26 February 2011
on the 2 stuck behind the 36 trolley
On a cold, cold night the bus has come free from the electric cable. The drivers swing the wide poles back to the wire. The connection sparks causing a flash of blue flame into the bitter air. It is a magical moment. Then it is over and the drivers laugh, return to their respective buses, traffic moves, we all go our ways.
24 February 2011
Snow Day
A pack of children walks down the sidewalk through the flurrying snow. They are about 30 in number, 4th graders perhaps, flanked by 4 or 5 adults. They walk, dance, skip and sing down the sidewalk, nothing like Madeline style. There are no two straight lines, but instead a bevy of boisterous children swinging their swim bags, seemingly oblivious to the cold and snowflakes. Probably more like my namesake in spirit if not in form.
Last night they dreamed of a day off from school, mounds of white fluff, snow men and sledding. This morning they awoke to disappointment and only a smattering of snow. Now, though, their disappointment is forgotten and they are happy to plot with their classmates, traverse to the local pool through the still falling snow.
Last night they dreamed of a day off from school, mounds of white fluff, snow men and sledding. This morning they awoke to disappointment and only a smattering of snow. Now, though, their disappointment is forgotten and they are happy to plot with their classmates, traverse to the local pool through the still falling snow.
16 February 2011
Antacid
Jennifer Claire eats antacid tablets when she is sad. Not stressed or angry or upset, but when she is lonely and sad and maybe a little depressed. In the old days she used to eat food when she was sad. Fabulous mashed potatoes and gravy, chocolate mousse piled with whipping cream. McDonald's French fries, or a handful of M&M's that always sat on the receptionist's desk at her office. (Back when she used to be the receptionist, now she strides by without a second glance).
Jennifer Claire used to be fat, not horribly so, but just enough. She used to eat antacids then too, but back then it was for the heartburn and indigestion caused by so much food.
Now that she is thin she eats antacids instead of food. It is not so much the act of chewing on a minty disk that cheers her up. It is the chalky aftertaste that comforts her and gives her hope that everything bad can be neutralized into bland perfection.
Jennifer Claire used to be fat, not horribly so, but just enough. She used to eat antacids then too, but back then it was for the heartburn and indigestion caused by so much food.
Now that she is thin she eats antacids instead of food. It is not so much the act of chewing on a minty disk that cheers her up. It is the chalky aftertaste that comforts her and gives her hope that everything bad can be neutralized into bland perfection.
Dream
“And as he fell asleep, he who had been a man comprised of head and fingers, penis, capillaries and lungs, thoughts and excitement, dwindled and became only ear. Bit by bit until he was only one enormous ear.” And the woman curled up beside him told him stories, whispered in his ear. She told him stories of her dreams until the stories became his dreams. “Once upon a time there was a tree, a green green tree on a hill blowing in the wind. But the leaves were stylized like painted floating dots and they scattered from the tree in the wind. The tree was painted on a blue, blue background and the trunk of the tree was thick and brown and gnarled.” (The painting was hung on the wall in the basement bathroom above the water heater on the farm).“And in the next panel there was a painting of the branches of a Japanese tree in Autumn. These leaves were stylized too and were orange with white splotches. There was a large goldfish that swam between the branches of the tree. If you looked very closely you could see the faint outline of a goldfish bowl around the fish as he swam through the air.” And then they were no longer voice and ear or sleeping lovers, but only dreams.
15 February 2011
A supervillan(ess) is born
Somewhere between watching Spanish television and "chatting" with customer service online*, I came to the realization that I was going to make a career change.
I am going to go into marketing. (It is true, I have quit the non-profit and have accepted a position with a marketing firm).
Not because of the age old adage if you can't beat them, join them. Well, maybe because of this. But also because of the fact that I have secretly always wanted to be a supervillan. Make that supervillaness with a velvet cape, a mask, and maybe some patent leather stiletto heels...
But, Anyway I am looking forward to forming your physche and selling it to you.
As everyone knows it is important to start by advertising to the very young. In this way you can more easily shape what your victims, I mean target audience, thinks they should believe, think, act like, sound like, dress like, speak like.
My aspiration is to get so good at this that I will be able to shape my vict...target audience's method of rebellion and counter culture. Then, when I have formed the aesthetics, tenants, vocal intonation, and catch phrases of this new culture-counter I am going to sell back to you. Just like the White Stripes song. I guess hipster culture already did this. But originality is not a pre-requisite for selling stuff (or for evil).
