BURIAL AT SEA(weed)

Magic

happens

in moments

On a recent beach hike, I came upon a young mother with two young daughters, one of which was being buried in the sand by mom and sis.  Just as they were completing the burial, I quickly grabbed a pile of nearby kelp, and dragged it over the top of the ‘corpse’, proclaiming,

“You forgot one thing!”  

All three let out a loud “EE-YOUU!”

That probably spelled the end of my career as a mortician.

RAPID FIRE

During an extremely long

and warm spell

San Diego

was finally beginning

to wear down just a tad

Something that is probably more apparent elsewhere, where heat and humidity are more of a factor, sprouted unexpectedly deep into a hot afternoon while on my bus.  While winding around a gentle bend in a residential neighborhood, where the street allows speeds of 35 mph, both front windshields of the bus were met with three different explosions in all of a second.  Not having my wipers on at the time, and having my vision obscured for a moment, it took me a few seconds to process what had just occurred.  It was only after noticing balloon ‘shrapnel’ hanging off one of the wipers did I realize that we were under ‘assault’.  The ordnance had apparently had been projected out from behind the parked cars that lined the street.  I never saw any of the ‘assailants’, but it was, a well coordinated attack.  I truly appreciated the efforts that went into the planning.

After finishing the route, taking my break, and heading back in the opposite direction, I came to the bus stop directly across the street from where the assault had occurred.  It was only now that I witnessed a full-blown battle underway, where two groups from adjacent houses were pummeling each other with both water balloons and hoses.  While stopped across the street, I honked my horn enough times to get everyone’s attention, and with that had, gave them a thumbs up and wave, whereupon they all let out a cheer that their ‘operation’ had been both a success, and was well-appreciated.

Sometimes its great to be the focus of so much attention, and, as a bonus, get my windshields cleaned.

MIDDLE DIGITS

Driving a bus

will earn you

more than your

fair share

of middle digits

Its unavoidable.  When you drive something around that is eight-feet wide and forty-feet long, amongst vehicles half that size, you are going to incur responses, many of the them, unfavorable.

Your intentions may be innocent, but the perception of others may prove otherwise.  You do have a job to do, which means, pulling in and out of traffic on a continual basis, with a schedule to keep (theoretically), and a specific route to drive.  Some things are unavoidable.

In addition to those dynamics, you may have a bus that might not run properly, or even worse, break down in traffic--not a pretty sight.

One minor incident during the summer earned me one of the most classic middle digits I have yet to receive.  It was shortly after sunset on a warm evening, where traffic had subsided, and the pace was rather relaxed.  I was following behind an early-model Mercedes whose driver had his left arm dangling relaxed out the open window towards the ground.  I could not figure out why the street seemed so dark, and I could barely see anything clearly but the taillights of his car.  I decided to switch on my brights to see if that would improve my visibility, which it did.  It also set into motion the Mercedes’ drivers left arm, which slowly rose to a vertical position, and, at the last moment, sprouted a definitive middle digit in my direction.  It then slowly reversed all the aforementioned movements, to resume its original position.

The whole choreography was so classic, it deserved a YouTube moment, but, since this was not possible, I awarded it with a hearty laugh, and a return to my low-beams.

It was only after returning to the yard, that I discovered that one of my low-beam lights had burned out, thus creating the ‘dark’ street conditions that had precipitated my high-beams.

I wouldn’t have traded that middle-digit-moment for two properly-working headlights anyway.

POGO STICKS

One never knows

what will compose

the catalyst for

a connection

While leaving the beach and climbing onto the boardwalk, I came across a woman on an adult-sized tricycle, adorned with both front and rear baskets.  Protruding prominently out of the large rear basket were not one, but two, high-tech adult pogo sticks.  Not being able to pass up the bait, I took a bite.

As it turns out, the cross-pollination of talents and passions have engendered a new generation of jumping-enthusiasts, as aerospace engineers have added, once again, to the incredible array of exercising options that never seem to end.  Jan, our jumper, went on to inform me of various models available, depending on your performance goals, which of course, has spawned competitive events--what a surprise.

She added that the variety of their use has spread to such diverse venues as motocross, where, when a rider is forced into a pit stop situation, they will immediately pick up a pogo stick and start jumping, because the movement accurately replicates the same muscle-groups used during the race, and keeps them warmed up until they can jump back on the bike.

It turns out Jan is an avid runner, surfer, musician, on top of being a resident Psychology professor at Southwestern Community College.  Our conversation transitioned from pogo sticks, to the Paralympics, to a wide variety areas within psychology, including, research and development, and shows and documentaries highlighting variations on the theme.  We gobbled up a quick half-hour in what seemed like five minutes.

Life will always present you with segwaying opportunities for connections, no matter who engineered them and for what reason.

PIZZA DELIVERY

I could weigh

more than I do

had I taken up

all the offers of pizza

that have come my way

One of the funnest ways to connect with people in the moment is to identify with ‘their’ moment, whatever it happens to be.  With passengers boarding the bus, you literally have seconds to connect with them, be it about their hat, hairstyle, dress, shirt-saying, shoes, and, the most obvious, something they are carrying.  Nothing stands out more than the ubiquitous pizza box.

For all the pizza boxes coming my way, my standard approach is thus;  if one box, “You brought me PIZZA!”; for multiple boxes, “You brought the whole BUS pizza!”  It gets them every time.

Out of all those encounters, I am offered a piece at least 50% of the time.  Unfortunately, eating pizza and driving a bus are mutually exclusive, so I always respectfully decline with a “Thanks--I was just kidding!”

It’s a good thing though; I have to watch my waistline so I can leave room for ice cream.

LEFTOVER BUSINESS

Sometimes

its even possible

to participate

in another person’s

magical moment

as a third-party observer

Not long ago, I was stopped at a busy intersection in Mission Hills.  Out from behind a building, and waiting to cross the street in front of me, appeared a couple around thirty.  Being lunch-hour, the box that the woman was holding I took to be leftovers.  As they stopped at the corner, the woman kept glancing back over her shoulder, and would then say something to her hubby, who was, at the time, completely consumed by his phone.

The woman then abruptly disappeared around the corner and out of my view, only to reappear moments later, this time without her leftover container.  She excitedly said something to her man, who afforded her not even a turn of his head.  She glanced again back up the street, looked at him, back up the street, all the while quite excited about the whole affair.  My guess was she had offered her leftovers to someone out of my sight that needed them more than her.

What was most precious was the look of excited expectation on the face of the woman.  She had the countenance of a five-year-old that had personally made a gift for her mom on her birthday, and could barely wait for mom to open it in her presence.

Even though the woman was not directly responsible for what was inside the box, she was responsible for dispensing the gift, and the gift of JOY was all her’s.

MERMAIDS

The mermaids of legend

are not

what we are talking about

but mermaids of

another kind

Kiley, Dawn and Tori were the local mermaids who tended bar at the now-closed Kadan in Normal Heights.  They neither plied the local waters, nor sported aquatic appendages, but dealt with liquid nonetheless.

All three were/are beloved by the patrons of Kadan, who multi-tasked as servers, friends, therapists, and confidants.

Both Kiley and Dawn, who adorn themselves with dogs, also sport displays of tats and piercings, smoke, drink, party hard, and are as sweet as pie.  Tori, originally from the East Coast, headed West to pursue her musical dream, is tall, beautiful, simple and understated, and looks naked without her Fedora.

All three are the faces that welcome weary travelers and lonely sojourners.

Unlike the mermaids of legend, their intent is never to cause shipwreck, but to always to pick up survivors.