Bus wanker

I ride the bus a lot. Having no car will do that to you.

For the most part, riding the bus is great. You get to zone out and swipe through Instagram as you cruise in the bus lane past bumper-to-bumper traffic. I also love pulling on the 'stop request' cord. In Edinburgh it's just a plastic button, so you can imagine how delighted I am to get to pull the cord again. So much more satisfying. Choo choo!

Image by Takeshita kenji via Wikimedia Commons

There are some things I don't love, however.

• The migraine-inducing air conditioning on full blast. 
• The waiting at bus stops.
• The man swearing aggressively at the driver who gave him flack for being a quarter short. 
• The lack of seat belts. Why aren't there seat belts?

 In high school my friends Dana, Connie and I would regularly take the bus to a thai food restaurant in Bellevue named Jasmine's. It was before anyone east of Lake City even knew about thai food—I swear. We would all order Pad Thai, then jasmine tea and fried ice cream for dessert. It was so grown up.

During one bus journey, a diet coke exploded in my shoulder bag. It had been jostling around in there when my compass—you know, those things you used to draw circles in geometry—pierced it. Stabbed it right through the aluminum! DC sprayed everywhere. I had to get up and ask the driver if he had any napkins. It was HIGHLY embarrassing. 

Another time, Char, Francie and I—ages 14 and 10—tried to take the bus to Bellevue but we got on the wrong one and wound up in Burien. Both start with "B", but other than that, we couldn't have gotten it more wrong. 

That's about it for bus stories! Other than the time a dear friend of mine got banned from all Northshore School District buses for threatening to kill our bus driver. That's the same driver that got told to "F--K OFF" by an otherwise gentle soul when she told him he couldn't bring his didgeridoo on board. 

Oh, and there was that one time in junior high that someone threw someone else's jeans out the bus window. Ninth graders be cray. 

Byeeeeee, 

Madgey


P.S. Here's Dana and I at Jasmine's (or just 'Jasmine' it looks like). Thanks for the photo, Dana!

My shoulder bag (aka 'satchel') also made it in the snap.

From the Archives, Edition 8

It was so hot in Kenmore today that my iPhone took the day off. I left it in the car for a bit, it got hot, and when I tried to use it, the screen said, "Nope. Too hot. Try again later", or something to that effect.

Anyway, because of the heat and my lack of Sunday evening creativity, I decided it's the perfect time for a 'From the Archives' post!

In today's edition, I'm presenting several old emails from 2002 and 2003. They're some of the oldest emails I have on record.

---

Nov 8, 2002

Madge Kay

To Connie Gledhill

Connie, It is Friday night and I am writing to say I
am sooooo bored. Like, I cant take it. Please Please
Please call me if you read this tongiht. I am too
scared to call because I know Ronnie is in town and I
dont want to disrupt the fam reunion. But seriously, I
am so bored, I just felt the back of the computer and
it was warm and then I realized like a half an hour
had gone by and I was just feeling the warmth of the
comp. I am bored to tears. ahhh, madge

---

Nov 21, 2002

Madge Kay

To Anna Kay

American Idol was sooooo good. Anna, it was amazing. C
and F had really good seats and ours wernt bad but
they were just up high so at the very beginning we
moved down to really close on the side where no one
was sitting so it was great. BUT EVEN BETTER, it was
the "idols" last show of the tour so they were just
letting everything go and they didnt really care about
the rules, you could just tell. so when one idol would
be singing by themselves, the others would all sneak
up below the stage on the side but where they could
see the stage (hard to explain) and they would just
watch the person singing and dance around themselves
and just watched the concert from there, except when
they were on stage of course. but no one really even
knew they were there so the few people near us and us
(me and my friends) would wave and talk to them it was
sooooo cool. they were sooooo close to us, like ten
feet or less, and then i yelled "AJ!!!" and I made
this crazy excited face and he did it back. omg, it
was the greatest, plus they all sounded sooooo goood!
like they do on the cd, so good live which shows that
they are really talented. Also, because it was their
last show they like all bawled at the end and the
stage crew silly stringed them all and had a little
celebration. you could tell they really put their
heart and soul into this concert because it was there
last. it was soooo good. madge

