Evil TriMet hook
Something was ripping holes in my shopping bags . . .
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Day rising
The day doesn’t want to wake up. Flat light, no warmth, defeated. Growing things keep growing, of course, But ambition’s abandoned for now. Even the crows are silent, The hummingbirds soft in their nests. Still, folks are out walking the dogs, Riding desultory bicycles, Thinking about coffee, maybe a pastry, Something to sweeten the day. Hey, look, the squirrels are still frisky, They know there’s a nut there somewhere. Now the light blooms on buildings and trees, Pulsing energy into the scene. The sky struggles with blueness, Pushing the sunrise away. Finally, the day is stretching, Yawning and ready to rise.
No kings
I was at Saturday’s protest party in downtown Portland, but I am sick with a cold and did not stay long. There were still plenty of handmade, heartfelt signs like the one below, but I don’t think there were as many of them. All the effort and creativity that went into earlier signs—for what? I did see a lot of signs that said simply NO KINGS or FUCK ICE! And I liked the one with a cartoon of the president and the label “Operation Epic FUBAR.”
Word play
We all know the meaning of the word “swan.” Big, graceful bird.
Swans are musical birds: Think Swan Lake. The swan boat in the last act of Wagner’s “Lohengrin.” A sad cello piece in Saint-Saens’ “Carnival of the Animals.” Some swans are trumpeters.
But “swan” is also a verb with at least two other meanings.
One is to “wander aimlessly or sweep majestically.” That’s from Webster’s. I don’t like it when writers quote Webster’s, but in this case I love the precision of the phrase. I think of Maurice Sendak’s Max, in Where the Wild Things Are, swanning around in that oversized coat.
Swan of elision
Another meaning of swan as a verb involves an elision: If you say “I swan” you mean “I swear” or “I swear on.”
Wiktionary.org includes the elision “I swan” in an article on “English minced oaths” which it defines as “euphemisms for profane, blasphemous, or taboo terms.” It’s a delicious resource.
Some other common elisions:
Blimey for “blind me,” or the expanded gorblimey for “God blind me.”
Zounds, which you will understand does not rhyme with “sounds” once you know it comes from the phrase “God’s wounds.” So it’s pronounced “zoonds.”
Cheese and rice. I’ve never before heard this euphemism for “Jesus Christ.” Of course I know gee whiz and gee willikers. The Wiktionary list includes gash all hemlock, but not gosh all fishhooks, which I remember from some childhood novel.
Newspaper hymns
For Palm Sunday, my church choir will sing “O Sacred Head,” a famous hymn harmonized by J.S. Bach in “St. Matthew’s Passion.” Besides being a stalwart of the Protestant Christian tradition, the hymn’s title also speaks to my profession, journalism.
Another newspaper hymn: “O Wondrous Type.”
On the road
Robert and I spent his 86th birthday taking our car to the DEQ to get it certified for another two years. It was spring break, and the test center was jammed, perhaps 50 cars waiting, with more driving up all the time. I had some time to think about cars.
Car poem
One of my favorite silly poems mentions a car. A big car.
Here’s the last stanza of “A Perfect Rose” by Dorothy Parker.
Why is it no one ever sent me yet One perfect limousine, do you suppose? Ah no, it’s always just my luck to get One perfect rose.
Car quips
Remember “Car Talk”? The vintage radio show where Tom and Ray Magliozzi answered your vehicular questions with a barrage of quips delivered in thick Boston accents? You could hear it Saturday mornings on NPR from 1997 to 2012. Once, when visiting Harvard Square in Cambridge, Mass., my gaze was directed to a second-story office window. On the glass of this was painted the name of Car Talk’s law firm, Dewey, Cheetham & Howe.
