Fruit-O-Matic

When you think “vending machine,” the image that comes to your mind is most likely a six foot tall, refrigerated monster with an illuminated panel. An illuminated plastic panel, enticing you with larger than life images to purchase chilled beverages, may be the brightest light in a dark hallway. You’ll have the impulse to check your wallet for a crisp dollar, but maybe it’s a model that takes swiped credit cards.

Now think of something completely different, from a completely different time. I don’t mean the revolving, plexiglass columns filled with questionable sandwiches, pints of 2% milk, or the perplexing packaged, hard boiled egg. I don’t mean the often astonishing Japanese vending machines that offer heated canned coffee or items you would not expect from a vending machine. I don’t even mean those wall mounted, never stocked boxes in the women’s lavatory of old government buildings.

I want you to think about the Fruit-O-Matic.

The Fruit-O-Matic! More steampunk apple dispensing machines existed before the manufacture of the short, utilitarian model that stood apart in the courtyard of my high school, and slicker machines exist now, but the Fruit-O-Matic did what it said on the box, no more, no less. Drop a quarter in and get your choice of an apple -- usually a green Granny Smith -- or an orange. The fruit was always fresh, always good.

Someone tended that old box. Was it the cafeteria staff? Was an outside vendor allowed on school campus? I never knew. For all I know, that fruit vending machine was magic. It had a philosophical poetry (apple vs. orange) and an incongruous humor (no candy bars, only sweet fruit). Positioned far from both the snack window and the cafeteria, against a wall and away from routes of traffic, it was an overlooked wallflower at the school dance of everyday.

It was the only place on or close to campus to get something to eat after school hours in the short time between my last class and my drama rehearsal. I became very fond of the Fruit-O-Matic and the stroll across the quadrangle. Usually, I chose an apple, crunching into it as I returned to the Little Theater.

Sometimes, the best memories are the little ones.

. . .

A weekly delivery of fruit comes to my workplace. Apples, bananas, pears that no one seems to want, grapes, and pluots -- depending on the time of year. Rarely do we get citrus, though last winter it was satsuma mandarins for weeks, until they languished as badly as the pears. Because this not the region for oranges, it seems that my fruit choice has become both more automatic and already made for me.

Seattle, Washington, to Portland, Oregon, by Bolt Bus

A close friend was going to be in Portland for the weekend. It was a solid opportunity for us to meet up and catch up, so I started planning how to travel. Driving to anywhere that keeps me stuck on I5 for ages and forces me through the Tacoma bottleneck traffic is not on my list of favorite things. I don't mind driving. I just really dislike that drive.

I use carsharing (Zipcar), so finding a less expensive way to go also sounded like a good idea. In the past, when I have been traveling between the cities for something longer than a day trip, Amtrak has worked well. The truth is, I love the idea of taking the train, and will grab the opportunity when presented. However, there is a newer option about which I had been curious: Bolt Bus.

The Bolt Bus is run by Greyhound, but it doesn't run from the sketchy looking Greyhound station. It starts the trip from 5th & Jackson, near Uwajimaya and the last stop of the metro tunnel. Trips are frequent throughout the day, and it is possible to get a last minute seat. The gimmick of Bolt Bus is the way the tickets are priced. They advertise a $1 trip, but these are rare and random. Book early, and your one-way ticket (no obvious discounts for round trip) might be $9. One week out, the southbound seats were between $17-$30, depending on the time of day. Compared  to Amtrak's cheapest option of $33 one-way ($56 at other times), Bolt Bus had something to offer for my trip. Using the best price options for my trip, I would spend half as much for the bus trip as for the train.

But did I really want to trade the train ride for a $30 round trip savings? I struggled with the idea of being stuck on a bus for over three hours, each way, until I realized that I could split the trip. I could take the bus outbound for research while having the train ride for the way back, save $10, and take advantage of Bolt Bus's better departure time.

The bus loaded quickly. Although the boarding is set up in groups (like Southwest Airlines), boarding group order didn't happen. I think the bus loaded up -- that is, people got on -- faster than a normal metro bus, even with riders stowing their bags.  The bus accommodates large bags in the luggage storage compartments and smaller bags in the overhead bins. We started boarding at noon; we left on time at 12:30. Most riders were in their seats early, but two or three boarded within five minutes of departure.

We arrived in Portland on time. The drop-off zone in Portland is as anonymous as the pick up zone in Seattle. It is conveniently located in Portland's Pioneer Square, downtown. This happens to the the same street as one of the many lightrail lines. You won't have far to go if you need to continue on out of downtown to, say, Lloyd Center.