---

Jan 17, 2003

Madge Kay

To Char Kay

pin a rose on your nose

just kidding

hows francie

hows spoke

im tired

and weak

its connies bday

and martin luther king jrs

this is indeed my email adress

whats it to ya

oh char

annas watching passions right now

my arm hurts

im a fast typer

space space

char you are a grand gal

see you soon

madge

---

What can we learn from all that? Not much. Not much at all. One thing I took away from it, however, is that American Idol used to be really, really exciting. The concert I reviewed so eloquently for Anna was the American Idol Season One tour. The Kelly Clarkson one. Remember what a phenomenon that show was when it first came out? HUGE deal.

Just a reminder of what 2002 looked like. Ryan Seacrest had a co-host.

What's Brian Dunkleman up to now? Doing standup in LA, apparently. Back in 2009 he pitched a show called 'American Dunkleman', but it never got picked up.

Until next time,
Margaret

Annabelle: Part 2

If you haven't already, read Part 1 before you read this.

---

"Annabelle?" I shouted again. I couldn't believe I'd remembered her name. I hadn't actually read it off the flyer, but my subconscious must have jotted it down just in case this hero-making moment presented itself. 

I looked back at my friends. 

"Justine, I think it's that lady. The one who's missing," I said in a loud whisper. She looked confused. It didn't register. "The one I told you about on the phone. The old lady!"

"Oh yeah. Oh my god!" Justine said, remembering our brief conversation a half hour earlier. 

The three of us ran up to the bushes, peering through the tangles of leaves and branches. 

We saw her. Frail. On all fours. Crawling through the mud. 

She wore a long, beige trench coat and had a pale blue kerchief tied around her head. As she moved, she dug her bony fingers into the soil, pulling her withered body forward through the sticker bushes.

"Annabelle," I said for a third time. 

She looked up at us, her cheeks hollow and wrinkles deep and dirty like a dry riverbed. Slivers of sunlight pierced through the branches, casting sharp, sinister shadows across her gaunt expression. 

"Hello," she croaked. 

*                      *                      *                      *

Image via Wikimedia Commons

There was no way this 90-year-old, 90-pound woman would make it up those stairs. So, we split up. Justine and I would go get neighbour-man. Connie would stay with Annabelle. Poor Connie—always getting the raw deal. Explaining to the neighbour that, as a matter of fact, I did know where his missing mother-in-law was—that would be awkward. But sitting in a forest cabana with the Wrinkled Witch of West Kenmore? That was worse. 

As expected, pulling up in Justine's Ford Probe, pounding on neighbour-man's door and telling him that we'd found his wife's lost long mother was awkward. It had been less than an hour since he was on my porch asking me to keep an eye out for her. This just seemed too convenient—like I'd kidnapped her and kept her hidden until the 'Missing Mother-in-Law | Reward: $1million' flyers went up. 

The man seemed surprised by our quick discovery, but said he and his wife would follow us in their car back to Connie's. 

Walking down all those steps with the two of them was agony. What were we supposed to talk about? "So, does the old bat escape often?" "Have you heard that the Kenmore Premix is going to be torn down and replaced with a movie theatre?" No—smalltalk didn't seem appropriate. We opted for silence. 

When we finally arrived at the bottom, Connie and Annabelle were sipping bottled waters and chatting. They'd become fast friends. But when Annabelle spotted her daughter and son-in-law, she flipped out. 

"No! No! Don't send me back there!" she pleaded with us. "I won't let that man tell me what to do! Don't make me go!"

With each refusal and accusation, the atmosphere got more and more uncomfortable. I remembered my Mom telling me that people with dementia often lash out and even lie about their loved ones. I decided to believe that was the case with Annabelle. What other choice did I have?

Over Annabelle's squawks, Connie suggested that she ask her neighbours if we could use their electric tram to get the frail old bird back up the hill. It was either that or we tie her to an inflatable pool lounger and drag her up the stairs. Annabelle's middle-aged carers weren't offering up any suggestions either. They just stood there being utterly unhelpful.

