The woman didn't look too out-of-the-ordinary when she climbed onto the King County Metro Transit bus at a stop in downtown Seattle. Middle height. Middle weight. Middle years.
Not at all stark, raving bonkers.
She was cradling something in her arms; a bit of gray fur jutted above her elbow.
"Is that a dead squirrel?" the driver asked.
"It was," the woman said. "But I brought it back to life."
Everyone on board was watching and listening now.
"Uh huh," the driver said. "You know, you can't bring a dead animal onto the bus."
"But I brought it back to life!"
The woman stepped toward the driver, offering proof of the miracle. The squirrel never moved and the driver held her ground; it was enough to make you wonder what else she had seen, operating public transit.
"You can't bring it on board."
The woman took a step back, but before she turned and stomped down the steps, she held the squirrel out for all to see and laid a curse upon the bus, explaining in detail the fiendish nature of all on board and stating her wishes for the vehicle's ultimate destination, once she had made her exit.
The live entertainment is the reason I keep riding the bus.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Thoughts on growing older
It's been almost six weeks since I posted last, but it has been a busy time.
On the writing front, my son and I have been hammering out a rewrite of our screenplay, Black Rock, which we hope to see filmed next summer (2010) in West Virginia. If all goes well, he will be directing it, too.
We're both excited, the production company that optioned it are saying money is looking good, but we are ready to move on to a new project.
I've been writing on my own, as well (for reports on that, check out my writing blog, A Moving Line). And I am flying to Lawrence, Kansas next Saturday for a two-week-long writers' workshop conducted by a science fiction great, James Gunn. Teaching fiction was his "day job" while he wrote and he still is involved in the operation of The Center for the Study of Science Fiction at the University of Kansas in Lawrence.
I dug around in my book storage boxes last week and found a copy of Future Imperfect, Gunn's collection of short stories published in 1964. I bought it new and it's still in pretty good shape, although the pages have yellowed. The price, printed on the cover for all to see was forty cents.
And that brings me to something I have been mulling upon.
It occurs to me that one of the reasons that it has been six weeks since I have posted is that the days go by so quickly. Does it seem that way to you? That the older you get, the faster times goes by.
My son was thirty-one June 11th.
Rachael and I have been in Seattle for eighteen months now and it seems like just yesterday that we made that non-stop trip here.
She just had another birthday Wednesday and when we went out for pizza to celebrate, she told me that she felt as if the years were picking up speed, as well.
We've been together ten years now.
I can't help but wonder where does the time go?
Shakespeare had MacBeth say:
To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.
I don't want to get all maudlin here, but I'm feeling a bit like that idiot tonight.
On the writing front, my son and I have been hammering out a rewrite of our screenplay, Black Rock, which we hope to see filmed next summer (2010) in West Virginia. If all goes well, he will be directing it, too.
We're both excited, the production company that optioned it are saying money is looking good, but we are ready to move on to a new project.
I've been writing on my own, as well (for reports on that, check out my writing blog, A Moving Line). And I am flying to Lawrence, Kansas next Saturday for a two-week-long writers' workshop conducted by a science fiction great, James Gunn. Teaching fiction was his "day job" while he wrote and he still is involved in the operation of The Center for the Study of Science Fiction at the University of Kansas in Lawrence.
I dug around in my book storage boxes last week and found a copy of Future Imperfect, Gunn's collection of short stories published in 1964. I bought it new and it's still in pretty good shape, although the pages have yellowed. The price, printed on the cover for all to see was forty cents.
And that brings me to something I have been mulling upon.
It occurs to me that one of the reasons that it has been six weeks since I have posted is that the days go by so quickly. Does it seem that way to you? That the older you get, the faster times goes by.
My son was thirty-one June 11th.
Rachael and I have been in Seattle for eighteen months now and it seems like just yesterday that we made that non-stop trip here.
She just had another birthday Wednesday and when we went out for pizza to celebrate, she told me that she felt as if the years were picking up speed, as well.
We've been together ten years now.
I can't help but wonder where does the time go?
Shakespeare had MacBeth say:
To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.
I don't want to get all maudlin here, but I'm feeling a bit like that idiot tonight.
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