Sweet fall evening
I went from work to a nearby farmers' market. It's more pricey than most, and the yuppies and condo types abound, but it's just a couple of blocks from work and we needed some fresh foods. Tonight is First Thursday, where all the galleries in the area throw open their doors and have wine and appetizers for the crowds that come down and wander through the neighborhood. This meant that the market was unusually full and the lines longer than normal, and the trendies and hipsters were out in force. The children's fountain at the local park was turned off and the park converted into a beer garden and outdoor theater for a movie night.
It was all good though. The fall weather was sweet, just right, like the world caressing you. Everyone was happy. The dealers were selling plenty, the customers were happily wolfing down treats and stocking up on quality fresh foods. It was pleasant. The world was giving us a hug, and we were hugging right back. The easy enjoyment was infections. I picked up fruit, mushrooms, corn and veggies, and a bite to eat, and lugged my wares to the bus stop, about 10 minutes away.
I've skipped telling a bunch of bus stories recently -- still somehow finding only sporadic blogging time -- but today was an interesting day. Truth is many bus rides are interesting, but I confess that of late I'm usually working or writing on the bus and am not always my usual people-watcher self (this morning I read 150 or so entries on my pre-loaded LJ f-list).
First my bus was 16 minutes late and I watched a parade of people board other buses or walk by. The bank next to my bus stop was also having a First Thursday open house, but few cared or went in.
Once on the bus I found one of the last empty seats right at the back in the middle, with a view of the whole bus. With a backpack and three bags of market goodness, it was not practical to haul out my laptop and work, so I just watched. It was a cell phone day, with a large number of folks having long conversations, a few of them loud. Fortunately most soon petered out.
There were the usual unexpected characters. An odd nerdy guy, like many I've known through the years, sat near me. His beard was wild, scraggly and stringy, but seemed positively tame compared to the wild band of hair that surrounded his bald top. All of this hair was happily denying the laws of gravity; more extravagant than a Disney cartoon character getting electrocuted. He was reading a graphic novel while holding it an inch from his face and squinting through thick glasses. When a guy who was clearly looking for a seat stopped in front of him, resigned to stand, he tapped the man on the shoulder and said, "Excuse me sir, there's a seat right back there." The man politely declined. A sweet, but unusual gesture.
To my right an Indian guy (as in from India) had managed to get the window open far wider that the built-in stops usually allow. He had his head out the window much of the time, constantly talking to himself softly, with occasional shill loud interludes. His chats occasionally included the guy between us, who was polite, but moved as soon as a seat became available. Later he made a cell phone call, again vacillating between loud exclamations and excited babble.
Early in the ride, with the bus full, an overweight woman chose to sit next to an overweight man, rather than a skinny person. The man was already taking up part of her seat and there was little room for anyone, let alone a woman her size. It seemed an odd choice. Later in the journey, as the bus empties, people sitting next to others generally move to seats where both seats are available, but this woman never moved, even when the bus was mostly empty, even though only one butt cheek was on her seat. It made me wonder if skinny people had given her grief in the past about overflowing from her seat, and that this -- while not physically comfortable -- was nevertheless preferable to even the possibility that someone else would sit next to her.
In the front a band of weird "alternative" kids with skateboards (plus spares, one of them having an extra board strapped to his back) sat opposite trendy kids who used product, the two parties pretending to ignore each other, but occasionally smiling at an overheard joke from the other side.
I think I saw just the one jacket and tie combination, and just one other tie. Ghod I love Portland. I've never lived anywhere where casual was not just the norm, but the overwhelming majority.
And my eyes strayed to see what was beyond the bus too, the endless collection of cyclists, some struggling mightily up an incline, others racing each other, others racing the bus. Many people were out walking, most of them with dogs. There were joggers, but fewer than usual. A woman on her balcony watering hanging plants while on tiptoes. The parks were empty. I wondered if folks were home watching the RNC, or out enjoying First Thursday, or just in their back yards.
There is a point where the bus is on a road overlooking a cliff and you see a great view of Mount Hood... occasionally. Of late it's usually too hazy to see the mountain, which is astounding because the damned thing is massive and close and dominates the skyline. And when it's not the haze, it's hiding behind the cloud cover. Sigh. I miss seeing the mountain.
Then, in a final twist, right near the end of the line at the University of Portland, about 30 freshmen piled into the bus, each paying for a ticket with cash. Most of them were girls of all shapes and sizes, and soon the bus was full. I found myself surrounded by chatty teenagers. Their chat made the Indian guy talk louder, and in turn they talked louder, and so on, and quickly the bus resembled a bar on a Friday night. A quick question to a couple of them revealed that it was some kind of class exercise for freshmen, with the idea being to get them used to taking the bus. I thought this a novel idea, both intriguing and baffling.
Getting off the bus I was distracted by the students and my shipping bags and I stumbled, reaggravating a hurt ankle and pulling a muscle, but It did not shake my good mood. I limped home still infected with the happiness that lovely weather gifts us.