While we waited for Connie to call us on the cabana landline with the go-ahead, things got more awkward. Out of nowhere, neighbour-man looked at me and said, "Call 911 to let them know we found her!"

"What?"

"Call 911 and tell them that we found her. We filed a missing persons report earlier," he said. 

"Oh, ok," I said, too disarmed by his sudden command to question it. I pressed 9-1-1 on the keypad and started speaking to the operator. 

"Uhh. Hi, my name is Margaret and I found an old lady who is a missing person. So, yeah, umm, I just wanted to let you know we found her..." I trailed off. Did neighbour-man realise I was just a 19-year-old idiot? Why was he making me do this? And was calling 911 really necessary?

Eventually, as my "ummms" and "I'm not sures" became more frequent, neighbour-man gestured for me to hand him the phone. He started explaining things to the operator and I tuned him out. I had done what the situation had asked of me, and now I was finished. 

I hightailed it home. The whole thing was too weird. Too tense. I'd never liked meeting new people, and this just confirmed it. 

Annabelle: Part 1

It was a beautiful morning. Bright, warm sunlight filled the house. Through the window, between the tall evergreens, you could spot Lake Washington sparkling like sequins in the distance. 

I had just finished my freshman year in college and was back in Kenmore for the summer. My parents were out running errands and I had the house to myself. The plan was to spend all day on my friend Connie's dock—swimming, sunbathing, inhaling Otter Pops and pretending we were back in high school.

Image by Shindigs Girl via Flickr

I thew on my swimsuit and grimaced at what two semester's of daily Dominoes orders had done to my beach bod. Just as I was squeezing into my American Eagle shorts, there was a knock at the front door.

Normally I wouldn't have dreamt of answering it. Too risky. Whatever awaited me behind that slab of wood, it wasn't going to be good. A Jehovah's Witness, a kid selling coupon books, the stalker that I didn't know, but assumed, I had. 

But the summer spirit got to me. I scurried down the stairs and swung open the door. A man in his 50s—tall, white hair, with Costco jeans and a typical middle-aged man belly—stood in front of me. He explained that he was my neighbour from across the street. 

We'd spied on that house from our living room window, trying to figure out the family dynamic. For a while one of their grown children, with a blue pickup and a Siberian Husky, appeared to have moved back in. Occasionally they'd pull weeds in the front flowerbeds. Every December, they would put up a string of blue, icicle Christmas lights. Other than that, we didn't have a clue who they were.  

The man seemed nervous and like he was ashamed to be bothering me. He explained that his mother-in-law, who lived with them, had been missing since 3pm the previous day. He said she had dementia and had wandered off before, but never for this long. He gave me a flyer with her photo and told me to keep an eye out. 

I assured him I would. 

*                      *                      *                      *

As I walked back upstairs, the flyer already crumpling in my hand, my phone started buzzing on the kitchen table.

"Hey Justine"

"Hey—have you left for Connie's yet?"

"No, I was just getting ready."

"Oh, well I'm leaving now if you want me to pick you up."

"Sure, that sounds great."

And that's where the conversation almost ended. Even though my encounter with the neighbour man hadn't left much of an impression on me, something compelled me to bring it up. 

"Alright I'll be there in, like—

"A weird thing just happened before you called."

"Huh?"

"Yeah, my neighbour from across the street came over and asked if I'd seen his mother-in-law who has Alzheimer's and has gone missing."

"Weird!"

"Yeah. So weird. Anyway, see you soon!"

"OK, bye"

*                      *                      *                      *

Connie greeted us in her driveway and, towels in hand, we started the trek down to the lake. Her house is technically 'on the lake', but you have to navigate your way down at least 300 steps until you're there. It's a good seven-minute walk. 

The meandering wooden staircase is surrounded by giant fir trees, blackberry bushes and your general, unruly Pacific Northwest greenery. Permanently in the shade, the stairs are damp and slippery. A couple years earlier, my flipflop hit a mossy patch and I fell hard. It left a bruise the size, shape and colour of an eggplant on my right thigh. 

