cuts are coming
Thanks to the failure of our state legislature--and the subsequent failure of Prop 1 (aka, "plan B"), King County will lose 72 bus routes and see reduced service on over 100 more. There is a chance a plan will be cobbled together to save some service, but it will be even less ideal than the less-than-ideal plan that just failed.
- Car-free “vacation”: Yakima
- Multimodal Monday: Link, then lake
- Eastbound 3, 4:30 PM (or, Learning to love sardines)
- Eastbound 27 stop, Yesler & 3rd, noon
- On busing and bad language (or, the “s” word, according to Chicklet)
- Fully embracing the role
- Multimodal Monday: 180 miles
- Bus riders have sense
- Westbound 14, 8:30 AM
- How to pass the time at a bus stop, part VI
In the Bus Bag
Heartbeat of Struggle: The Revolutionary Life of Yuri Kochiyama, by Diane Fujino
Tag Archives: 27
Last Sunday, the bus fam made a rare weekend trip to the Eastside (48+545+221) to attend a birthday party at–ahem!–Chuck E. Cheese. The place didn’t seem to impress Chicklet much, but then again, she’d already taken three exciting rides (with big wheels and spinning seats and ringing bells!) before we even arrived.
Yesterday, Chicklet and I made another trip to the Eastside (27+550)–for our second-ever visit to Babies R Us. The store itself was a bit frightening (Have I mentioned that I don’t care for shopping?), but the excursion was delightful. The entire trip took three hours, which included …
Today, we visited the church where my mother’s ashes are buried. I visit frequently throughout the year, but it’s always hardest on the anniversary of her passing. She’s missed a lot in the two years she’s been gone.
In honor of a woman with no equal, who could pull off leather pants with an apron and heeled mules at a Mariners game, a Real Change column from 2007:
On Jan. 3, after a four-and-a-half year battle with breast cancer, my mother, Caroline Dunne Saulter, died. She was 61 years old.
Caroline never approved of my choice to live …
Bus Nerd and I have recently returned from a lovely evening out. (That’s two nights out in one week–a record since the arrival of Chicklet.) This time, we attended the opening-night performance of The Color Purple (27 + medium walk) and–thanks to my friend Kelley–a post-show reception with the cast.
Turns out, we weren’t the only bus types at the fancy party.
No disrespect to Northwest Center (an organization that makes it easy for car-free types …
In her first year of life, my child has ridden the following routes:
1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 7, 8, 12, 13, 14, 16, 17, 18, 21, 23, 25, 26, 27, 36, 41, 44, 48, 54, 55, 56, 60, 66, 70, 74, 134, 150, 174, 194, 230, 255, 358, 545, 550, 554, 590–not to mention the Monorail, Puyallup Fair shuttle, Elliott Bay Water Taxi, Detroit People Mover, Amtrak, Portland Streetcar, and a few Portland bus routes.
How I know Chicklet is a true BCiT:
Yesterday, we met …
Yesterday, the bus fam (that is, Chicklet, Nerd, and yours truly) hopped the 4 and headed to Seattle Center to attend a retro birthday party for my friend (and world-famous author) Sundee. Fellow natives of the 2-0-sickness: Remember back in the day, when the Center was the place to hang out in the summer (at 9: ferris wheel! at 13: cute boys!), and those rides and games at the Fun Forest seemed at least as good as Disneyland’s? My perspective has changed a bit since the 80s (about the Fun Forest and Disneyland), but I’m still sad that
Two twentysomethings are sitting in the back, discussing job prospects and financial woes.
Twentysomething woman: “I’ve been hitting up everyone I know that works at Sound Transit, asking them to hook me up with a bus pass. Just hook a girl up! They’re like, ‘dude, we’ll get fired.’”
Twentysomething man: “You should get, like, a whole bunch of old bus passes–from, like, way back–and sell them for like, five bucks… That’s just the kind of thing liberal douchebags would buy.”
The last time I went to the Puyallup Fair was the summer before I left for college. I took my youngest brother, who was nine at the time, and I don’t remember much about it–except that it was my last chance to spend QT with my “baby” before I moved away from home and that the ride down there (in my dad‘s trusty Toyota pickup) was really long.
On Wednesday, as Chicklet and I settled into a seat on our favorite route, an elderly woman I had never seen before sat down next to us, looked at Chicklet like she knew her, and said, “I just saw your uncle over at the University of Washington.”
I was about to tell her that she had us confused with another bus riding mother-daughter team when she said, “I had to get a few x-rays and some work on my crown.”
Aha! She had indeed seen Chicklet’s uncle, my brother Joel, an almost-dentist who sees patients at the UW’s dental …
This one, like the first, took place on the 27, which, remarkably, still holds the top spot on my list of favorite routes.
Did I mention that he was licking the headrest?
Custom dictates that I close out this post with a basketball metaphor–one that doesn’t exactly apply but at least gives me an opportunity to squeeze in a shout to my favorite sport. (An example: “A foul of this magnitude …
It seems that little Chicklet is a bit of an early talker. At eight months and some change, she said her first word (aside from “dada” and “mama,” that is): “kitty.” This is somewhat of a surprise, since we don’t have any pets, and she’s only seen a few living, breathing cats in her short life. (Our neighbors’ cat, Otis, is apparently pretty inspiring.)
My first word (at about the same age) was “more.” It is a concept that has defined my life ever since (you can never have too much chocolate ice cream or listen to “If I Was …