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Sailing the seas depends upon the helmsman.
It was a crisp winter day, one where you can just barely see your breath when you walk outside.
She was the only person waiting at the bus stop that quiet morning. As she climbed onto the bus, she dropped some coins into the farebox from her gloved hand and stood near the front. Dressed in faux military fatigues, a sherpa hat with a red star on the front, and a shoulder bag decorated with Chinese characters and a picture of Chairman Mao, she stood out from the usual mix of passengers.
As I swung around the corner onto Hastings Street, she moved closer and asked, “Do you go by Slocan Street?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Can you let me know when we get there?”
“Yes.”
“I’m looking for Triumph Street, and I know I go down Slocan.”
“It’s about a 3 or 4 block walk — but then you look like you’re dressed for a Long March.”
< Silence >
“Do you know, are there lots of cabs around there?”
Scene: Family room, off the patio. One of the twin cats dashes across the room and begins scratching at the patio door.
Girl’s voice: “Get AWAY from the door, you stupid cat!!”
Mom: “Don’t yell at the cat like that!”
“Ooh, does little Spanky want to go outside? It’s too late to go outside. There are nasties out there. Don’t scratch at the door like that.”
Girl’s voice: “Mom, that’s not Spanky, that’s Punky.”
Mom: “Oh…. Get AWAY from the door you stupid cat!!”
Margaret and I were driving west on the I-10 freeway through Palm Desert and Indio, California, reading the street names as the freeway exits passed by:
Washington…
Jefferson…
Monroe…
As we were passing by the next exit, Jackson, Margaret turned to me and said, “Hey, I just figured out what they named these streets after — High schools!”