Due to a potential conflict of interest with my sometimes-anarchist hobbies AND because, by convention supervillains are normally the alter ego of a mild mannered nerd (or is that super hero convention?), I am going to work on developing my super villainess persona.
In fact, due to a intellectual property and non-compete clause in the contract for my new firm I have invested in a new license, passport, social security number, references, and a silver 2008 Lexus. (I still can't afford this year's model of car). I am hoping to rent a highrise apartment in Belltown to use as my super villain lair.
I think I may have to forgo the cape and mask except in the privacy of my lair. Instead I will be outfitting my closet with business casual, khaki trousers and tight suits from Express. Unless the contract calls for a more hip appearance. For this I will have a collection of vintage inspired designer clothes. I will keep the patent leather stiletto heels.
With out further ado, may I introduce you to 'Jennifer Claire Schaefer'. Super villain by day, mild-mannered author by night.
*you know that stock photo of a smiling Asian woman with perfect teeth is NOT actually your customer service representative, and contrary to what he types he is not delighted to assist you. In fact he become quite petulant and insistent when you tell him you don't want to hear what amazing offers his company has tailored for you.
I am going to go into marketing. (It is true, I have quit the non-profit and have accepted a position with a marketing firm).
Not because of the age old adage if you can't beat them, join them. Well, maybe because of this. But also because of the fact that I have secretly always wanted to be a supervillan. Make that supervillaness with a velvet cape, a mask, and maybe some patent leather stiletto heels...
But, Anyway I am looking forward to forming your physche and selling it to you.
As everyone knows it is important to start by advertising to the very young. In this way you can more easily shape what your victims, I mean target audience, thinks they should believe, think, act like, sound like, dress like, speak like.
My aspiration is to get so good at this that I will be able to shape my vict...target audience's method of rebellion and counter culture. Then, when I have formed the aesthetics, tenants, vocal intonation, and catch phrases of this new culture-counter I am going to sell back to you. Just like the White Stripes song. I guess hipster culture already did this. But originality is not a pre-requisite for selling stuff (or for evil).
Due to a potential conflict of interest with my sometimes-anarchist hobbies AND because, by convention supervillains are normally the alter ego of a mild mannered nerd (or is that super hero convention?), I am going to work on developing my super villainess persona.
In fact, due to a intellectual property and non-compete clause in the contract for my new firm I have invested in a new license, passport, social security number, references, and a silver 2008 Lexus. (I still can't afford this year's model of car). I am hoping to rent a highrise apartment in Belltown to use as my super villain lair.
I think I may have to forgo the cape and mask except in the privacy of my lair. Instead I will be outfitting my closet with business casual, khaki trousers and tight suits from Express. Unless the contract calls for a more hip appearance. For this I will have a collection of vintage inspired designer clothes. I will keep the patent leather stiletto heels.
With out further ado, may I introduce you to 'Jennifer Claire Schaefer'. Super villain by day, mild-mannered author by night.
*you know that stock photo of a smiling Asian woman with perfect teeth is NOT actually your customer service representative, and contrary to what he types he is not delighted to assist you. In fact he become quite petulant and insistent when you tell him you don't want to hear what amazing offers his company has tailored for you.
14 February 2011
Spiders
There is one spider clinging to the side of my apartment building. I can't say it makes me happy, but nevertheless, I admire it every time I walk under the web where it is hanging. (I cringe and side step too). In autumn Seattle becomes a mass of spiders, casting their webs on ever corner, bush, tree and railing. I don't know why, but I certainly do shudder internally when I look at their fat, fat, frog like bodies and excessive pointy legs. Perhaps it is because they move so unpredictably, or because they look so alien. Or, because they bite. I tell myself that they are good for insect control and that most spiders found in Seattle are not poisonous in a lethal sort of way. Still, the older I get the less I like them.
This lone spider has somehow survived winter. Or it was hatched too early and now it struggles in a February world where there is a paucity of insects and frequent rain and wind. I admire you little spider, but please stay far from me.
This lone spider has somehow survived winter. Or it was hatched too early and now it struggles in a February world where there is a paucity of insects and frequent rain and wind. I admire you little spider, but please stay far from me.
