Should

               It can be entertaining and even occasionally instructive to observe the folks with whom I share bus rides morning and afternoon each work day. You really get the complete cross-section of society since bus riders are mostly self-selecting and they each use their own criteria for choosing transportation modes.

               Some folks don’t have company-provided parking near their places of employment. That’s me. Or they simply dislike driving in city / commuter traffic. Also me. Some can’t afford private transportation or can’t drive for a whole variety of reasons. And some simply prefer the bus.

               So, you get this whole panoply of personalities, economic strata, histories and futures. And as I said, it can be fun to watch.

               What’s even more amusing is watching the watchers. The way people react to the people around them is a sociology lesson in real time.

               There are the private ones who want only to be left alone to the book of the week and do everything they can to discourage human engagement. And on the other hand, there are the ones who can’t wait to strike up a conversation about just about anything.

               There’s the ‘crazy guy’ who always cuts the line but no one objects because it won’t stop him, the drivers don’t care and he goes off on anyone he sees as usurping his right to be first. We all just try not to be the one sitting next to him when he starts railing against the world. You can tell the bus-riding newbies because they appear so delighted at finding an open seat on a standing-room-only coach. Nobody makes that mistake twice. He watches for someone to run afoul of his world view and then launches an attack that is quite alarming until you’ve seen his schtick a few times and come to realize he is literally all bark.

               There are the guys who stare at girls and the girls who try not to be caught staring at guys. Leerers come in both genders, although the approach is different.

               Folks become ‘bus buddies’ over time, learning each other’s routes and enough about their jobs and families to provide a sort of community of the 554 / 8:10. I have bus buddies and we all watch each other for the opportunity to engage and then to disengage after a moment’s easy conversation (pulling out the book or unravelling the ear buds being the primary coded signals we use).

               Among the watchers the most interesting to me are the ones I like to think of as the Normative Police. These are the folks whose idea of how the world works and our places in it are so secure that they feel comfortable assuming the judicial role within the public transit microcosm.

               On the old 210, there was a woman among the regulars whose judgment regarding each person boarding ‘her’ bus was so clearly etched on her face that folks who didn’t measure up sometimes found it insulting. In the time it took for a rider to enter the bus, scan their pass and walk the few paces required to pass her inspection station, she could size up, adjudicate and consign to the nether regions anyone who failed to measure up to her standards. One of my bus buddies took to calling her Big Nurse behind her back. She caught Marsha once but only looked confused. I don’t think she’s read much Ken Kesey.

               On the 212, there is a guy who reminds me of the character Pigpen in the Charley Brown cartoons. Only instead of dust, this guy moves through the world in a cloud of ‘should.’ If bus riders actually had thought balloons over their heads, his would be infilled with a dark gray. Pretty much no one measures up, if his jutting lower lip and furrowed brow are any indication. I don’t believe in all the times I’ve shared a ride with him (three years on this route, times maybe twice each week – you do the math) I don’t believe I’ve ever seen him smile or heard him utter a pleasant greeting or comment. If not for the fact that he tends to make business calls loudly and at length, I might have assumed he was mute. But his facial expressions tell the tale.

               I love riding the bus for the community it provides. For a writer, it’s a motorized collection of writing prompts.

Looking to the future

A day will come when we don’t need to embrace people’s differences because we won’t consider them important. We will accommodate the needs of people who live with disabilities without resentment and when confronted with a heavy accent we will listen more closely without grimacing.

A day will come when women will be able to walk down the street without fearing the intent of every male they happen across or worse, who lies in wait. And men of good will won’t have to feel guilty by association.

A day will come when women and minorities in positions of leadership and authority will be unremarkable.

A day will come when we won’t take the time to worry about the gender or sexual orientation of loving couples because we will prefer to spend our time and attention making sure that the people in our own lives feel loved.

A day will come when censorship will be nonexistent because to try to censor will be universally viewed as distasteful but also because most writers and speakers and painters and, and, and… will be respectful so that censorship is unnecessary.

A day will come when bigotry in any form will be so universally censured that the bigots will recede into the dark places from whence they were excreted.

A day will come when diversity won’t have to be promoted because at long last we will realize that sameness promotes inbreeding which is both unhealthful and boring.

A day will come when every child will be able to rely upon every adult of good will for protection and succor and those who would hurt, or abuse, or neglect children will be seen and treated as the arch criminals they are. And people will always and in every case intervene. Which means…

A day will come when no one earns the hateful sobriquet ‘bystander.’

A day will come when I won’t have to write any of this in future tense.

That day is not yet come.

But it will. Not in my lifetime and not in yours.