On the journey down, we gossiped about high school people and kept our new, college lives tucked away like a secret lover. We'd done this walk so many times. We'd done this day—the lake, the gossiping, the Otter Pops—so many times. The familiarity was intoxicating. 

Finally, the trees began to open up. We passed the gazebo and walked down the final four steps to the grassy ground below. But as we crossed the lawn to the dock, Justine gasped. 

"Something's over there! I saw something move over there!" she said under her breath, pointing to the thick bushes. 

We paused. Whatever it was, it was now obscured by vegetation. We couldn't see anything, but we heard it moving about it in the bramble. It sounded big. Not a cat or even a raccoon. Bigger. 

My heart started to thump. A bear? A mountain lion? Unlikely, but not impossible. 

Justine and Connie ran back to the bottom of the stairs. I started to follow, but then it dawned on me. Suddenly, I knew exactly what I had to do. 

Turning back around, I cupped my hands around my mouth and shouted toward the bushes:

"Annabelle?"

Treat-or-Treating: How old is too old?

We could pass for elementary schoolers, right? Wrong. 

I'll see your #ThrowBackThursday and raise you three 15-year-olds about to embark on a night of trick-or-treating. 

Let's start with the costumes. We didn't even try to disguise our age. Smarter, more self-aware teenagers would have at least thrown on some masks, leaving the neighbours to assume they were just abnormally tall for their age. But no, we had our pride to think about. What kind of self-respecting person goes trick-or-treating in a plastic mask from Bartell's? Like we would ever do something so expected—so, as Nina Garcia would say, pedestrian. Yeah right.

I, always the drag king never the bride, was dressed as Harry Potter. I bought the wig and glasses, but the robe (Anna's graduation gown), tie (my Dad's), shirt (Max's?) and badge (old dish rag + sharpie marker + glue) were all from around the house. The first Harry Potter film was coming out a few weeks after Halloween, and I planned to attend the premiere as the 'Boy Who Lived' himself. Going as HP for Halloween just made good, economical sense. Two birds, one stone.

Centre stage is Erika, in a panda costume that my Mom had sewn several years earlier for Francie when she was in 4th grade. As is clear even in this grainy photo, the panda costume was far too small for Erika, the tallest of all my friends. I believe the white belly section was supposed to extend down past the knees like a dress, not end at the waist like a bizarre, wooly wifebeater. And I remember working up a sweat trying to squeeze the hood part over Erika's 15-year-old head.

Then there's Connie, the jar of Carmex. This was another one of Francie's old costumes (amazing costume decisions btw, Francie) and we managed to convince Connie that it was the perfect choice. "You know, because you love Carmex so much!!" "I do? Yeah, ok. Sure!"

After this photo was taken, I'm sure we ran straight to the Arrowhead Point neighbourhood where, as years' of experience had taught us, it's pretty much bowl city. You see, rich people go to rich people parties on Halloween. Time is money, and they don't have time to hand out fun-sized Snickers like commoners. Instead, they leave a bowl full of candy on the front porch with a note that says: "Happy Halloween! Take one or two." Take one or two. Yeah right.

Perhaps I should be embarrassed that I trick-or-treated past the socially-acceptable 6th grade mark. And I suppose I should be ashamed that I grabbed handfuls of candy from every bowl I came across. But I'm not! I look back on those years and all I can think is, "Get it, girl. You do your thang."

Because being a teenager is hard. Suddenly, you're not a kid anymore. One day you're adorable, the next day you're awkward. When it comes to emotions—sadness, fear, excitement, joy, etc.—you're expected to conduct yourself like an adult. But when it comes to freedom and responsibility, you're still completely beholden to your parents.

As a teenager, I was hyperaware of my low status in society. I totally got it. I knew that I wasn't young enough to be cute, I wasn't smart enough to be interesting, I wasn't witty enough to be charming, and I didn't even have enough life experience to be useful. I was just in this horrible age purgatory, somewhere between blissful childhood and respected adulthood.

In those transitional teenage years, you're continually confronted with things that are too young for you and things that are too old for you. You're either secretly watching 'Wishbone', the time-travelling Jack Russell Terrier, on TV in your basement, or you're at a friend's house watching 'Cruel Intentions' and feeling really uncomfortable. Other than the odd junior high dance, teenagers have nothing to claim as their own!

