8 to and from the Nutcracker (16)…
+ 48 to and from the candlelight service at Good Shepherd (96)…
+ bus-free cooking and baking (while watching The Two Towers) with my riding partner for life (0)…
= 112, an absolutely perfect day
When I was pregnant with Chicklet, folks I met on buses and at stops regularly inquired about the gender of my bus-bundle-to-be. Some of them (almost always middle-aged to older women) were sure they already knew. “It’s a girl,” they announced confidently, almost to a woman. “I can tell because of the way you’re carrying/how tired you look/the curl in your hair.” (OK, they didn’t mention my hair, but I’m pretty sure my fingernails came up a time or two.) Back then, I knew they were right (since I’d chosen to find out Chicklet’s gender) and was duly impressed by their powers. How do they do that?*
Nerd and I have chosen not to find out the gender of Bus Baby #2, and, for some reason, I haven’t been getting as many (really, any) bus-based gender predictions. Or, at least, I hadn’t. Last Friday, as Chicklet and I were waiting to board the 8**, we moved aside to let a middle-aged bus lady off. She took one look at us and exclaimed, “Oh wow! A baby boy!” I was confused at first, since Chicket is a girl (though she was wearing a raincoat with a hood) and not really a baby anymore, until the woman put her hand on my belly and gave it a vigorous rub. “How wonderful,” she said. “Now you’ll have one of each.”
And so, it seems, it is settled. The power of the bus lady cannot be denied.
Guess this’ll narrow down our name options.
*I need to know, since, in the not-too-distant future, I will be a middle-aged bus lady.
**Have I mentioned how much I love that the 8 runs every day now? Sunday afternoon cravings for greasy fries (and tartar!) from Dick’s can finally be indulged.
There was lots of shakeup talk on the buses today: rider-to-rider chatter, cell phone conversations, bus-wide discussions, and endless questions for drivers.
I have to say, as much as I loathe change (and as much as I will surely miss hopping the 48 for all my southbound needs), the New Bus Order actually seems to be working in my favor. Some examples of the goodness:
• The 8 now runs in my neighborhood on weekends. Folks, I have been dreaming of this day for most of my car-free life (six-and-a-half years and counting), and I cannot believe it’s actually happened. Capitol Hill (specifically, the north end of 15th Ave) will be seeing at lot more of me on Saturday afternoons.
• The 27 now connects with the 17 instead of the 25. I love this for several reasons, the most important of which is that my brother Jeremy recently moved to Ballard, and Metro now provides what amounts to a door-to-door ride from my place to his. (Much beloved) brother aside, I have a lot more reasons to go to Ballard than I do to go to Laurelhurst.* And honestly, the connection just seems to make more sense. While the 27/17 combo eliminates an already necessary transfer between the Central District and Ballard, the 27/25 combo is slower and less direct than the two-bus options (48+75 and 48+30) between the CD and Laurelhurst.**
• Now that the 14 stops at Mount Baker Station, I have four ways to connect with Link: 27 to DSTT, 4 to DSTT, 48 to Mount Baker Station, and 14 to Mount Baker Station. I don’t go to the airport all that often, but when I do, I’ll have more control of when I come and go.
I’m sure I’ll discover more things to like (and not) as I ride more.
Your turn. How have Metro’s latest changes affected you?
* No offense to all my former school buddies who lived there back in the day–I do miss our excursions to the Mr. Peepers-era U Village–or to the very alt-commute friendly Children’s Hospital.
** Really, though, there’s no fast way to get from where I live to Laurelhurst, despite the fact that it’s not all that far.
Earlier today, our bus fam headed over to Volunteer Park to raise our voices in support of other families’ rights. (We were not down with the three-bus trip–48 + 43 + 10–to a park two miles from our house and so took the 48 north and made the rest of the trip on foot.) At the rally, we saw many folks who had been on the 48 with us and recognized many of our favorite bus regulars. (You know you’re a bus chick if…, item #21: “When you’re at a big gathering [sporting event, festival, concert, fair] you see several people you remember from the bus.”)
I have to say, all the clever, 8-themed signs had me wishing (yet again) that my third-favorite route, which would have gotten us within spitting distance of the park, ran on weekends. But I digress.
For Chicklet-related reasons, we left the festivities early. We weren’t the only ones.
On a recent 8 excursion, Chicklet awoke from her nap (she is fond of napping in the Ergo) directly underneath Metro’s “chill on the cell usage” ad.
After checking it out for a few seconds, she giggled, then turned to me and said one of her latest words: “teeth.”
Funny, that’s what I think when I see it, too.
Yesterday, Bus Nerd and I celebrated our favorite holiday in our usual fashion: by busing to different events around the city. This year, Chicklet celebrated with us, and all went well (48 to Franklin for the annual rally and march, another Laura “Piece” Kelley sighting)–that is until we tried to catch the 8 from King Memorial Park, where the march ended, to the Center House, where the CD Forum was presenting a staged reading of “Our God is Marching On.”
Unfortunately, the 8 driver wasn’t feeling the holiday spirit. He drove past the sheltered stop (on Martin Luther King, Jr. Way, I might add), where the three of us (and two other riders) were waiting, without so much as tapping the brake.
“Maybe there’s another bus right behind him,” one of the other would-be passengers suggested.
Maybe not. We waited in the cold the 20+ minutes until the next 8 arrived, our attitudes growing more bitter as our fingers grew stiffer. We were even denied the satisfaction of complaining, as Metro’s rider information line was closed in observance of the holiday.