13 February 2011
tchka taka tcka tak
That is the sound of the kitty cat clock on the mantle of our (artificial) fireplace. Annabel is poised on a nearby bookshelf wishing she were close enough to take a swipe at the swinging pendulum tails. She is ignoring the chaos strewn around the room behind her. Fiona is moving out and boxes, clothing, books and the occasional dish litter the living room. I have not even dared to peek at the state of her bedroom.
After four years as my roommate she is moving out and moving in with her boyfriend, Terrance. I wish them the best, but I will miss our late night chats in the kitchen coming home from the bar and the constant companionship. I might even miss coming home to their daily after work video game sessions (maybe, but probably not).
Sarah and her dog from downstairs have come up to "help" with the move and have some of Fiona's Spanish drinking chocolate. At least she will still just be a staircase away.
The dog has weaseled his way onto the couch on top of the DVDs that Terrance is sorting and Annabel has now disappeared somewhere akin to the back of my closet.
After four years as my roommate she is moving out and moving in with her boyfriend, Terrance. I wish them the best, but I will miss our late night chats in the kitchen coming home from the bar and the constant companionship. I might even miss coming home to their daily after work video game sessions (maybe, but probably not).
Sarah and her dog from downstairs have come up to "help" with the move and have some of Fiona's Spanish drinking chocolate. At least she will still just be a staircase away.
The dog has weaseled his way onto the couch on top of the DVDs that Terrance is sorting and Annabel has now disappeared somewhere akin to the back of my closet.
11 February 2011
solo perche solo piu verde del verde II: distraction
In which there is an unsolved mystery, a pencil shortage and a dog.
After the bathroom incident (and a small eclair) I did manage to get a little work done. Then, because the cafe was full, I opened up my table to a nanny and a 6 or 7 year old boy. The nanny said " I should warn you, he likes to talk". This was true. I stopped getting much work done. But I did learn about 1st grade homework and dinosaurs.
Next a father, daughter, and French bull dog* came in. They let it wander around the cafe and it frequented my feet and the croissant crumbs from the small boy next to me.
Most cafes would frown on canine customers running free. Not here. The baristsas love this dog. He is a regular. He must be hunted down, kissed, and bestowed with great praise by the new barista who is just coming on shift.
Then the barristas run off for a smoke break outside, the one who has been working all morning is brimming with the urge to tell the second barista about some other incident that happened in the bathroom. The men's bathroom. This incident has nothing to do with me or the photo in the women's bathroom, mind you. The girl begins the story in an animated tone. I want to know what has happened, what was so extraordinarily disgusting? But they slip outside where it is no longer raining, and I cannot hear the rest.
More children come in with parents and nannies afterschool to do work. Today There seems to be a shortage of pencils. The nanny and boy sitting at my table were the first to suffer from the shortage. The boy cuts in line and asks the barista if they have any pencils. No, only pens. So the nanny went to the market across the street to buy pencils while the boy told me that the ham was the most edible part of a ham and cheese croissant. Next the father of the girl with the dog mentions that they don't seem to have a pencil and he must go across the street, luckily the nice nanny intervenes and gives the girls the red mechanical pencil. Twenty minutes later a familiar looking mother comes in with her son and daughter. They had no pencils either. Nice Nanny to the rescue again.
Everyone does their schoolwork and politely give back the borrowed pencils. I decide it is time for me to go as well. I say good bye to the nanny and the boy, leave the baristas gossiping behind the counter, and head home. On the way out I see the sign on the men's bathroom door stating that it is closed until further notice.
Why? What horror of bodily function has occurred here?
* French Bulldogs are one of the uglier species of dogs. This is why people think they are so cute. Additionally, they can't swim. Their heads are too big and they will drown. This pathetic trait, the product of human breeding also serves to make the dog more cute. Really.
After the bathroom incident (and a small eclair) I did manage to get a little work done. Then, because the cafe was full, I opened up my table to a nanny and a 6 or 7 year old boy. The nanny said " I should warn you, he likes to talk". This was true. I stopped getting much work done. But I did learn about 1st grade homework and dinosaurs.
Next a father, daughter, and French bull dog* came in. They let it wander around the cafe and it frequented my feet and the croissant crumbs from the small boy next to me.
Most cafes would frown on canine customers running free. Not here. The baristsas love this dog. He is a regular. He must be hunted down, kissed, and bestowed with great praise by the new barista who is just coming on shift.