So, when I was faced with the choice of 1) going trick-or-treating with my friends or 2) staying at home and passing out candy with my parents, I made the decision to go with Option 1. Can you blame me?

Cheers,
Margaret

P.S. Have you entered the #TurkeyHat giveaway yet? Do it before it's too late! I ordered the hat on Amazon today, and then I'll ship it out to the lucky winner.

From WALL to WALL

So my new favorite activity this past month has been reading through various facebook "wall-to-walls" between my me and my friends. For those of you over the age of 30 who are not familiar with "wall-to-walls" it is a feature on facebook that allows you to read everything you and a particular friend have written on each other's facebook pages over the years. 

Here are some of my favorite excerpts:

CONNIE/ME wall-to-wall:

Connie Gledhill (Willamette) wrote
at 10:05am on April 28th, 2006
ha.
i saw this squirrel running around today.. with either someone's sock or underwear in it's mouth.. i'm thinkin underwear tho.
it kept trying to stuff as much of it as possible in.
just thought you should know

Margaret Kay wrote
at 11:49am on April 28th, 2006
interesting because a couple weeks ago we threw some of my gross grandma underwear on the roof of our dorm...it is now not there....was the underwear gray?

Connie Gledhill (Willamette) wrote
at 2:35pm on April 29th, 2006
no. it was just white. ha

Connie Gledhill (Willamette) wrote
at 1:52pm on May 1st, 2007
hardy har. now it's your turn. tell me something funny

Margaret Kay wrote

at 3:21pm on May 1st, 2007
ok, here i go...

so i had this quiet asian friend in highschool and she was banned from riding northshore buses after sending out a mass email threatening to kill our bus driver. HAHAHa

oh wait...that was you...this, is, awkward.

well, here's another funny story. Today a girl came into the bagel shop and ordered a garlic bagel- but the kicker is....she pronounced it "garLACK"....hahaha, like lilac flowers....garlac....what a FREAK

TORI/ME wall-to-wall:

Margaret Kay wrote

at 12:06pm on January 17th, 2007
i'm decently tan, yes. what's your new years res? Mine is to stop picking my nose (cuz it stretches out my nostrils!) and Barbie's is to makeout with more boys.

Tori Mueller (Washington) wrote
at 12:17pm on January 17th, 2007
mine is to party more and to try and make steps in the direction of becoming a vegetarian. mostly its to party more though. im really bored right now in the law library. usually when this happens i watch the oc on youtube but dare i say that im not in an oc mood. i need to get a job, any suggestions? do you pick your nose often as is? i've never nosticed your large nostrils, now it will probably be all that i look at when i see you.

Margaret Kay wrote
at 12:42pm on January 17th, 2007
try to work at a movie theater so you can work with nerdy highschool kids and eat popcorn all day. in all honesty, i would suggest working in food service rather than retail, i've heard it's the lesser of two evils. i find my nostrils horribly large and i blame 20% of it on genetics and 80% on myself, an avid nosepicker (can't believe you haven't noticed). Sometimes when I'm unable to fall asleep at night I cup my nose and squish my nostrils together to reshape them. But I think the damgage is permanent.

Tori Mueller (Washington) wrote
at 12:57pm on January 17th, 2007
interesting, my sister and i both think our noses point up a little to much so we sometimes tape them down for a couple hours, ie the duration of watching a movie or something. i think you have gorgeous nostrils though. but i see where you are coming from (i do tape my nose down for gosh's sake!) this little comment box really does wonders for speeding things up here on facebook. have you ever gotten a massage? i bet its the best thing in the world.

OK, so I know people tend to zone out and loose focus when they see a really long post with big blocks of text, so I am going to hold off on any more wall-to-wall snippets for now. BUT do expect there this to be a reoccurring feature on my blog because I really just skimmed the vast surface of good material that's out there. Perhaps you will see me and YOUR wall-to-wall on here some day. Wouldn't that be a thrill for you!?! Ya betcha. So staaaaaaaaay tuned! 

Love, 

Madge