|Bus to Nostalgia
||[Apr. 20th, 2009|11:15 pm]
Spider time! Soon I'll have to keep the back door closed so the black widows won't come in and nest. I haven't seen any yet, but I know they're out there. Other spiders are popping up everywhere. One crazy little arachnid just ran across my keyboard. She won't be around for long if she does that while I'm typing. |
Gray cat and white faced cat got to share another can of food early this morning. I saw then lying on the porch, less than ten feet apart, not fighting, so I rewarded them. I saved a bit for the black and white cat, who had been hanging out here all night, but she had vanished. I guess she didn't want to meet up with the other kitties. She finally turned up again an hour ago, so I took her bowl from the refrigerator and will give it to her once it warms up.
Also, I remember this striped mohair upholstery on the Pacific Electric buses we used to take downtown, but I didn't remember that the pattern went horizontally on some buses and vertically on others. I do remember being fascinated by the texture of the mohair and by the pattern (black on green, if I recall correctly) and I remember tracing the black lines with my finger whenever we rode the bus. Because I had to turn in my seat to examine the upholstery, I would get scolded for not sitting properly, but I couldn't resist.
I also remember the unusual back end on some buses, which had side vents right behind their last windows, and the back wheel right under it. All these buses were very noisy and very smelly, spewing diesel smoke, and their quarter-fold doors opened and closed with a splendid whoosh of compressed air. Nothing pleased me more at the age of four or five than to go for a ride on the noisy, smelly bus— unless it was those rare occasions when we rode one of the streetcars, which didn't come as far as our neighborhood, but ran near our doctor's office a few miles the other side of downtown. The streetcars and buses have all long since gone to the scrap yard, so I'll never see them again. I'm happy to have the pictures, though. Thanks, Internets.
When it's this summery in April, I dread the thought of July. I do hope the 30% chance of rain on Friday and Saturday turns into a certainly.
And, speaking of the 1950s, we used to call these missile tits.