Leave The Driving To Us

I remember when taking the bus wasn't viewed with disdain. Bus companies were everywhere and, if you couldn't or didn't want to drive, you could get from here to there by bus. When I was in college, I took the bus to visit my grandmother. It was a 5 hour trip, what with stops in scores of small towns, but it didn't cost much. When I was dating my ex, I would take the bus from college to visit him because the bus stopped in his hometown.

I don't think the bus stopped in my hometown, at least I don't remember it stopping there. But given the fact that bus travel in the past was a vital connection between cities and towns, it probably did. In small towns, the "bus stop" was usually a restaurant or gas station. You couldn't buy tickets there. Those would be sold by the driver. Sometimes the bus was full. Sometimes it wasn't. For getting around on a budget, it was a college student's preferred mode of travel.

Greyhound was the cream of the crop when it came to bus travel. They were always more expensive than regional carriers, but you got bigger, nicer and, dare we say it, cleaner buses. I remember the station in downtown LaCrosse was not very big but it was neat, with those plastic chairs with the scoop bottom. They had blue, silver and black ones and the interior of the station was tiled in white, blue and cream-colored tile, with stainless steel trim. I never traveled on Greyhound. They were outside my budget, but you could use their terminal to travel by the regional carriers which served the small towns Greyhound deemed too expensive to service.

 My sister came for Christmas one year and it was the first, and only, time I was in the old main bus terminal in Chicago. It was on Randolph Street. Our parents came to Wheaton and we took the train into the city and then, because it was snowing and cold, took a cab to the bus station. I remember you walked down into the bowels of an old building. It was a far cry from what the terminal looks like today.

I remember the dark and dank arrival and departure area. There was a creaky escalator, wooden, if I remember correctly, that took you from the street level down to the actual terminal. It wasn't clean. Perhaps it has always been a part of places open to the public that they would attract some of the less fortunate of humanity. It was my first contact with homelessness. Before organized shelters, bus stations and airports were the places the homeless went because it was warm and there was a bathroom. The old bus station, in operation since a bus terminal was needed in Chicago, was not inviting and fully fit the stereotype of a dirty, smelly, scary place.

This one, built in the mid-2000's, is open and airy with a small deli, lots of open space and clean restrooms. It's set off of downtown which means there's a bit of a hike to get into the city.

There weren't a lot of taxis waiting for people, either. It's almost like Chicago is not a bus destination city. Buses are not seen as the way to go to visit a place.

We have bought into the view from the past of a bus station as a less than secure place, situated in a part of town you shouldn't go to with the exception of the hours of 11 am -2:30 pm. The homeless "live" there. Don't use the bathrooms because they are never cleaned. And only people really poor, who can't afford air travel, take the bus.

But, in searching fares as a "what if", I can go from Chicago to Washington, DC, let Greyhound do the driving, and it would cost me from $155 to $305, depending upon the amenities I chose. I can't take a competitor to Washington. Greyhound seems to be my only option, but I took a look at the cost to, say, go back to Iowa for Thanksgiving. $80 round trip. If I drive for work, I would get reimbursed for the mileage to the tune of around $240. There would be the cost of a cab from the train station to the bus station because that is a hike, but I would be money ahead, plus the cost of wear and tear on my body. I would just need someone to be at the airport to pick me up and drop me off.

The thought of flying chills me. It's just not a friendly way to go anymore. For my sister and I, getting from point A to point B involved a bus, with fares that fit our budget. We could not have gone where we wanted to go without a bus.

We give bus travel such a negative image now. As I age, I'm thinking leaving the driving to someone else might not be such a bad idea.

Beverage:  English Teatime Tea

Deb

Have You Ever Considered...?

Tuesday, I drove into fog.

It was heavy and thick and clung to the landscape like it had been glued there. I love to drive in fog. I love the atmosphere it gives to the world. I love to breathe it in, feeling the water droplets in my lungs. I love to feel it on my face. 

