Bus stop moments
Jan. 1st, 2008 08:40 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rebeccmeisterI am composing blog entries in my head, which is never a good way to blog because then what actually comes out when I have a chance to sit in front of a keyboard never even remotely resembles the long, rambling train of thought that passed through my mind and I set myself up for disappointment.
Oh well. On the other hand, that means there's plenty to write about, which may or may not be read by anyone (on NPR they have been talking about how many blogs now exist, and how the vast majority are read only by the writer's mother--though at least in my case we think it's my father more than my mother and I have a vague idea that the rest of you are out there as well). But I jest and thus digress.
I'll ruin punchlining opportunities by starting at the end of yesterday, coming home on the bus at midnight after a wonderful evening with two of my lifelong best friends, CD and AKW. As![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
annikusrex knows, when I'm away, I often get to fretting about the meaning of our friendship because it cannot be about day-to-day contact (or sometimes even month-to-month contact). [hell's bells--I overanalyze most things anyway] It's just a part of my nature, but at least I know of it. The beauty of the thing is that this worry becomes inconsequential in the light of a moment standing in the cold at a bus stop, slightly tipsy, saying what comes to mind without fear of judgment or self-censoring and yet managing to have a meaningful conversation as well, about those things that seem to matter in the long run, about our easy and difficult relationships with others.
Ah, my soul says, this is the thing I crave.
But you might also know my yesterday through action; the day prior I pulled out my mother's baby-blue bicycle (I refer to it as the Blue Devil), filled the tires with air, and rode down Boyer and Eastlake to South Lake Union (where I witnessed a SLUT-car--South Lake Union Transit--we have no idea how the acronym became public for it was briskly changed to Seattle Streetcar). Then yesterday I rode over to Fremont (ah, the freedom of a bicycle!), at the north end of Lake Union (ah, geography in orientation to lakes!), to visit a few shops.
The first shop, a rowing clothing store (such a place exists!), was closed for the New Year, so I pressed onwards to Theo Chocolates, where some chocolate sampling occurred (as mentioned yesterday). Now I know perhaps too much about the subtle differences of different chocolates. From there, I rode the Devil up Fremont Avenue and discovered at the top that I was on the wrong side of Aurora for the purposes of heading east, so I circled around and decided to head back down to find a different route.
As I waited at the light at the top of the hill, a car behind me honked and the driver gestured frantically. I couldn't understand his gestures, so I waved flippantly and headed down the hill. Halfway down or so, I discovered why: I had taken off my super-nice biking gloves as I went up because I got overheated so I put them in the basket on the rear rack. Apparently this was disagreeable to the gloves and they were in the midst of hopping out and committing glove suicide when the driver tried and failed to alert me to the situation. So then I had to head all the way back up the hill and retrace my most roundabout route in search of the glove that got away. Fortunately I found it again, and so then I was able to make my way over to check out Trophy Cupcakes in Wallingford (CD says she prefers it to Cupcake Royale and so of course I had to make my own comparison).
What I realized was this: after a certain point, there's no point in deciding who makes the better cupcake--the one at Trophy was perfectly acceptable and delicious, as are the ones at Cupcake Royale (though both shops had run out of cupcakes by the end of the day yesterday). I have other words for the differences in interior decorating (Trophy=too much baby blue, whereas CR=pleasantly brown with pink accents), but it's nice to know that it isn't necessary to distinguish the one and only best of the best.
And as one of my favorite storytellers would say (Johnny Moses), and that is all.
Oh well. On the other hand, that means there's plenty to write about, which may or may not be read by anyone (on NPR they have been talking about how many blogs now exist, and how the vast majority are read only by the writer's mother--though at least in my case we think it's my father more than my mother and I have a vague idea that the rest of you are out there as well). But I jest and thus digress.
I'll ruin punchlining opportunities by starting at the end of yesterday, coming home on the bus at midnight after a wonderful evening with two of my lifelong best friends, CD and AKW. As
annikusrex knows, when I'm away, I often get to fretting about the meaning of our friendship because it cannot be about day-to-day contact (or sometimes even month-to-month contact). [hell's bells--I overanalyze most things anyway] It's just a part of my nature, but at least I know of it. The beauty of the thing is that this worry becomes inconsequential in the light of a moment standing in the cold at a bus stop, slightly tipsy, saying what comes to mind without fear of judgment or self-censoring and yet managing to have a meaningful conversation as well, about those things that seem to matter in the long run, about our easy and difficult relationships with others.Ah, my soul says, this is the thing I crave.
But you might also know my yesterday through action; the day prior I pulled out my mother's baby-blue bicycle (I refer to it as the Blue Devil), filled the tires with air, and rode down Boyer and Eastlake to South Lake Union (where I witnessed a SLUT-car--South Lake Union Transit--we have no idea how the acronym became public for it was briskly changed to Seattle Streetcar). Then yesterday I rode over to Fremont (ah, the freedom of a bicycle!), at the north end of Lake Union (ah, geography in orientation to lakes!), to visit a few shops.
The first shop, a rowing clothing store (such a place exists!), was closed for the New Year, so I pressed onwards to Theo Chocolates, where some chocolate sampling occurred (as mentioned yesterday). Now I know perhaps too much about the subtle differences of different chocolates. From there, I rode the Devil up Fremont Avenue and discovered at the top that I was on the wrong side of Aurora for the purposes of heading east, so I circled around and decided to head back down to find a different route.
As I waited at the light at the top of the hill, a car behind me honked and the driver gestured frantically. I couldn't understand his gestures, so I waved flippantly and headed down the hill. Halfway down or so, I discovered why: I had taken off my super-nice biking gloves as I went up because I got overheated so I put them in the basket on the rear rack. Apparently this was disagreeable to the gloves and they were in the midst of hopping out and committing glove suicide when the driver tried and failed to alert me to the situation. So then I had to head all the way back up the hill and retrace my most roundabout route in search of the glove that got away. Fortunately I found it again, and so then I was able to make my way over to check out Trophy Cupcakes in Wallingford (CD says she prefers it to Cupcake Royale and so of course I had to make my own comparison).
What I realized was this: after a certain point, there's no point in deciding who makes the better cupcake--the one at Trophy was perfectly acceptable and delicious, as are the ones at Cupcake Royale (though both shops had run out of cupcakes by the end of the day yesterday). I have other words for the differences in interior decorating (Trophy=too much baby blue, whereas CR=pleasantly brown with pink accents), but it's nice to know that it isn't necessary to distinguish the one and only best of the best.
And as one of my favorite storytellers would say (Johnny Moses), and that is all.