But trust me, the day will come. And my job today is to live my life in such a way that I help us move toward that day rather than away from it. I haven’t always been good at this but I will continue to try harder.  Because if I do, if we all do, then for our grandchildren or theirs,

A day will come.

A young family

It was a chore day at Chez McD, so I found myself sweeping and dusting and vacuuming whilst Mary did the grocery shopping, etc. Working in the family and dining room, I found my gaze frequently drawn to the neighbors’ backyard. The whole family was out taking advantage of the first non-rain weekend day in some time.

The Dad raked leaves and cleaned up the detritus from a series of storms that have blown through of late. Meanwhile, the Mom played catch with the son and older daughter while the younger daughter alternated between running around aimlessly and scolding our dogs whose barking and tail wagging announced their eagerness to join in the play.

One of the things I really like about this family is that they act like a family. The kids are the focal point of their lives. There are things I don’t understand about them; for example, they are devout Mormons and we are not devout anything. So their whole view of life on earth might be quite different from ours.

That’s okay because we agree on the single basic premise of life in a family – that children should be made to feel they are the whole reason for their parent’s lives. The raising of children is a big deal, which is not to say everyone needs to have children. But if you choose to have children, you have to be all in.

These folks are. And it shows.

Their kids are polite and respectful to adults and each other. And trust me when I say they know how to have fun. They’ll be fine.

Just felt like sharing that.

Places to visit

I got to thinking about places I’d like to visit. Not so much bucket list destinations that I will find a way to get to come hell or high water, but places I would choose to visit, given the opportunity. So I clicked into the NY Times online to take a look at 52 Places to Go in 2015.

The shot of Milan was in front of a cathedral with perhaps a thousand tourists in the foreground. No, thanks, I love people watching but I’m not good with crowds.

Cuba might be cool, except ooh, hot. Nah.

Been to Philadelphia. It was okay – big city with some historical stuff. Loved the library. And the used book store associated with it.

Yellowstone I would go back to again and again. You should, too. Stay on the trails and away from the fauna. If you don’t believe me, read a book called Death in Yellowstone.

Been to Singapore and liked it but don‘t need to do it again. Had the best Chinese food ever there. Of course, I was there forty years ago so my knowledge of the place is likely a tad out of date.

The Faroes would be cool. Seriously, drop me off and pick me up in a month or two. The kind of place I’d go to write a book.

Zimbabwe would be high on my list. I’ve always been fascinated with the Great City.

No interest in French wine country, since I’ve zero interest in viticulture. Beautiful area, I’m sure but there are so many other places to see. Of course, I could drink coffee and read while Mary wine-tastes, I suppose.

New Orleans – been there several times, but only once by choice. ‘Nuff said.

I would LOVE to check out Greenland but it’s not the kind of place you Disney tour. For this one, you need to set aside time for sitting and staring, absorbing. I would love to do some imagining in the vicinity of Hvalsey Church. As with the Faroes, drop me off here for a stay.

I would also love to walk the trail of 88 temples in Shikoku, Japan.

San Antonio is a fave. The Riverwalk is a great evening experience but the really cool stuff can only be found if, say, your cousin is a local Catholic priest and a killer tour guide who knows all the back stories. Great food.

Roma. I know, clichéd but there is just so much to see there. Plus I’ve always loved the rhythm and timbre of Italians speaking Italian. And of course, there’s the food.

Taos. For both the land and the architecture. And as above, the food.

You might notice that the number of places I’d like to go far outstrips the number of places I am likely to go. And of course, there are lots of other places I haven’t listed here. That’s okay; your reach should always exceed your grasp. Especially if they have great food.

Da haps

Yes, I know it’s been a while. I confess to being remiss. No excuses.

(Bet you thought there’d be a great big ole ‘but’ hereabouts, huh?)

Mary arrived home night before last after too long an absence. It’s amazing how much more settled I feel when I’m not rattling around alone in the house. We both have colds but I have a Washington cold and she has a Florida cold  so we circle each other suspiciously, wondering whether the bugs will cross-breed to our detriment. It’s been a very hands off homecoming.

Tonight I get to read a play by a dear friend and I cheated a little while printing it, reading through page 7 and nearly blowing off my afternoon plans but then manning up in the discipline department, so here I am. Tonight will be blissful.

Another beloved friend had a difficult last few, cleaning out her former manse, selling off stuff, and dealing with a lot of emotional baggage. I hope she understands how many of us are totally in her corner. Even though I know from experience that some hurts are your own and the love of friends is important but can’t take the hurt away. Some burdens you just bear.

I got through my first round reader comments on da book. They were both hard to take and precious to receive. The writers among you will get that. So da book goes back to the shop for a full rewrite. And why not just set it aside and go to the next project, you ask?