I’m a sucker for punny names like O’Dewey, Cheatham & Howe. The Magliozzi boys list literally hundreds of them on the “staff credits” section of the cartalk.com website. Every time I pick a good one, I see another. A scattering:
Food taster: Howard M. Burgers
Bungee Jumping Instructor: Hugo First
Airline Seat Tester: Wilma Butfit
Air-Quality Monitor: Carmine Dioxide
Air Traffic Controller: Ulanda U. Lucky
Alignment Inspector: Lou Segusi
Alternative Fuel Consultant: Amanda Livering Cole
Business Forecaster: Luigi Bord
Cabinet Maker: L. Ron Cupboard
Caffeine Addiction Counselor: Bruno Moore
Statistician: Marge Innovera
Staff Copy Editor: Adeline Moore
Here’s one that took a few beats to get: Blues Coordinator: Mahamadan Ptolemy.
And some are a real stretch, like Chief Benefactor: Myra Chunkle. Just keep repeating it to yourself; you’ll get it eventually. Or here’s a hint: in a Boston accent, Myra is pronounced as “My-rih,” rather than “My-rah” or “My-ruh.”
I like puzzles, and trying to figure out these clever names puts the fun in pun.
Evil bus hook
There came a time when I noticed that many of the bags I hang on the back of my wheelchair had rips in them. It didn’t take long to discover the culprit—the Evil Trimet Hook.
The bottoms of the bus seats that are lifted to accommodate wheelchairs, scooters, wagons and walkers often have metal flanges. These are meant to hold securement cables. Here’s a hook with a cable attached.
It used to be that I would maneuver my chair as close to the upraised seat as possible, in an attempt to clear the aisle for other passengers.
That was before I realized that some of the securement flanges are actually metal spikes. They were impaling my bags.
First thing, I started parking a few inches away from the upraised bus seat to avoid the evil hook. Second thing, I got out my sewing machine.
Mending
I like mending, extending the life of mundane things with scraps and thread. I like rescuing damaged fabric. I darn holes in tablecloths and dishtowels, turn the frayed collars on shirts, cover worn elbows with patches.
I have enough bags that I could easily just toss the torn ones. But mending these bags has made each of them unique, my own challenge and creation. Here are two of the bags I fixed.
The pink one, small and lightweight, is nice to keep on hand for shopping trips.
So I fixed it with a couple of patches. Here it is hanging on the back of my wheelchair.
My bag with the leaping bunnies on it sustained a long gash.
I sewed over the patch several times to keep the threads from catching on the inside of the bag.
While I was at the sewing machine, I added another patch to my favorite shirt. It has red F’s, like for Fran, and goes with just about anything as an overshirt. I added the bright red patch to cover a fresh hole. I turned the collar on this shirt a few years ago, hiding the frayed edges and giving it new life.
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Reflections
Normally, the west wall of the downtown Portland Nordstrom store is plain bricks. But on a super sunny day, the reflection of the sun in the office’/parking building opposite cast a strong grid over it.
On the same day, bare winter limbs cast shadows on the bricks of the Portland Transit Mall. You can trace how the texture of the meandering lines of the branches contrast with the curves of the pavement and the bike racks, and with the stern uprights of the buildings and the tree trunks.
Poem
This poem is ultimately about saving everything, like the scraps in my scrap basket.
Old things
What spiderwebs of steel Keep me tied to old ideas? What trapdoors of the mind Wait to scuttle what I want? Maybe there are no spiderwebs, Except what my mind weaves. I do my own scuttling, thank you, I’m good at sabotage. Tear the package open, Wisdom lurks about in corners, Everything I know or intuit I weld into spidery floss. I taste it in my bones, my teeth The sugary feast of words, Don’t waste a thing, the crumbs will make A new poem for tomorrow.
Be seeing you
Another week is complete. This is my 190th posting. When I go back to check random items from the archives, I can’t believe I wrote that stuff. I’ve forgotten most of it.
Not that it’s forgettable, actually. It’s all good stuff. I can’t believe that, either.
I’m still trolling for paid subscribers. A big “mwah” to the large chunk of you who already commit to sending cash monthly or yearly.
Here’s the tip jar link at PayPal, where you can donate in increments of $5.
Till next week.
Love, Fran
—30—
Love the photos of the shadows.
Glad you overcame the ravages of the evil hook. Love the pictures of grids and patterns. Beauty is everywhere if we look for it.