I Can Get Anywhere Without a Car

The above statement has been my motto, as I plan to singlehandedly solve the gas crisis and save a bundle on car insurance all at once. This coming year, I don't intend to own a car. I'm moving out and I will live in an apartment close to my work. Everything I really need is nearby. And there is public transportation out there, of a fashion.

But my confidence was a little bit shaken this past Friday when I came home from Wenatchee, across the mountains, by bus. The plan was to take a bus--which I had originally thought was a train, because it was on the Amtrak website--to Seattle, and then another bus half an hour after we arrived that would get me to Maple Valley. I must point out that there are only two buses from Seattle to Maple Valley: at five-ten and five-thirty. Since the bus was scheduled to come in at 4:30, I didn't have any worries.

I left my grandparents' cabin at 10:30, and got to the bus station before noon. The bus left at 12:50--only twenty minutes late. The bus was completely full, and there was no air-conditioning. The people around me were all complaining about how late the bus was and how hot it was. But I didn't see any reason to gripe: it was about what I expected out of a bus like that (not a Greyhound bus, but a similar company).

Across the aisle from me was a couple who had just hitchhiked from Acapulco. They were from Vancouver and had decided it was time to go home. Unfortunately, the part of their trip that was supposed to be easy and predictable had been full of snags. The bus they had been supposed to take the previous night (and had had tickets for) had been full, so they had slept in the bus station and finally gotten on this bus that morning. Out of food and money, they were starving and ended up being fed carrots and Cheetos by other people on the bus.

But I didn't worry too much. The bus wasn't that late, and I figured it would pick up time as we went. After all, it takes 2 1/2 hours to cross the mountains, and the trip was scheduled to take 4. Of course, I didn't account for the fact that half the trip across the mountains is uphill. It was an old bus, and it slowed to almost walking pace climbing those hills. We reached Everett too late to get my hitchhiking friends on their connection. It was probably Saturday before they ever got to Vancouver.

The drive from Everett to Seattle was the worst. Starting out, we were only a half-hour behind. The bus driver grumbled, "Why is there so much traffic?" It was obvious to me: it was four o'clock on 405. Enough said. There is always rush-hour traffic on that road, and on Fridays rush hour starts at noon.

More people were let off at a "Greyhound Station" I hadn't known existed--I had made my plans from the Amtrak station, so I didn't dare get off there. I probably should have, though: the Amtrak station was some distance away, and the traffic was barely moving. At this point I moved up to the front and chatted with the driver--there were only about five people left on the bus. The driver couldn't understand why there was always so much traffic in Seattle. It seemed he was used to it, and accustomed to the fact that he was always an hour late.

While I was at the Greyhound station, my dad called from the bus I was supposed to catch. "The bus is leaving now," he said. "Are you going to make it?" I did not make it. But there was still the 5:30 bus.

We arrived at the Amtrak at 5:20. I had ten minutes. My instructions were to go a short distance north to find the bus stop. But I didn't count on the fact that the road above was about a story higher than the level of the parking lot. "It's easy," said the bus driver. "Go into the train station and take the stairs."

It is not a very big train station, so I was surprised the stairs weren't readily obvious. I finally found them behind a set of glass doors bearing the sign "Stairs Closed." Dragging my rolling suitcase and lugging my heavy laptop case, I hurried out of the building, out on the lower street, and took the steep hill up to the higher street. (Seattle, for those who don't know, is not on a level. At all.)

I came panting up to the road and discovered it was 3rd. The intersection I needed was 3rd and King. I didn't see the name of the cross street, but I saw a bus stop. I paused to look at it, but there was no sign of my bus, the 143. "Maybe it's a block further," I thought, when I saw the 143 heading exactly my way. I stood expectantly, waiting for it to stop--and it breezed right by in a hot gust of exhaust.

While I was on the phone with my dad again, near tears, I glanced up and saw the road sign: 3rd and Jackson. "The 143 stops one block down," the commuters standing around commented helpfully. But the next time it would stop there was tomorrow morning--or maybe even Monday.

My dad said I should take the 101 to Renton, and he would pick me up from there. "I think you have to take that from the bus tunnel," he said.

"Where's the bus tunnel?" I asked.

"You want the International District station," he said. "Either that or the Pioneer Square station."