When I got home I pulled out my laptop, sat outside on the porch in the sweet weather, and typed this and other things, milking a lovely evening for all it was worth, with my cats for company.
It was all good though. The fall weather was sweet, just right, like the world caressing you. Everyone was happy. The dealers were selling plenty, the customers were happily wolfing down treats and stocking up on quality fresh foods. It was pleasant. The world was giving us a hug, and we were hugging right back. The easy enjoyment was infections. I picked up fruit, mushrooms, corn and veggies, and a bite to eat, and lugged my wares to the bus stop, about 10 minutes away.
I've skipped telling a bunch of bus stories recently -- still somehow finding only sporadic blogging time -- but today was an interesting day. Truth is many bus rides are interesting, but I confess that of late I'm usually working or writing on the bus and am not always my usual people-watcher self (this morning I read 150 or so entries on my pre-loaded LJ f-list).
First my bus was 16 minutes late and I watched a parade of people board other buses or walk by. The bank next to my bus stop was also having a First Thursday open house, but few cared or went in.
Once on the bus I found one of the last empty seats right at the back in the middle, with a view of the whole bus. With a backpack and three bags of market goodness, it was not practical to haul out my laptop and work, so I just watched. It was a cell phone day, with a large number of folks having long conversations, a few of them loud. Fortunately most soon petered out.
There were the usual unexpected characters. An odd nerdy guy, like many I've known through the years, sat near me. His beard was wild, scraggly and stringy, but seemed positively tame compared to the wild band of hair that surrounded his bald top. All of this hair was happily denying the laws of gravity; more extravagant than a Disney cartoon character getting electrocuted. He was reading a graphic novel while holding it an inch from his face and squinting through thick glasses. When a guy who was clearly looking for a seat stopped in front of him, resigned to stand, he tapped the man on the shoulder and said, "Excuse me sir, there's a seat right back there." The man politely declined. A sweet, but unusual gesture.
To my right an Indian guy (as in from India) had managed to get the window open far wider that the built-in stops usually allow. He had his head out the window much of the time, constantly talking to himself softly, with occasional shill loud interludes. His chats occasionally included the guy between us, who was polite, but moved as soon as a seat became available. Later he made a cell phone call, again vacillating between loud exclamations and excited babble.
Early in the ride, with the bus full, an overweight woman chose to sit next to an overweight man, rather than a skinny person. The man was already taking up part of her seat and there was little room for anyone, let alone a woman her size. It seemed an odd choice. Later in the journey, as the bus empties, people sitting next to others generally move to seats where both seats are available, but this woman never moved, even when the bus was mostly empty, even though only one butt cheek was on her seat. It made me wonder if skinny people had given her grief in the past about overflowing from her seat, and that this -- while not physically comfortable -- was nevertheless preferable to even the possibility that someone else would sit next to her.
In the front a band of weird "alternative" kids with skateboards (plus spares, one of them having an extra board strapped to his back) sat opposite trendy kids who used product, the two parties pretending to ignore each other, but occasionally smiling at an overheard joke from the other side.
I think I saw just the one jacket and tie combination, and just one other tie. Ghod I love Portland. I've never lived anywhere where casual was not just the norm, but the overwhelming majority.
And my eyes strayed to see what was beyond the bus too, the endless collection of cyclists, some struggling mightily up an incline, others racing each other, others racing the bus. Many people were out walking, most of them with dogs. There were joggers, but fewer than usual. A woman on her balcony watering hanging plants while on tiptoes. The parks were empty. I wondered if folks were home watching the RNC, or out enjoying First Thursday, or just in their back yards.
There is a point where the bus is on a road overlooking a cliff and you see a great view of Mount Hood... occasionally. Of late it's usually too hazy to see the mountain, which is astounding because the damned thing is massive and close and dominates the skyline. And when it's not the haze, it's hiding behind the cloud cover. Sigh. I miss seeing the mountain.
Then, in a final twist, right near the end of the line at the University of Portland, about 30 freshmen piled into the bus, each paying for a ticket with cash. Most of them were girls of all shapes and sizes, and soon the bus was full. I found myself surrounded by chatty teenagers. Their chat made the Indian guy talk louder, and in turn they talked louder, and so on, and quickly the bus resembled a bar on a Friday night. A quick question to a couple of them revealed that it was some kind of class exercise for freshmen, with the idea being to get them used to taking the bus. I thought this a novel idea, both intriguing and baffling.
Getting off the bus I was distracted by the students and my shipping bags and I stumbled, reaggravating a hurt ankle and pulling a muscle, but It did not shake my good mood. I limped home still infected with the happiness that lovely weather gifts us.
When I got home I pulled out my laptop, sat outside on the porch in the sweet weather, and typed this and other things, milking a lovely evening for all it was worth, with my cats for company.