I had an idea for an ongoing thread.  Describe a moment you had today.  It doesn't matter what the activity was, or the style and format that you write it in.  Just capture it.    

--Last edited by dmg on 2006-07-20 16:12:48 --

The bus pulled away from the station and swung right around the bus loop to get on the bypass towards Mallardsville.  Sitting next to eachother, hand in hand gazing out the various windows through sunglasses, I sighed.  It was always this way when we went back home to "The Pitt." Mixed feelings.  As the driver guided the bus to the correct lane to merge with the traffic on Lougheed Highway, I looked out the right window at the gigantic, sprawling IKEA that soon took up all the space - blocking out the sky for a few seconds.  

I looked at my husband's face and smiled.  He was sitting at the window seat his gaze fixed somewhere where the bus tires met the road.  I wondered where he was right now.  I look a deep breath in and out.  I didn't have to know.  My thoughts returned to the trip ahead of us.  Of course we wouldn't see any of our friends -not with my husband's mouth and tongue frozen.  

I looked out the front window as the busdriver changed lanes so he could stop and let a passenger out at the next stop.  I thought of our life.  Sure, I miss everything we left behind.  But when I think about what is, I can't say I would trade it all back.  

--Last edited by meela on 2006-08-08 14:45:44 --

Nothing but .... some warm wind that blows a promise on a hot summer day. Fire. It opens, magic ... shimmering ... yet it does not open. Solid, everyday, ordinary, quiet .... and nothing. Remember to breathe cuz breath is everything and everything is breath.

.... and SHE is mine and not mine, a synchopation to a jazz drummer's beat, "a trick with a rope," a document twisted by a million different applications. Utter wonder and terror of whatever is ... and it is ridiculous. Me, crying from the womb, the tomb, the wound, the chaos of yesterday's lost renewals ... opening, spanking, "this thing needs to breathe.... "  

--Last edited by dmg on 2006-07-18 15:12:23 --

Guys, those were both great. I don't think I've focused on a specific moment like that in a long time; I will have to work on it.

DMG, that was pretty abstract. What moment are you describing?

I flashed my ticket to the driver and carried my bag down the aisle looking for the 'perfect seat.'  It was there - the second seat on the left, cushion blue.  I was glad that I wore something light and airy.  It was only twenty minutes to seven o'clock in the morning and I was already beginning to perspire underneath the rayon matching shirt and shorts.  I put my knapsack on my lap and folded my arms over it and hugged it in.  It was a beautiful day.  The bus stops six blocks later and a woman, whom I don't know by name, but who smiles and waves to me every morning, gets on.  I thought about moving to sit next to her, but I knew I would catch up to her later.  The first busride is always for myself.  The next transfer we usually sit together until I get to the third stop, where I will say good-bye to her and join my other friends.  A group of anywhere between two to six people, depending on the day.  I have it all planned out.  

But the first bus...my deep breathing, gazing at the sky, reading my book, dreaming, planning, seeing past fear.  That is how my day is set.

By this time you've probably figured out that riding the bus is my life.  Yep.

lol, yeah, you meet some interesting folks on the bus. There is a fellow who rides the bus system here whom we call "Pear Man." He's not a pear farmer or a produce worker; he's just a man who looks like a Pear. He's not obese by any means; he just has this funny, pear-like shape, with a tiny head that bobbles on top of a disproportionately round body. The man is a "world traveller" in our eyes; he goes all across the county on the bus and he pops up in the oddest places. Sometimes you'll just be walking down the street, and there he is, pulling his little hand-cart behind him. You'll see him one day here, near the house, and another day miles away in the next city. At times it seems that he is more places than one man ought to be in, as though the Pear had gone through a blender and diffused throughout the county. He's not a bum, not a drifter. In fact, I know where he works, and he earns a decent income. I think I know where he lives, as well, and if my hunch is right, it is the upscale part of the neighborhood... we're talking million dollar homes. But for some reason, "Pear Man" never buys a car. Its always the bus, the bus and the little portable hand-cart he drags behind his round body as he travels. The other day I saw him in the supermarket buying Nestle Coco Powder. Whenever I see him, I think of the Simon and Garfunkel song "A Most Peculiar Man." I just wonder who he is, what's his story, where he's been and where he's going. Maybe I'll talk to him one day. I did say hello to him once before, when I rode next to him on the bus, but our "conversation" only went as far as: "Hot day, isn't it?" "Yeah, its pretty hot."

I start to wonder about that passage in the Bible that talks about entertaining angels unawares. Who are these odd people who wander are streets? Who are these most peculiar souls we ignore? They are minotaurs, lost in the labyrinth of organized society. "Pear Man" is what we call him, but what might he call us? What if, by chance, he were an angel, or a prophet, or a king in exile... and we never stopped to talk to him? It really makes me wonder....  

--Last edited by CallofZion on 2006-07-23 23:17:47 --

Riding the bus is a wealth of experiences and stories.  Being out in humanity.  I know a man who also has enough money to buy and run a car, but doesn't.  He loves riding the bus and commuter trains because he gets to see the dramas.  It depends on the bus route too.  The bus I ride now is full of blue-collar, industrial park, warehouse workers.  It was like every other bus route.  No one talked. Everyone pretended then everyone else there didn't matter.  But then I began talking to a man at my bus stop on the way home.  From there I met two other women.  We began talking on the bus about just about anything.  It took quite a while before people began to yearn to express themselves, to have conversation.  To say whatever it is they want to say.  

Then it was like - bang!  As of Janauary of this year people have begun to to speak up and participate in conversation.  No one judges what anyone else has to say.  There are some disagreements, etcs, but at least people are talking.  We have had a couple of Pub Nights where we invite all the people who ride the bus to come and have a beer and relax.  They've been a success.  It's a good thing because the world is a cold place.  It's lonely sitting on a bus full of people an not be able to have a simple conversation.  

I thank God for what I have.  Nothing lasts forever, and so I make all the memories I can by enjoying the company of these people and feel like something important is happening here.  People laugh, their eyes shine.  They seem lighter.  I am lighter and inspired.

In my dreams.  Gray shadows - residues of psychic escape.  The bus came, waiting for the time to go.  I am struggling with my unpacked bags, hangers with clothes sliding off them.  Boxes not quite closed and my companion impatient and now angry.  "If you want to bring that stuff I suggest you do it yourself."  We are in flight!  When could I have reviewed and sorted.  My assailant still fresh in my mind - the memories of my recaptures still haunting.  In past dreams I appeased him by I keeping my mouth shut and stayed for years, while my eyes - all the while - looked for an opportunity.  

On the bus, the eyes around me tire and turn away as the boxes and bags fall open and tattered dresses, blouses and under things escape - dusty and mothballed - into the aisle and climb up on the seats.  They have life, I become transparent and immobile.