Catching the 408 bus

It's just a quick jog around the block, up and over the flyover across the busy city highway, and down the other side to catch the 408. The bus arrives and it's more than packed. We push on anyway, understanding that any bus in this city at this time of day will be equally packed. There's no waiting for one more empty because there won't be one.

Our multi-pass cards are in our wallets and we simply touch the keypad at the front of the bus to register our fare. All of 11 cents for two of us to ride five miles. We're stuck on the steps of the bus, right up by the driver, with about ten other people. The bus keeps stopping and more people push on. Not for the intrepid, these busses. Some people pass their card in for a swipe and then trot back to the middle to push on there. We keep getting hit in the shoulders every time they open and close.

Finally one of the little men beside us motions toward the back and we see that a miniscule amount of space has opened up. He leads the way and we get almost to the middle of the bus. By the time we reach our stop, some of the congestion has cleared, but there still are no seats available on the bus.

Coming home two hours later, we both get seats for the whole ride. Time makes a difference.

Why bother with a crowded bus? It's the sense of freedom that comes from having a multi-pass and a basic knowledge of public transportation. Free from the need to tell a taxi driver, in fractured Chinese, where we want to go. Free from the nightmare of driving ourselves, or the hassle that would come from trying to find a parking spot in a city where they come dear.

True, there are times when a car would be nice, such as when one has large packages, but that's rare. More times than not one is simply going from point A to point B with a small backpack or purse and umbrella.

Before long we'll leave the city of mass transit and head back to Motor City. There will be two cars in the drive and gasoline to purchase. We'll miss the life of ease in motion. No busses, no trams, no subways.

And of course, no where nearly the volume of people who make it possible to offer a ride across the city in busses back to back for a mere 11 cents.

Funny-silly uncles

The evening sunshine in the back yard dances across a gray haired man playing with two little blond girls -- suddenly I drop more than 30 years and see a yard hundreds of miles away. The little girls look much the same, but the man is far younger with thick black hair. The antics, the jokes, the fun. It's silly-funny uncle fun, but now he's the great-uncle and the little girls are the next generation of the original children.

I used to love watching the three originals back those more than 30 years. Sometimes they were on their feet with games and "pony rides" and other times they were flat on their bellies, all three of them, heads close together as they explored worms and bugs deep in the grass. Thanks to the silly-funny uncle, the little girls moved to Asia with absolutely NO fear of insects.

When the uncle married and had his own children, there was a slight hiccup of fear that maybe, just maybe, nieces wouldn't be important anymore. But that fear was never realized. The silly-funny uncle remained just as much of a treasure and the nieces happily took care of their little cousins. Their younger sister, the age of the cousins, took them on as brothers for life. Eventually she moved north to work for the silly-funny uncle and enjoyed adult conversation.

It's time to eat and the Bear announces that SHE will sit by HIM. Throughout dinner there are comparisons of menu choices, amounts of food in the mouth, and who's got the cleanest plate. Bear banters with this man she hardly knew an hour ago as if he was all hers, and so he is. At one point she scolds him for calling her grandfather his brother.

"He's not your brother," she says with certainty. "He's my Poppa."
"But your Poppa is my brother," says funny uncle, "My much older brother!"

Bear ponders this relationship. Can gray haired men be brothers?

When it's time for dessert funny uncle makes a big scene of eating the salad in front of him. "This is dessert," he tells Bear. Bear protests loudly. "No," he continues, "We're having salad for dessert. Don't you like salad." Well, yes, but not for dessert.

I'm making coffee inside the house when Bear comes and tugs at my back pockets. "Grammy, I want a different dessert."

"A different dessert?" I'm puzzled. "We're having brownies and ice cream. Oh wait, did you think your funny uncle was serious when he said we were having salad for dessert?"

There's a moment of hesitation as the child-who-trusts-her-adults wrestles with the child-who-loves-pretend, a final hard look, and then a low chuckle from the Bear.

"Naaah, he's just being silly....isn't he?"