Here's the problem with a daily blog--a problem exacerbated by my, uh, septuagenarian status: I can't always remember what I've already written about.
This morning, for example, I was once again noticing--as I sat in the Open Door Coffee Co. next to windows overlooking Clinton Street--the many Hudson school buses that turn up and down the street on their daily runs. (Clinton is a direct route to the bus garage/parking lot.)
And I thought, I'll write about school buses today. I worked it out quickly in my head--how I'd never ridden a bus as a student (always walked), except for field trips, athletic events, etc.; how I rode many buses as a teacher (oh, the things I wish I could forget!); how I felt when our son climbed aboard the bus for his first day of kingergarten (fall, 1977); how ...
But by the time I got home, a worry was gnawing like a beaver at the dying tree of my memory. I did a little Google search ("dawnreader school bus") and discovered that I'd written a post about the buses back on September 21, 2013 (link to that post). At the time I was sitting every day in the very spot where I now sit each morning--only it was Hattie's Cafe then, not Open Door. I was noticing school buses, thinking about my checkered history with them ...
I could add a little bit today, I guess: There's one bus whose driver and assistant are eager wavers at me many mornings. While they're heading up Clinton Street, if they hit the red light at Main Street, they are sitting directly next to me--only feet away to my left, though a sidewalk and a window separate us. Sometimes the driver will honk, the two women will wave amiably. I'll wave back.
One day not long ago, I heard the familiar honk. I looked up from my book and saw that the attendant was holding a hand-made sign--the kind you see folks holding on Facebook. It said: Have a nice day! The three of us laughed--though no sounds reached them or me. (Do we exaggerate our laughs when we know that the other will not hear us?) Another day they had a different sign, but I can't remember what it said (recall the septuagenarian thing I mentioned earlier?). But it generated more silent laughter.
There have been no additional signs, but just today they honked and waved, and I waved back, wishing, kind of, that I had a horn that they could hear.
When they drove off, I returned to my reading, feeling a big more relaxed because I knew I now had a topic for my blog post today.
Only I didn't.
But then, of course, I did.
|bus turning down Clinton St. this morning;|
the car sits where my bus-driver wavers
do their waving