Then the barristas run off for a smoke break outside, the one who has been working all morning is brimming with the urge to tell the second barista about some other incident that happened in the bathroom. The men's bathroom. This incident has nothing to do with me or the photo in the women's bathroom, mind you. The girl begins the story in an animated tone. I want to know what has happened, what was so extraordinarily disgusting? But they slip outside where it is no longer raining, and I cannot hear the rest.
More children come in with parents and nannies afterschool to do work. Today There seems to be a shortage of pencils. The nanny and boy sitting at my table were the first to suffer from the shortage. The boy cuts in line and asks the barista if they have any pencils. No, only pens. So the nanny went to the market across the street to buy pencils while the boy told me that the ham was the most edible part of a ham and cheese croissant. Next the father of the girl with the dog mentions that they don't seem to have a pencil and he must go across the street, luckily the nice nanny intervenes and gives the girls the red mechanical pencil. Twenty minutes later a familiar looking mother comes in with her son and daughter. They had no pencils either. Nice Nanny to the rescue again.
Everyone does their schoolwork and politely give back the borrowed pencils. I decide it is time for me to go as well. I say good bye to the nanny and the boy, leave the baristas gossiping behind the counter, and head home. On the way out I see the sign on the men's bathroom door stating that it is closed until further notice.
Why? What horror of bodily function has occurred here?
* French Bulldogs are one of the uglier species of dogs. This is why people think they are so cute. Additionally, they can't swim. Their heads are too big and they will drown. This pathetic trait, the product of human breeding also serves to make the dog more cute. Really.
10 February 2011
Raven, revisited
I took the bus today, same as everyday. I was looking out the window when we pulled up to a bus stop next to a covered overhang or flat roofed awning. As you may recall, today has been the fourth day of amazingly brilliant sunny weather for Seattle. However, I noticed that as people started filing onto the bus and stepping out from the overhang they were each doused with a spray or a splash of water. I wondered if something was leaking and, looking up, to my surprise saw a big fat crow playing in the gutter. He was doing it intentionally. Landing in the gutter and flapping just as each passenger stepped on the bus. They couldn't see the bird but I could. Then the fat bird cocked his head, looked down at me, and winked. I couldn't help but smile back as the bus drove away.
09 February 2011
so much for broken promises
I wandered away from the beach and ended up lost on a snow field. Despite my vow to blog every day, I found it difficult to type when my fingers were like ice. A golden retriever (accompanied by a nice man) led me back to the trail and I made it back home eventually. Needless to say I didn't blog.
However, I do have a date for coffee on Thursday.
However, I do have a date for coffee on Thursday.
07 February 2011
solo perche solo piu verde del verde
In which I go shopping in a public restroom.
I arrived at the cafe in the middle of a hail storm. It had been sunny when I left home, but now I dashed in the door wet and pelted by tiny pieces of ice.
I had decided to spend the morning in the coffee shop"working". Midway through my latte, a couple of blogs, and a few facebook perusals later I needed to use the restroom.
The restroom is a shade of pale green and has the words "solo perche solo piu verde del verde" painted on the wall. I do not know what this means exactly. I put it into an online translator and it came out with: 'only because it's only green of the green' I think some meaning and all of the poetry must be missing in the translation.
Which reminds me of a certain house I discovered on Queen Anne. The turret of the house, yes turret is inscribed with the latin phrase: 'quo amplius eo amplius' which never quite translates very well for me.
You can find some photos of the house on line at
http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Amplius_Eo_03.jpg and http://www.43places.com/places/view/794003/2018-nob-hill-ave-n-queen-anne-seattle
I first encountered this house late on a moonlight night, but that is another story....
Back in the bathroom, as I sat on the toilet, I noticed that the artwork on the wall had a small tag below it that stated the the photograph was for sale and if one wished to buy it one should write a check, take the artwork off the wall and pay for it at the front counter. (It probably should have said something about washing one's hands first) I was not at that time in a position to write a check, so when finished I wandered back out to my table/workstation and looked up the artist on the internet. The photo in the bathroom was a pleasant close up of a rhododendron. The photos on the artist's website, RJB photography were, all women posing in retro pin-up fashion, lounging on motorcycles or muscle cars. I wondered how he had ended up with the flower shot. I decided to buy the idiosyncratic photograph on a whim and that is where the trouble began.