Based on my trip, here are my tips for setting realistic expectations of the bus ride:

• The boarding area is the sidewalk around the bus. There was no sign when I arrived, but there was a bright red Bolt Bus parked at the curb that then pulled away. The shelter available is from the tunnel station's street level structure.
• It's a bus. You will be staying in your seat for three and a quarter hours. You can get up if you need the toilet, but it will be as inconvenient as on an airplane. General seating applies.
• The seats are Seattle metro bus sized, not Sound Transit comfort sized, not modern movie theater sized. The arm rests do move out of the way for loveseat style seating (as in movie theaters), so if you travel with a snuggly friend, you can take advantage of greater comfort. A very large-in-seat person could purchase two seats. (Nothing can be done for leg room, but the head room seemed pretty good.)
• The seats are a vinyl type material. Wear something that puts cloth between all of you and the seat. That much time on that kind of seat, without being able to shift due to being slightly stuck = should have worn pants.
• Being bus-sized, you will be seated within smell distance of the restroom. Because of metro's new deboard procedure, I am trained to take a seat at the back of the bus. This time, I chose one in the middle. Still, the wafting odor in the first hour of the trip was unfortunate.
• The seats recline. This means that the person in front of you may recline away your lap space.
• There are shoulder seatbelts. Few riders used them. It's up to you.
• Also unlike an airplane, there are no seatback trays to use as desks.
• The power outlets are sensibly placed near the floor and between the seats. They are oriented vertically. Power and wifi will not be active until the trip begins. Settle in before your seat mate arrives because otherwise, plugging in could be awkward. (Or it could be a "cute meet"!)
• The wifi will kick you off several times during the trip without warning. This seemed to be once an hour, to me. When it does, open another tab in your browser before re-establishing the connection, because the permission page will pop up on your existing tab. The usually consequences for navigating off your page will apply to the page you were viewing before re-connecting.
• I recommend stowing away all baggage and keeping only light essentials at your seat, and listening to music or an audiobook for the ride. Reading would be OK. The same problems -- reclining guy, narrow seat space -- might apply to reading as to working on your laptop or tablet.
• If you board early enough to get a window seat, you can freely observe people in their cars, because the windows are darkly tinted.

With reasonable expectations, I think that riding the Bolt Bus is a worthwhile way to travel. I certainly preferred it to driving, especially since both Seattle and Portland have good public transit, and a car becomes inconvenient once your in either downtown. The bus is also a better way to plan a day trip, if you can handle two long rides in one day, because it offers more trip times than Amtrak offers.
Still, I'm pretty excited about returning home on the train!

Death on a Cold Night is now in wider distribution!

Death on a Cold Night, the anthology that contains my cozy mystery "A Theft of Teapots," is now available for sale on Barnes & Noble and Amazon.com! Putting some fun mystery onto your ereader of choice is now even easier.

Purchase a copy for your Nook account here: Death on a Cold Night at Barnes & Noble

Purchase a copy for your Kindle account here: Death on a Cold Night on Amazon

You can still also purchase a DRM-free copy directly from Elm Books at the Elm Books website. If you have a Kobo, are reading with Calibre, an app, or any other ebook reader, this is the simplest way to make sure the book opens on your device. I'm proud that Elm Books offers our stories in a format free of Data Rights Management encoding. I like readers to have options!

If you have already purchased and enjoyed "A Theft of Teapots" and the other stories, please take a moment rate the collection at either book distribution website. If you can leave a comment as well, it will help other readers find this mystery collection among the overwhelming choices.

Please feel free to contact me if you would like a copy for the purpose of reviewing on your blog, social network, or website. I still have a few author's copies in reserve.

Kitte

This is a sand cat, the creature that Kitte resembles in a short story I have been writing & revising.

"Story"

Tell me a story, my lady said
as I folded her into blanket and bed
but I saw she was  listening to  Morpheus calling,
Her head on my shoulder, her eyelids falling,
the curtains closing on the waking stage,
the scenery stored away
the set already struck

I took my bows too, and followed her down
A step behind the hem of her gown
off backstage to change our clothes;
Then back up to the empty house we rose
In new costumes for the night
Robed in wishes
Clad in magic

And  out we went past the velvet chairs
down the carpeted, marble stairs
from the mezzanine to the lower floor
beyond the great mahogany double door
Out to the night, glittering with snow
the icicle moon
the crystal stars

Upon the sidewalk we danced, we twirled,
So that our cozy, warm cloaks swirled
and flashed their hidden satin hues;
We strolled along in our shining shoes
Lifting our voices in tipsy singing
lips in the shapes of  rosy lyrics
breath in clouds of white

"Where to now?" My lady smiled.
With the mischief of a child
she ran off down the boulevard
So I chased her, sprinting hard
splashing puddles creased with ice
reaching out to catch her scarf
as silken as her stride

It spooled out behind her, a kite tail,
Her laughter billowing, full sail.
We swam through pools of lamp post spotlight,
We flew on wings feathered with night,
Changing as fast as the colors of dusk
the brush of thought
on imagination's palette

Gods upon the wind

In her embrace, time over-spills its measure;
The heat of her body is a golden treasure
The curve of her side is a nest of safe sleep
To dream her dream is a prize to keep
She whispers, a susurrus of enchantment,
Tell me a story...
And I do.

