Tales from the City

I can parallel park better than my husband. I considered this for the list of weird things about me, but it really isn't that odd. I grew up in DC, started driving at 16 and hung out in trendy Georgetown. I got good at parking. Preferably with the zippy compact VW Rabbit, but sometimes I got stuck with the VW Bus. I got way beyond simple rules such as "when the steering wheels are aligned start the turn..." because hello! cars vary and the steering wheels are in different locations relative to the length of the vehicles. Can I articulate what I do? Nope. Could I guide someone while I was seated in the passenger seat? I've tried, but is it my fault they won't listen? No. My husband, on the other hand, learned to drive while living in the burbs around L.A. Land of driveways and parking lots.

Neither of us owned a car when we started dating, but once he borrowed a car to take me out. Someplace with limited on-street parking. So after driving around a bit with me saying "there's one," and him saying "that's not big enough," I timidly suggested I might try one of these too small spots. He was impressed. Good thing he's not too macho to admit it. He tries, but he still is trapped in the simplified rules and just doesn't understand how when he follows those rules and lines up the bumpers or steering wheels just so, the car refuses to go where it should. Instead of arguing over how the rules don't apply, if a trip will require parking skill, I drive. My high school and college find-a-spot-weekly-to-have-fun years turned into the Chicago find-a-spot-daily-so-I-can-get-home years. Therefore while I still have the magic touch, I've used up my quota of tolerance for the hunt. More than five minutes driving around to find a spot and I'm a complete grouch.

Franz saw that author Jennifer Ouellette was speaking at Elliot Bay Bookstore last night. Zach had gotten Black Bodies and Quantum Cats for his birthday and just finished reading it. He thought it was pretty good. She's on tour for her new book: The Physics of the Buffyverse. I was a bit reluctant to go, partly because of the weather and partly because of the hassle of either driving or taking the bus to Pioneer Square. If I gave in to my initial reluctance to go places I'd never leave the house, so I dismissed my desire to get a headstart on Sunday's International Pajama Day and agreed to go. Car or bus? Well, in order to have time for dinner, it just seemed less hassle to drive. So we did. Parking was involved; I drove. That means I got to choose the route which means getting on I5 at NE 50th where we merge onto the freeway from the right instead of Franz's (admittedly more logical) preference of 520 with the left entrance ramp onto I5.

Should have realised that things were not going our way when the NE 50th leg took forever and then was closed before the I5 exit for an accident investigation. Then NE 45th was a mess, but I figured that was just because of the closure of Ne 50th. I5 wasn't too bad, but when we got off the freeway and entered Pioneer Square the sign on the Sinking Ship garage read Event Parking $30. "Holy crap!" I said. "What's going on. The only thing that would warrant that would be the Seahawks." Franz said "Um, yeah, Seahawks. Didn't think of that. I think they are playing Dallas. Don't know if it's in town or not." Well, I think he had the answer right there. At this point you can pity my family, but I asserted my authority as driver and declared that I was not going to stress out over a futile parking spot hunt. I headed north on First Avenue and said if a spot appears I'll take it but otherwise we are heading home. Way up on Union there was an open garage with the sign Weekends and Evenings $4.00. Turned into it and was told they close in 10 minutes. Then why don't they take down the damn sign already. In the space of time it took me to turn around and exit, at least 6 other cars pulled in. So, no author lecture for us.

Coming back home via Montlake the U District congestion was explained as we intersected traffic leaving the UW Husky basketball game. Took a while before we got through, but at least it wasn't Husky Football where the cops would have diverted us a good mile north out of our way.

