A silent Whoopeee

A day of snow, a day of cold and the spectre of a most chilly journey home.  I leave work a tad off schedule with the glum thought I have missed the red bus which links nicely with the yellow that takes me home.  I get to the bridge which overlooks the bus station and leads to the escalator.  My heart sinks a little further, I can see the bus is already pulled to the stop, I have to cross the bridge, go down the escalator and the full length of the bus station.  Whilst I had not anticipated catching this bus, seeing it and missing it..my frustration grows.  

Now on occasion a hopeful attempt to run might be in order, but with snow underfoot and sleet descending it is not safe on either the bridge surface of the tile of the bus station.  So I carry on at a steady place with an Eeyore "figures" towards the stop.  As I get closer and the bus is still there, as I can see the length of the queue waiting to board, I quicken my pace, Piglet hopeful.  As I get on the bus I have a contented air which even having to go up to the top deck does not dim.  I settle down to read.

The snow continues to fall and the pace of the bus is diminished in places by the road conditions and the flow of traffic.  Judging when we will reach the transfer point is not possible  until four or five stops before my normal point of disembarking from this bus.  A glance at my watch and I realise the yellow bus will have been and gone, it is normally very on schedule, and the next bus, due in then next few minutes will likely be on time as I am late, or will be very late (it is not a set your watch by time keeper) so my feeling are a bit Rabbit here, pragmatic and practical, and I am in a better place than I may well have been.

At this point I glance out of the window, now it may have been the sway of the bus as we overtook a vehicle and passed it that made me look.  The vehicle we had just passed, the yellow bus, the weather making it run unusually late.  Had I been on the lower deck, with less movement, obscured windows I might not have noticed it. Will we get enough ahead for me to alight from this bus and catch the eye of the driver behind ? 

Down the stairs I go, someone has pushed the bell for the next stop, if I don't get off and try here to make the change the yellow bus is sure to leap frog in front and the chance will be missed.  However, if I chance it and fail, I will have a couple of stops walk in the snow to get the next onward option.   

Off I get, red bus pulls away, yellow is right behind it, I signal, hopeful arm outstretched, he has not seen me, the bus passes, my mood teeters back to that famous donkey.  But wait, the bus is indicating, pulling in just a little past the stop, several quick steps and I am at the doors opening to let me on. 

As I walk calmly to my seat, sit, and settle down for the last bus journey of the day, inside Tigger is bouncing with glee, hands over head in triumph .

  "I got the bus, whoopee! I made the right choice, I win this time". 

 Telling my friend today I am amused at my own reaction, entwined with that amusement lingers a gleeful sense of achievement.   

The value of Sorry?

A snip-it of conversation overheard on the bus set me thinking.

The father of Madeline/Matilda now has two children to escort on the morning and the addition of little brother has changed the dynamic.  I don't know who did what to who but the comment was..

"Sorry is not always enough, your actions are important. "

It set me thinking, of the situations when sorry is enough and when a phrase my friend taught her son when he began to think, as children often do, that sorry was a magic word that would excuse anything and everything.

"Don't say sorry, just don't do it!   

Anyway back to my mulling, someone steps on your toe, ouch and annoyance follow, nothing said by the stepie and both feelings continue even escalate.  However, a simple sorry and the reply of "its OK" pops forward with total honesty, annoyance dissipated even if the toe still knows it was stepped on.

Simple mistakes and an equally simple sorry in the early stage is enough however, without that first acknowledgement things can escalate till sorry is no longer enough.

For many actions true contrition is not in words but in deeds, cessation and reparation. Bus Dad's words can be taken two ways here, a sorry for deliberate actions has no value as it is not meant, rubs salt in the wound and is in no way suggestive that the offence won't be repeated, even indicating the opposite is probable.  Or sorry is of limited value if it is not accompanied by an act to put right what was being apologised for.

As we get into an ever more litigation fuelled society people are more reluctant to offer that first take the sting away sorry, lest it be a gateway to the compensation bandwagon.

Are we loosing the value of a heart felt sorry?

And did Bus Dad's sage words have a profound impact on his charges.  It was not evident as further complaining, whining and blaming followed from both children..ah well perhaps if he keeps at it!

The other way lady

Now each morning as I was getting onto the first bus there was a lady getting of, nothing odd about that.

Each evening after I had disembarked from the last bus of the day and started walking home I would pass the same lady on her way to the bus stop.

Hence my mental name for her, the other way lady as she is always going the other way to me.

Until recently I had thought she must have an even longer day than me, assuming that she boarded the bus at the beginning of its route. The error of that assumption became clear one morning when I thought I must have dawdled in my walking to the bus stop and missed the bus as I passed the other way lady with a third of my walk still to go.  However, the bus had not yet arrived and indeed I had the usual few mins wait.  Perhaps she had a lift (a topic for another time, the lift) that morning and I gave thought to the rest of the day and left the change simply at relief for catching the bus.

The next day we passes at the same point and the day after I was closer to the bus station and could see her approach it from the other side, ah ha she was now walking a greater part or perhaps all of her journey. So perhaps her travelling day is actually shorter than mine, I still wonder where she is going as she purposefully strides the other way.

Evolving views.