Work Space

To my eyes, my desk is a mess. About half of it is full of knick knacks and bins to sort junk (holiday cards, wedding invitations, things I have picked up but not stored where they could go) and junk mail (credit card "convenience checks" and other things to shred). The disarray spills over to a side table. There are boxes on the floor.

It is not dirty, or particularly cluttered. Scraps of paper with notes relating to my recent/current writing project pile up in a too-be-recycled stack. On the desk are objects that I love, like the glass jars with candles, and objects that are useful, like the little analog clock. This corner also contains a shelf heavily laden with my bead supplies, notebooks, letter boxes, and my inkwell and other letter writing paraphernalia. Naturally, the wall hosts an array of oddities as well: a Chinese paper fan, a Japanese O-bon fan, a box of minerals and shells, a photo of a beach at sunset, a fairy print by Amy Brown.

This has been my fiction writing space. It is largely wrong for anything else in this condition. My desk does have to serve other creative uses. If I had the space, I wouldn't want to spread out too much since that usually just means that the mess has more room to grow. If I want to steampunk those 3D movie goggles today or if I want to draw (doodle, really) that I will have to clean today. Since it is nearly Lunar New Year, too, some end-of-the-year cleaning seems in order.

Not too much cleaning, though! Today is a precious free day, and I have creative energy to tap.

The Right Amount of Busy

One summer when I was in elementary school, I was bored over summer break. Our back yard had not yet been landscaped, and there were some concrete blocks among the small wilderness of weeds and low elm tree branches. They looked like ancient ruins from a strange civilization to me, in small. I made up stories about that Amazon-like people, but I was still bored.

I was always dreaming up stories. I still do. Back then, I didn't realize that I could write those stories down. "Audience" is a scary concept. When I was very little, five or so, I liked to dance and sing, so my father built a little stage into a space by the carport where we kids used to play. That was the end of my dancing; I never could go up on that stage. Maybe some of my fear of heights comes from there, too.

During that summer of boredom, I had an epiphany that I now think of as, "only boring people get bored." I was a lazy child who loved leisure. Boredom was no good, I realized. It wasn't a fun kind of nothing-to-do; it was a waste of my time. I decided then that I would always have something to do during the summer break. Consequently, every year after that, during the summer school break, I either took summer school classes or took up an activity. I was lucky to have the parents that I had, who enabled me to go swimming, practice yoga, travel to Hawai'i, and learn basic programming. All those summer school classes left me with a weird high school schedule, full of art classes, literature, and drama. (I regret giving up on the hard honors chemistry class and not taking physics.) I can honestly say that summers were never boring again. They had the right amount of new stimulus activity and leisure vacation time.

Ah, nostalgia.

In adulthood, I struggle with time management and the energy to accomplish all I want to do. Seeing what falls by the wayside only really happens if I keep a to-do list. If I don't keep a to-do list, I turn around and suddenly realized that some things are no longer in the wagon. If I'm lucky, I can remember what. If not -- and this is, sadly, more common -- I find what's missing when I need something that isn't there.

The to-do list is an amazing tool. First thing on the to-do list does seem to be "make a to-do list," however. Last thing should probably be, "make the next list." A friend suggested keeping a mix of difficult and easy things on the same list, so that there is always something that can be accomplished, even with limited time.

Post winter holidays, work has been challengingly busy for me. I have certainly been using a hand written to-do list on a daily basis. A handwritten list allows the deeper satisfaction of the sound of crossing items off, that wonderful sibilance of pencil against scratch paper. The daily duties combined with randomly added (metaphorical) fires to put out are just too many tasks to keep in my head, and the list makes it possible for me to be efficient and effective. Because work has concrete tasks, often with set deadlines, the to-do list is a powerful tool.

Outside of work... well, this update has been on my list for about three weeks. Some things stick around until they approach crisis (laundry!), then have to go to the "top" of the list. Making a list generates more items for the list, sort of like when too many things are jammed into a small container, and after the top items crammed in are pulled out, a spill of hidden items happens.

It's hard to be unhappy that my personal to-do list hasn't had much crossed off, because a top item has been Writing. That one word encompasses a lot of dedicated time. I don't cross it off because, right now, my writing energy is at a significant high point. I'm sending myself a lot of notes when I'm not at my keyboard, and when I'm home, I've been at keyboard in a series of bursts. There is a gentle undercurrent of guilt for one or two things that I would like to do but not enough to prioritize over writing. Even reading has felt like a secondary activity; I'd much rather be looking through the windows of my own worlds, even during my bus commute.

I count myself very lucky in being able to put writing at the top of the list. Sure, attending to the basics has to happen, but I have enough time to call my own to be able to choose what I do with it. I once promised myself never to grow up, but I do enjoy the empowerment of being an adult, combined with being abundantly blessed with opportunity. Boredom only manifests as an uncertainty of what I want to do next. As the saying goes, "If you want something done, give it to a busy person." Not only am I keeping busy getting things done, but it seems to me to be the right kind of busy.