Firstly, I had difficulty removing the photograph from the wall. The wire in the back seemed to be caught on the nail and I could not manage to untangle it even when I stood on the toilet lid. I looked around for something to pry the wire loose to no avail. Then I had a stroke of genius, I opened the tank on the back of the toilet and removed the long skinny wire that connects the flush lever on the outside of the toilet to the actual flushing mechanism at the bottom of the tank. (The flushing mechanism is called a "flush valve flapper". I know this because my mother's youngest sister was a plumber for awhile after she divorced her millionaire husband and before she went off to be a stock broker on wall street.)
With the wire "chain" I managed to reach the painting wire and un-stick it from the mounting on the wall. Unfortunately, the photograph came loose so quickly that it flew into the water tank. The photograph was undamaged but a significant amount of water was displaced. Due to this unfortunate principle of physics I had to spend quite a bit of time with paper towels in the bathroom. When I was finished (and had washed my hands) I opened the door to see a line of 3 people waiting anxiously to use the restroom. With a red face I exited the restroom and carried my photograph to the counter. (Only later did it occur to me to wonder why there had been a guy waiting in the women's restroom line).
In the end I decided that the photograph was really only mediocre and I hung it in my bathroom at home- NOT over the toilet however.
I arrived at the cafe in the middle of a hail storm. It had been sunny when I left home, but now I dashed in the door wet and pelted by tiny pieces of ice.
I had decided to spend the morning in the coffee shop"working". Midway through my latte, a couple of blogs, and a few facebook perusals later I needed to use the restroom.
The restroom is a shade of pale green and has the words "solo perche solo piu verde del verde" painted on the wall. I do not know what this means exactly. I put it into an online translator and it came out with: 'only because it's only green of the green' I think some meaning and all of the poetry must be missing in the translation.
Which reminds me of a certain house I discovered on Queen Anne. The turret of the house, yes turret is inscribed with the latin phrase: 'quo amplius eo amplius' which never quite translates very well for me.
You can find some photos of the house on line at
http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Amplius_Eo_03.jpg and http://www.43places.com/places/view/794003/2018-nob-hill-ave-n-queen-anne-seattle
I first encountered this house late on a moonlight night, but that is another story....
Back in the bathroom, as I sat on the toilet, I noticed that the artwork on the wall had a small tag below it that stated the the photograph was for sale and if one wished to buy it one should write a check, take the artwork off the wall and pay for it at the front counter. (It probably should have said something about washing one's hands first) I was not at that time in a position to write a check, so when finished I wandered back out to my table/workstation and looked up the artist on the internet. The photo in the bathroom was a pleasant close up of a rhododendron. The photos on the artist's website, RJB photography were, all women posing in retro pin-up fashion, lounging on motorcycles or muscle cars. I wondered how he had ended up with the flower shot. I decided to buy the idiosyncratic photograph on a whim and that is where the trouble began.
Firstly, I had difficulty removing the photograph from the wall. The wire in the back seemed to be caught on the nail and I could not manage to untangle it even when I stood on the toilet lid. I looked around for something to pry the wire loose to no avail. Then I had a stroke of genius, I opened the tank on the back of the toilet and removed the long skinny wire that connects the flush lever on the outside of the toilet to the actual flushing mechanism at the bottom of the tank. (The flushing mechanism is called a "flush valve flapper". I know this because my mother's youngest sister was a plumber for awhile after she divorced her millionaire husband and before she went off to be a stock broker on wall street.)
With the wire "chain" I managed to reach the painting wire and un-stick it from the mounting on the wall. Unfortunately, the photograph came loose so quickly that it flew into the water tank. The photograph was undamaged but a significant amount of water was displaced. Due to this unfortunate principle of physics I had to spend quite a bit of time with paper towels in the bathroom. When I was finished (and had washed my hands) I opened the door to see a line of 3 people waiting anxiously to use the restroom. With a red face I exited the restroom and carried my photograph to the counter. (Only later did it occur to me to wonder why there had been a guy waiting in the women's restroom line).
In the end I decided that the photograph was really only mediocre and I hung it in my bathroom at home- NOT over the toilet however.
February, but we have faith that someday the sun will return.
I looked out my window this afternoon to see the large winter tree blooming in song birds. Little bitty grey-brown personages flitting from branch to branch, hanging upside down and filling the tree with life normally reserved for another season. The tree reaches up high above the neighbors two story house and every part of it is full of these small chirpers. I don't know why they have decided to congregate in this particular tree, but here they are.
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