Sunday, March 17, 2013

From Saturday in Bed Until Saturday on the Train


8:00 AM.

Good morning Kenmore.

I woke up, this morning, in my mom's bed. It had been my last morning in Cascadia and my last night before I left for my “little trip” (D.C., Boston, Toronto, Rochester, Portland, Dover, New York City, Moscow, Vologda, St. Petersberg, Ukraine).

I stretched out, rolled around, and then opened up her Bible. It opened straight up to, “The Lord is my Shepherd [to feed, guide, and shield me], I shall not lack. He makes me lie down in [fresh, tender] green pastures; He leads me beside the still and restful waters. He refreshes and restores my life (my self); He leads me in the paths of righteousness [uprightness and right standing with Him—not for my earning it, but] for His name’s sake” and my daily dialogue with the Lord began. I gave him that day and asked Him to take care of me and be with me. I was overwhelmed, tired, and knew I need his strength to get things done. I blasted calming hymns as I picked up where I had ended the night before.

At 9 AM, I got to go over to the Olsons and talk to them a bit. They've been my across-the-street-neighbours since i can remember. They're engaging, wonderful, and even helped start the L'Abri in Cnada that I visited (I didn't know that unti today!).

Back home, I made a list, checked it twice, and started to pack again. Too much stuff in the bag. I slowly threw out items till it all fit in my pack. A highlight was when I realized I had an hour more left than I thouht I would. I was able to lay everything out and decide not to take things like my flannel (originally Ian's – I hijacked it) and a second skirt.

In the end, I have just one skirt with a bunch of leggings.
Two t-shirts.
A wool sweater.
Rain coat.
Down coat.
Scarf.
Hat.
Gloves.
Not too much more than that... yet my pack still weighs a ton with things like a camera and this netbook. I hope to shed some weight over time as I eat the food I packed. My friend Andrew (coincidentally the boyfriend of my dear friend Megan, but not really coincidentally) gave me a brick of a book, “Letters from Russia,” which I have been enjoying enormously on the train trip. I hope to finish it soon, though, so I can leave it with Tucker or another curious reader.

I was set to go and made it down to the library to punch some holes in my paper plans to file away, went to the bank to withdraw my budget for Washington D.C., went to Safeway to grab some carrots, and then was set to go at the bus stop.

My feet dangled from the bench and I thought, “This is it. This is the beginning.” I sifted through my intentions, to connect with other humans and to get stretched and explore, for the trip.


The 522 stopped right in front of us and I climbed up and swiped my ORCA card which held my bus fare. I passed by a elegant, elfish gal with spunk. She chimed up something about my hat. I thanked her and carried my belongings to a seat two seats behind her. I then decided to go back and talk to her. This was E. E Bubunovic. Amazing last name, eh? She was a beautiful, memorable soul that I was grateful to have the chance to encounter with. We jabbered a bit in German and I learned as much of her story as I could absorb in the short bus trip. She's in the 16-years-old stage of life and I enjoyed the reminisce I got in remembering where I was at that age. Her confidence and passions made her a refreshing contact to engage with.

She got off at Union and 6th to climb up Capitol Hill to visit her boyfriend and I bumbled along till Jackson and 5th where I was able to make it to the King Street Station.

As I waited for the signal to cross the street, a man signalled for me to cross. I shook my head. He waved me over. I shook my head. I could see he wanted me to buy a newspaper from him. Truthfully, I had already purchased that newspaper the day before and didn't feel a need to acquire another one. I also didn't want to jaywalk because the police don't like it when I do and try to give me a ticket. Sure enough, when I got over there, he asked me for money. Sometimes I feel like it's a time to give and I give, but I didn't sense it, that time. “You can at least donate,” he assured me. “Not today,” I said. He then proceeded to pack up his belongings and follow me, at a safe distance, talking to no one. I had already said my good bye so that conversation had been finished off. Yet he kept talking. His anger kept me from wanting to turn back and do anything. I don't mean to have a cold heart, but his rage was exhausting. I didn't like how he turned from nice to anger when I didn't give him anything.

King Street Station was a welcome site, even though it was under construction. Inside, I met Rosa'Lea and her mother who agreed to watch my belongings. I realized, after just a short trip with my pack, that I had more than I ought to carry on my back. I was set and determined to get a set of wheels I could set my pack on – like what old ladies use to get things around. A Salvation Army was just a 5-minute-scooter-ride away. I set in there with determination and a purpose.

After scouring the front half, I found the Brick-a-Brack section and there, next to the wheelchairs, was a giant fold-able plastic box with wheels. I wasn't fully confident in it, but I decided to give it a try. Hopefully it could get me a few miles. It was a 8-mile-walk back to the train station and I got to attempt putting my pack into the wheeley-box.

It became a bit of an event with audience participation and encouragement and I set out to make it work. A few shifted plastic pins, grunts, and four hands later, I had the pack loaded into the box and I made my way around the station on my scooter, wheeley-bag in tow. I'm not sure how long it will last. It may only get me a few blocks before breaking down. I just don't want to destroy my back.


And that's how I got to the train station.

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