A celebration of writing and riding
On Monday, November 10th, 4Culture will host a launch party for Poetry on Buses 2014. There will be music and live readings by 36 local poets. See you there?
Hear My Bus a Comin'
On Monday, November 19th, at 11:10 AM there will be an unveiling of the bus shelter honoring Seattle's own Jimi Hendrix. The shelter is at 23rd & Massachusetts (in front of NAAM), which is roughly half a block west of Jimi Hendrix Park.
In the Bus Bag
My People Are Rising, by Aaron Dixon
Tag Archives: Romie
I recently passed this Jacob Lawrence tribute shelter on Jefferson, somewhere between 18th and 21st.
I can’t believe I never noticed it before!
Thanks to my dad, I’ve known and appreciated Lawrence’s work since childhood. (Pops was both an admirer of Mr. Lawrence’s paintings and an acquaintance of the artist.) What I didn’t know until I read this HistoryLink essay is that both Lawrence and his wife, Gwendolyn Knight, were bus people.
In 1971, Jacob …
My dad‘s family has been in Seattle since the early 30′s. My grandparents originally settled in a home mere blocks from where I live now. Dad was born at Harborview, grew up in Seattle and its environs, and raised his family here. And yet, I get most of my (considerable) Seattle love from my mother, a Northwesterner by marriage.
Truth be told, my dad is a bit of a Seattle hater.
To be fair, his hateration is less about the place, which he reveres, and more about the culture. Let him tell it, it’s lack of leadership …
This evening, we Saulter siblings (well, three of us, anyway)–along with our respective SOs and Chicklet–convened in our original neighborhood of West Seattle to celebrate our father‘s 70th birthday. The plan was to meet at a restaurant on Alki–as good an excuse as any for Bus Nerd and I to try the Water Taxi shuttle for the first time. (Yes, I’ve been riding the Water Taxi for years, but since my dad lives across the street from the Seacrest dock, and I only ride my favorite floating bus to visit him*, I’ve never had occasion to …
For Jerome–born May 15, 1939
I was just one of your children. I wasn’t the oldest and I wasn’t a son. Wasn’t good at sports or confident enough to impress you. I was just one of your children, but you were my hero. The man to whom all others have been compared–none ever as brave, as smart, as strong.
How many days did I watch you bolt your soggy cereal and grab your briefcase, sprinting up the alley to a world I wished I knew? That world symbolized courage and independence, and everything I wanted to be. To …