Autumn, and America

Sunday and it is cold.

There is frost on the grass, my breath appears before me and the end-of-the-year constellations sit in the velvet of the night sky, glimmering.

Colder weather is coming, of course. But I like the in-between cocoon that shelters between autumn and winter.
Fallen leaves smell sweet and cinnamony. Birds chatter. The sun arcs a low slanting path over the horizon.

I especially love Sunday mornings in this cocoon season. Coffee, newspapers, toasty slippers, a dog to keep you company and some good newspapers to feed your brain.
Two articles today caught my eye. Both in the New York Times. One: Why can't the U.S. make China do what it wants it to do? Two: Several opinions, all downward looking, about the U.S. economy.

Having read both, my reaction is: Time for this country to stop being in debt to China. Americans are innovators: We have forgotten how many inventions we have under our national belt. We need to be creative and innovative again, especially when it comes to energy and basic products, like textiles.

Anyway.


The picture is a mural in Pittsburgh's Lawrenceville neighborhood. One of many examples of Rust Belt communities reinventing themselves.

Flat butt day

Today was a flat butt day.

What, inquiring minds may or may not wish to know, is a flat butt day? (Clever, perceptive minds may already have a clue.)

A flat butt day is a work day whose end finds your butt having been, for seven or eight hours, in near-continuous intimate contact with your desk chair, or other chairs your butt was required to kiss. Followed by a three-hour computer class. I believe the picture is clear here.

Not good for butt, body or soul.

I took the T home and walked the 1.3 miles home to move blood in my veins, air deep into my lungs and shake the overload from my brain.

I like the pleasant distraction of walking past the shops, peering into windows at bridal dresses, purses, fabric bolts, jewelry, purses, late evening coffee drinkers, garden pretties and people chatting in bars and restaurants. 

As I leave the business district, there is still the busy rush of traffic and white brightness of streetlights against the night sky.

Down a hill, I can hear the high school band practicing.

Pretty soon, I'm striding down my street and the night gets quiet. There is a stray sound of piano being practiced, a dog barking, the sound of my own feet, encased in thick tennis shoes, thudding softly against asphalt.

Finally, a deep breath.

Home.

On the bus

By way of prelude, I am trying to start every morning with a deep, centering breath – not when I wake up, because that's usually "Oh crap, I slept past the alarm" – but when the girls and I finally get out into the park for our morning walk. This time of year, the centering breath is easy because all is fresh and green and birds are singing and the park is, but for the bird song, quiet. So we walk and I listen and breathe and try to prepare myself for the day. Do your best. Be kind and patient. Listen and be thoughtful. And try to keep that cranky, critical, judgmental person that I live with on the sidelines.

It's a good exercise. It doesn't always work fully, but it does have the effect of making me a mindful person for the day. I'm learning to shake off crankiness (mostly, some crankiness is good, and after all part of who I am!) and remember that when irritation creeps in that's a good signal to stop and think.

So, why the prelude?

Took the bus to work today; it leaves the bottom of Mayfair at about 7:50 and gets Downtown 30 minutes later. Plenty of time to ready the paper, watch people or drowse. Usually I start reading the Wall Street Journal but if I haven't had enough sleep, I put my head against the window.

Today I had good coffee and despite sleeping late, wasn't sleepy. I sat in the back of the bus, higher up than the front seats, and watched the traffic inch alongside us on Banksville Road. I saw these drivers (A lot of them in Honda Civics):

One woman steering with her knees and filing her nails.

One man in a crisp white shirt and tan khakis and tie talking on a cellphone.

One man in blue scrubs going over a stapled report.

One woman driving and holding a Starbucks cup talking to her passenger, also holding a Starbucks cup.

One woman eating Yoplait yogurt.

One woman with a cell phone in her lap.

Another man in scrubs, just driving.

All I could see was from shoulders to laps to knees.

So, what I'm getting back to is, my first immediate reaction is: "Why is no one paying attention? Why so many cars with only one person in them? Why aren't you people on the bus (where passengers also are variously occupied, but at least the driver isn't)?

Then, well, it's none of my business. I wish it weren't so, but, not my call.

Is that wimpy? Pragmatic?

Perhaps the better question is why is there  not a better public transportation system in the United States. And what, besides using the one I have, can I do about it.

How's that for 180 degrees from start to finish? 

A last word, I hope to have a new camera soon. This blog seems so incomplete without photographs. There are some especially beautiful flowers, leaves and fungus in the park. Not to mention two beautiful greyhounds.