When I went to college in LaCrosse, Wisconsin, fall and spring had intriguingly foggy days. It would roll in off the Mississippi River and, although Viterbo was a small college with a condensed footprint, it could envelope the whole campus and make buildings resemble charcoal drawings. If I could get up earlier in the morning, I might see more fog. As it is, it's usually gone by the time I get up. 

On Friday, the same area was devoid of fog but filled with color. 

Fall is in full bloom. We seem to have received just the right amount of rain to allow color to grow under the green. There is an explosion of bright yellows, oranges and reds this year. I don't remember it being so colorful. It also could be because we've had deliciously warm weather this past week and it's conducive to being outside where you can notice the color. 

I get to the on ramp to Interstate 80 outside of Mishawaka and I have the option of going to Ohio or to Chicago. I actually hesitated. I get to the junction of I-355 and I-80 and I have this option.

I'm in the right lane to go north and home, but I looked longingly at the west bound traffic, at the sign that pointed to Iowa. 

I can't remember a time when I didn't want to have the kind of disposable income and freedom to say, "I want to go that way" and just decide that's the way I'm going. I've always wanted to be able to just hop in the car and follow a road wherever that road may go. It was Friday. I could have just continued the 5 hours on to my mother's. She wasn't expecting me but I tell myself she would have been happy to see me. But I have cats that need tending and a life that can't quite just be chucked to follow Interstate 80 to the next big thing. 

Still, I dream about being able to just drive, to have the money that I could fill out those ends of I-80 that I've never driven or to follow I-55 from its start by Lake Michigan in Chicago to wherever it ends. Maybe some day I can do that. 

Beverage:  Edinburgh's Finest tea

Deb

Decisions Decisions

The list of brewers coming to Wheaton Ale Fest next weekend has been announced.

 

Looking this over, I know Blue Moon and Sierra Nevada. Neither is an Illinois brewer. I just learned about Magic Hat. They are from the Northeast US. And look, Leine's. I remember when Leinenkugel was very regional. You couldn't get it in LaCrosse, Wisconsin, where I went to college. We had to rely on someone heading north into their delivery area to purchase some and bring it back. Plus, unlike Old Style, which you could get for pennies, Leine's was expensive for the average college student. We used to pool cash to have enough for a couple of bottles for everyone on the dorm floor. I like Leine's, but they aren't, anymore, a what I would consider a micro-brewer. 

I can't drink a lot. First of all, I'm sure the Wheaton constabulary will be watching all the roads out of downtown Wheaton. Second, my medication has the nice "Restrict consumption of alcohol while taking this medication" label on the side. As a VIP ticket holder, I get a sampling glass which I shall make great use of. I won't be drinking the Blue Moon, Sierra Nevada or Leine's as I know those beers. Do any of my readers have a familiarity with any of the names on the list? Where should I start? 

This should be interesting but, more importantly, a lot of fun. It's time I treated myself to some fun. 

Beverage:  Scottish Blend tea

Deb

Fog

The fog comes
on little cat feet.
It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.

--Carl Sandberg

It was foggy this morning. I love the fog. I love how it drapes itself like gossamer around trees and buildings. I love how it diminishes the sounds of a city. I love how, when you walk through it and breath deeply, your lungs fill with the freshness of water. I love being out in it, feeling it on my face.

I remember fog on the farm. There were days you could not see across the yard. There were days when the fog was like torn sheets, sitting only in the hollows.

I love driving in the fog. Yes, it's dangerous, but I love the enveloped feeling and the act of discovery as you drive down even the most familiar of roads and the trees, signs and markers of life slowly reveal themselves to you.

Most of all, I love to walk in it. It's my introverted nature to need to recharge my batteries by alone-ness. This is not loneliness, this is just being alone. Fog is marvelous for that. I reach out and touch it. I surround myself with it. I loved going for a walk on the farm on a heavily foggy day. The sounds of the cows or the pigs or the chickens seemed a world away. I felt a balm for my busy soul.

And I remember in college, getting up to go to class on foggy days. As Old Style beer was brewed in LaCrosse, Wisconsin, where I went to college, the fog would keep the smell of roasted hops in the city and it would not dissipate into the air. You would walk to your 8 a.m. class with this incredibly intriguing aroma; the damp on your face combined with the smell of hops and the Mississippi river. I know it sounds weird, but it was, to me, an inspiring smell. I remember being late to classes because I just wanted to be in it.