Because.

The next project – the one with Cecily and the non-traditional family that I’m just dying to get to - will wait. The Patent Desk waited most of my adult life so it retains its first in line status.

I’m going to a flash fiction event this week. Looking forward to that. Will I share the output here? We’ll see.

Worried about and hopeful for daughters.

Working on health-related self-discipline.

Researching for a talk I have to give in May and wondering what on earth makes these people want to hear what I have to say. Which makes me frantic to find something useful to say. An evil cycle of determination woven together with self-doubt.

Da haps. Life.

Clear water

There is a small lake about an hour’s drive from here, just on the far side of Snoqualmie Pass. It’s one of my favorite places to paddle and I promise it would be yours, as well.

Lake Easton isn’t huge – you could paddle all the way around the shoreline in a couple of hours – and it’s not deep, averaging about 35 feet. On the Northwest end where I‘ve paddled much of it is less than ten feet deep. It’s fed and drained by the Yakima River and serves as part of the irrigation reservoir system for agricultural eastern Washington.

It’s not accessible to kayaks just now, what with being covered with a layer of ice and even toward the end of summer the water can be quite cold.  

I love Lake Easton because the water is perfectly clear. I haven’t found a place where you can’t see the stumps of the former forest - every detail as though you could reach down and touch them. And because it’s closed to power boating, it’s always a nice tranquil place to kayak. A really great place to think.

I’ll be back there this spring, if I can find a paddle buddy.

We all have favorite places and this is one of mine. Just thought I’d share that.

Bachelorhood

My wife comes home in less than a week and let me tell you, I couldn’t be more thrilled. I do not like living without her. I do not like it, Sam I Am.

You see, I am not good at some things.

Don’t get me wrong. I am good at some things. Petting dogs and writing (sometimes) and driving long distances without falling asleep and singing and teaching and curriculum development.

I’m a decent folk guitar player and really pretty good at building stuff for the house. I can dead lift my body weight which I will decline to quantify here but let me just say you should be impressed.

I can sing le Marseillaise in French and recite the Suscipiat in Latin and belt out Dein geburstag ist erschienen in German, much to the chagrin of Sherree who accompanied me on it in high school and would likely be overjoyed never to hear it again.

I can grill a steak to perfection which if we’re honest isn’t actually all that impressive since of course I like the way I grill them because I tend to grill them the way I like them.

I can accept criticism as long as it’s aimed at someone else and hot weather as long as it occurs somewhere I’m not. And broccoli when it’s being consumed on another continent.

What I do not do particularly well is spend more than about a week away from my wife.

Or deciding stuff. Mary usually does that.

She’s coming home next Thursday.

I am happy.

Your meetup

First, I won’t be there. I’d actually love to take part in a counter-demonstration but I won’t take the chance of inadvertently misidentifying myself to any observers as one of you. So I guess I’ll just say:

You are not kings. Don’t get me wrong - there have indeed been monarchs who were as misogynistic, as cruel and anti-social and downright spew-worthy as yourselves. But even in the company of Vlad and his ilk, you’re not even pretenders.

The thing you’re missing here is that you are not men. You may have penises and testicles but being a man takes more than an accident of cell division. And you just don’t make the grade.

We are indeed having some philosophical disconnects between men and women of goodwill just now. After centuries of subjugation, some women are swinging the pendulum past center. Guess that’s what happens when half the population has spent centuries silenced and forced to walk a step behind. Your childish vitriol isn’t a rebuttal to radical feminism, it validates it.

You seem to try awful hard to define yourselves as ‘real men.’ I can help:

Real men aren’t afraid of real women.

Real men don’t utter the word rape except with loathing.

Real men don’t need clubs and secret code words to validate themselves.

Real men don’t waste time or mental energy hating women. They’re too busy trying to be worthy of them.

You are not real men. You are in fact unmanly. Your adoption of the term ‘neomasculine’ is apt, by the way. The prefix ‘neo-‘ comes from the Greek meaning young. And if you are anything, you are immature. The trouble is that unformed minds in full grown bodies can be dangerous.

I gotta tell you, this is one of those times that sorely tests my dedication to principles of free speech.

I can’t help hoping lots of women show up to your little gatherings of masturbatory misfits. I hope they show up together, for mutual protection. And that they take lots and lots and lots of head shots.  Every woman needs to know your faces.

 

NOTE FROM A YOUNG WOMAN:

I'd like to encourage everyone to be extra safe this weekend as "International Meetup Day" takes place in many cities worldwide including Boston, Chicago, and Seattle. This is a meetup event for neomasculine followers of The Return of Kings. Many meetups will be led to bars.

Please watch your drinks, travel in groups, and be safe.