Daily travel can act like time capture filming. Or for those of us with a few more years in our dish flicker books.

Each day seeing the same thing over and over, yet not the same thing as there are slight changes that only gradually impinge on my conscious mind.

Over the years I have watched houses be demolished, oh and a Church clad for at least six years in a hopeful layer of scaffolding finally give way to a pile of rubble. At the other end I have watched housing estates grow, cricket clubs open and face their final innings.

At the moment it is a housing estate  growing up from the foundations on a green space past which I walk on the way to the bus stop.  Some mornings and evenings I forget to look that way, focused on the journey and not the view, so when next I take a real look the book has flicked the film has moved on and the process appears quicker than it really is.    

As if time wasn't passing fast enough! 

Puddle fun

On the way home, a day of much rain so I know the Big Puddle will be there, I get off the bus to mizzle which gets stronger as I leave the bus station and has worked its way up to deluge by the time I get to the traffic lights.

I am not in a great mood and feeling a bit mopier getting wet as I cross the road however, the rain eases and I look towards the BP.

Standing in the middle of it is a child, a small boy in waterproofs and wellies, a man standing on dry pavement but in arms reach, hand on the child's head. 

Countless are the times I have seen adults trying to get children to come away from a puddle.  Seen them shout, drag and complain, whilst the child can not understand, after all puddles and welliington boots are made for each other.  I expected to see the usual scenario.  I was wrong.

At that moment, a lady passed the pair, and a step beyond, "OK" , said the man lifted his hand from the boy's head and the boy jumped and splashed gleefully in that puddle.  As another person approached within splashing range, the hand gently descended once more to the head and the waterworks paused only to resume once the cost was clear.

It put a smile on my face as big as the Big Puddle, it lightened my step and the rain stopped and the sun peeked out (ok that last bit might have happened anyway and been a weather thing but the timing...) it was a moment of shared joy, the little boy, the man, me and I suspect the puddle was rather liking the love and attention.

A sad journeys end

A day that started out sunny and hot, as evidenced by the open windows now letting in rain I had surprise company on my journey home.

As I read my book, my eye was caught by movement to the left.  A more focused look and I see small black legs moving on my wrist.  I restrained the automatic jerk reaction, no knowing where the what ever it is will end up if I do that.  I move my book into my right hand to get a better view. 

Oh! a sigh of relief, just a bee, perhaps also blown in like the rain I am beginning to notice.  It walks up the length of my hand and back again.  A little worried it will vanish up my sleeve I put my book away and walk the bee from hand to hand.  Occasionally she flutter her wings not an attempt to fly, just a flutter.

A few mins of happily walking the bee, its step to light to be felt, delighted with such close observance with its face I become more aware of the  rain outside getting both heavier and more inside (open window).  I dare not try and push the window shut with bee in hand, that way squashed bee and stung me is a likely out come.  Anyway the bee is getting nowhere so I walk it off my hand onto the seat and get up to deal with the question of the window.

Sitting down (no I did not sit on the bee) I notice the bee has made her way up the back of the seat onto the plastic bit, a flutter to steady is not successful, she looses her grip and disappears out of sight. 

I happily assume flight occurred rather than a fall and get back to my book.

However, it was with some sorrow as I moved to the front of the bus to get of as a few other passengers before me had, that I noticed by the door a squashed bee.  I guess her wings were either wet or worn out or both, but that fall had been just that and either rolling or crawling about the floor an unlucky step and the bus journey was over. 

I know bees have a short life and can console myself with such facts, still it was sad and oddly there was the same element of wonder with Bee as I had with the dear trio many a post ago.  

Bee-ing distracted.

Now if you have read my early posts, very early that is (feel welcome to go look if you have not!) you will know my normal route to work routine.  This summer I have a new distraction before I even get out of the gate.  And I add to my fur feathers and figments of imagination.... insects.

Bees to be exact.  A garden ornament in the form of a tortoise that I filled with hair clippings hoping it might make an over wintering spot for lady birds or some other insect.

However, this spring it appears to have caught the eye of a bumble bee queen as a prospective home. The first time or two a bee appeared to come from that general direction I thought I was mistaken.  The I spotted one emerging, then more and more.

I added a stone slope to make it easier for a bee waiting to get in whilst another got out.  That was getting some use, I would see two or occasional three bees at a time.  As the weather warmed the temperature rising and some of the sheltering plants dying back that count rose to nine as they worked to cool their home down.

The nest (apparently the correct term with bumble bees) must be getting too small as now they are working hard pulling hair out from the various openings on the tortoise shell, swirling the hair and adding bits of this and that scouting out the area around the nest.  I have popped a terracotta flower pot next to some of the construction and wonder if they will choose to expand into that.

So each morning as I step out of the door, as I should be heading for the bus I just can't resist taking a look at the bees to see how they are doing. A moment, a moment more or two or three.  One morning it will be just that bit too long and I will miss the bus.

The internet notes on the bumble bee tells me that come the Autumn the tortoise will be vacated and the chance of it being used in that way again is very slim.  So I shall just have to make the most of it now.

Of course there is the chance that having been the home of a queen the accommodation may appeal to other clientèle in the future..should I put up a sign, Queen Bee stayed here..after all I believe in the power of signs.