We don't get many foggy days in the city now. My memory thinks there were more, but it could be my memory is a fog. The tapestry of life changes in the fog. It's a change I miss. I would love to walk along a beach on a foggy day or hike through a forest or climb a hill while brushing the damp from my face. I was content this morning to linger in the back yard, breathing in the little that was left at 7:45.

More please. I want to sit on the deck in the morning with a mug of hot tea and just be in a fog.

Beverage: Assam tea

Deb

Kitteh visits

I went to visit Val and her cats. No pressure to take them, no not at all.

"I told Dawn that you were thinking about taking them and everyone at the clinic is really excited. They all think you're awesome and really couldn't think of a better person for them."

Did I say no pressure? HEY! Put that screwdriver away and don't tighten those!

Yes, I have actually considered NOT getting any more cats, at least through the end of the year. There is something to be said for being able to linger in places because I don't feel I have to be home. I look ahead at what I may be doing; Scottish festival in Iowa at the end of September, 30th class reunion in LaCrosse at Viterbo College (yeah, yeah, I know it's called 'University' now, but it will always be 'College' to me), and the thought of using up my vacation days with a visit to my daughter, which she didn't know about until she reads this. Plus, there's Thanksgiving and Christmas and New Year's tossed into the mix.

It is undeniable, however, that I am lonely. I nearly had a heart-attack on Wednesday night. I went to bed at my usual time, but I find I am not sleeping well and am waking up at odd hours and noises. I will swear, on any size stack of whatever religious tome you wish, that I heard a cat jump from a windowsill to the floor. If you have heard it, it is an unmistakable sound; feet hitting the floor. At night, that meant someone was coming to sleep with me. I was so terrified I would suddenly feel the weight of a cat on bed and this "cat" then lying on my legs as they were wont to do. I curled into a ball, pulled the covers over my head and fell fitfully asleep. I have no idea what I really heard. I just know my sense of sound heard something that was translated into a memory that couldn't possibly be happening, or could it?

I walked into Val's apartment and one fled. The other looked at me before going behind the futon. She was, however captured and held while I let her smell me. Then, when there were no hisses or spits or struggles to get away, she was handed over. She sort of looked at me and then lay down in my lap. "She's the lap cat," Val said. She stayed for a good 10 minutes before deciding the petting was enough and she jumped off. (That's how we got Shakespeare. He fell asleep in my arms at the pet store where he was. Well, you can't just wake up a cat. He's obviously comfortable with me.)

At that point, Val got the other one out of hiding. She struggled a bit so Val calmed her down and then I offered my hand to smell. She looked at me but didn't want to be petted, so she was let go. Val and I talked about their care and their personalities and then Val got the recalcitrant cat again. This time, she allowed Val to place her in my lap. The ears flicked back for a minute or two but when she realized the ear and chin scratches were offered, she was fine. She only lasted a few minutes in my lap, but she's not the lap cat the other is.

By this day next week I'll either have 2 new friends or be getting 2 new friends. Labor Day weekend is an good time. I am clearing my calendar of any ancillary engagements that I can spend the weekend bonding. My house is empty. I am empty.

They won't be allowed into the basement until they are used to the upstairs and used to me coming and going. I have to wash the kitchen and bathroom floors and one more litter box. Both are quite chunky which neither Betsy or Rascal was which will be quite different, but they do love to sleep with their owner. I realize that is what I miss the most, rolling over to find a purring cat. Pillows are no substitute.

Yes, you can hear the not quite 100% completely sold sure right now in my voice. Am I talking myself into this? I don't quite know. Only Shakespeare was a sure thing. Everyone else was an "am I doing the right thing". There were no regrets once the cat was in the house.

As I huddled under the covers last night (What is this with a night temperature of 53 degrees in August?), the idea that I'd have foot warmers again gave me a better sleep than I've had in several days. I am a cat person.

Beverage: Prince of Wales tea

Deb