Weird thing number One

Yup, it's a virus going around. Devote a blog post to six weird things about oneself that haven't already been exposed to the blogworld. Some folks try to infect others by telling them to do the same. I have not gotten "tagged" as this deliberate infection process is called. I'm not sure if I would be participating in that case. Maybe I am too ornery or maybe I just think it looks cool to appear ornery. To be a little different, I'll draw things out a bit --- only one weird thing today:

I have a knack for remembering dates, especially birthdays. I could tell you the birthday of maybe 90% of all the people of whom I have ever heard their birthday. The 10% I forget? I have no idea why. And given a specific month, I could recall quite a few folks who were born in that month, but I might have forgotten details about them. Such as that Feb 12th is the birthday of this guy that I worked with one summer and briefly dated. During that summer. So we did not celebrate his birthday. His name? Who knows. OK, I did remember but it took some work to dig out of my memory. But just by thinking of February his birthday popped into my head without effort. Why was this so easy to retrieve from memory? Because it's also Abe Lincoln's birthday? Possibly. But he was no Abe Lincoln.

Sometimes I remember the month but not the specific day. Such as my ex-best friend from the high school years* who stole my boyfriend. Yup, even though we had already broken up she definitely stole him. The fact that she didn't get to keep him is one of the schadenfreude highlights of my life. I know she was born in the early part of August. I want to say it was August 8th, but that may be just because it's the day Nixon resigned.

I wouldn't have thought that this skill was that weird, but time and again I startle folks with it. If I know your birthday? Do not expect me to remember to send you a card or anything. Sorry. I am terrible about that.



*Kathleen, she didn't go to school with us. You wouldn't know her.

RedRun

Yikes, perhaps the Orphans ought to have chosen a different color. I remember yet again why I will not buy red socks. Does anything red not run? I reknit the last triangle of my Red Scarf Project scarf using the technique that Erika found. It looks lots better than before. I soaked it again. This is the rinse water of the seventeenth rinse of the third soaking in Synthrapol. Yee gads, can I really send this scarf along? One rainstorm and that kid's jacket will be stained. Can I specify to send this to a kid who lives in the desert or to someone who wears a red or black coat? How are the other red scarves running?

We didn't discuss the book

To be fair, I knew we weren't going to discuss the book. I don't know why I whined about it. I knew last night would be different.

Instead, we talked about Jo. Not a famous literary Jo, the book group Jo who would have turned 69 last week. She died of cancer two weeks ago. Most of us didn't know Jo that well. I liked Jo; she had a good sense of humor. She could always cajole us into enjoying a look at even more pictures of her grandkids. She helped found the book group 7 or 8 years ago and talked two of her close friends into joining. But she was a generation apart and lived across the lake; our paths didn't cross much.

For her long-time friend K --- a different story. K was with Jo last Spring when she confronted the doctor with the tough question "How much time to I have?" And heard the answer, "Six months." K saw Jo almost every day after that. So K came last night and cryed and shared and laughed and we talked about Jo and about life and death.

Book-related moment: Of the seven members attending, only two of us had read the whole book recently enough to remember it. As K talked I was struck by how much this month's book selection was appropriate. I encouraged K and the rest to read the book and suggested we discuss it next month. Hitty: Her First Hundred Years is a children's book, the Newbery Award winner for 1930. It's the first-person memoir of a doll who is, unsurprisingly, over a century old. She speaks of her adventures, her various owners, the passage of time, of fate, of loss, of acceptance, of simply being. I think it would honor Jo to read it with her memory in mind.


When I mentioned this, the other woman who'd read the book asked "What book did you read? I just read a story about a doll!" (sigh)

JRTFB

A year ago I was in two book discussion groups. Then I dropped both. One inadvertently (kept forgetting to go) and the other one after careful consideration. There's a painful story involved, but it's not my story, so not my pain to share.

In both cases, I have run into members around town and have been pleaded with to rejoin. Why? Because I'm the only one who regularly read the book and had anything of depth to say about it. They exaggerated, but not by much.

I've missed them. I'm probably forgetting how much the lack of discussion would irk me.

Tonight I will try again. Tonight I will attend the meeting of the inadvertently dropped group. We read Hitty: Her First Hundred Years by Rachel Field. Fascinating. Discussable (is that a word?).

The other group? No, I can't go back.