Idiotically, I answered, "Okay," and hung up. In my defense, I had just seen a sign labelled "International District" and thought it might have something for me. It didn't. I trudged on a little further to the next bus stop. The sun was boiling hot, and my laptop case strap cut into my shoulder as my rolling suitcase bounced on the in the sidewalk.

I found a 101 stop. With a symbol next to it, attached to a note that said "From five to seven, stops in the bus tunnel." But where was that pesky tunnel? I only knew one entrance to it, in a different part of the city, but what I did know is that they are not always marked. Again I turned to a nice-looking commuter. "Excuse me, sir." He eyed me uneasily. Maybe he thought I was trying to ask him for money.

He was relieved when I only asked for directions, and pointed me north. He was pretty sure it was that way. I went a block or so when I ran into a cop, and thought I could get further directions from him. He, however, pointed me in the opposite direction. I trudged back the way I had come, passed the nice direction-giving commuter, and took the turn (uphill) the cop had suggested.

No sign of a bus tunnel. I walked further and further, block after block, uphill and down again, passing creepy guys in doorways and pouring out sweat. I passed a beautiful park, and saw signs for Pioneer Square. I had come up a whole stop from where I had started. Finally, at my wits' end, I decided to stop somewhere, get inside for a minute to rest, maybe get some directions. A Starbucks looked promising--but it was closed. Finally, I ducked into a flower shop. The middle-aged proprietors told me there was a tunnel entrance on the side of their own building. I was afraid of walking right by it again, so the gentleman walked right outside with me, pointing out the pink railing on the side of the building. There were stairs there, and I walked down thankfully.

After some observation of signs, I discovered a number of things. First, I had walked by at least three entrances to the bus tunnel, one of which was actually inside the Amtrak station. That would have been useful to know. Second, I found my bus, and which way it would go. Thirdly, and most comforting of all, I discovered that the fare was actually equal to the amount of money in my wallet. I had been worrying all afternoon that I was a quarter shy.

The bus was crammed to the gills, the aisles full of standing people. But at the sight of my suitcase and my weary face, a man gave me his seat. After a long ride, I finally saw my dad at the Renton Transit Center, and he drove me the rest of the way home. It was about 7:30. The whole usually two-and-a-half hour trip had taken eight hours in total.

However, I am undaunted. That, and I still can't afford a car. So I will remain a public transportation user, but keeping this in mind. You can only get anywhere without it a car if you:

1. Don't care how long it takes. It has to not matter how late you are. And you have to be sure enough of this that you don't get stressed out when you're late.

2. You have to keep enough change to pay for all the transfers.

3. Keep smiling. Every time you're delayed, think of how much money you're saving, and how maybe if you try hard enough, gas prices will go down. (*snort*) Hey, you never know.

Happy to be here

This week, I'm at my grandparents' house in Eastern Washington. It's absolutely beautiful here ... I have always loved the desert hills. I'll be very sad to leave here and go back to the East Coast, where the beauties are tamer.

Last bits of sunlight touch the hills on the Fourth of July.

At the airport, looking at the ridge.

My grandpa took me soaring--flying on an unpowered glider--and it was lovely. The view was terrific, but we didn't get a lot of lift and so didn't go very far.

The Columbia River and Rocky Reach Dam. It's hard to get an untilted picture in a tilted plane. Even my unsuccessful efforts made me a little queasy.

We weren't the only ones soaring today. Two other gliders were trying the same air we were, and having about the same success. Apparently the haze was blocking some of the sun's heat, so thermals weren't forming the way we needed them to.

We may go to the lake later in the week, and if we do, I'll try to get some good pictures from that too. I'm just drinking in all the beauty, so it can tide me over when I'm living in the city in a flat area. There's a part of my soul that lives off mountains and wildness, and it certainly will miss this place.

Writing Progress

As some of you know, I've been trying to write a novel lately. It's a bit of a job: I'm used to writing short things, but it's hard to sustain a story for the full length of a novel. I've set my goal for 80,000 words, and that is a pretty big task.

At any rate, this is just a pride and patting-myself-on-the-back post: I passed the halfway mark yesterday. The plot is a little further along than halfway; I will probably have to add some material in the beginning. But still, I feel a sense of achievement.

The story is aimed toward Catholic young adu.lts--a rather small audience, but one that is really under-represented in books. I've had some encouragement to actually buckle down and write this thing, so I started it last fall and hope to finish it before this Christmas--hopefully by early fall, if possible. I'm hoping--hoping very hard--it can be published. Even if not, it will be an achievement and it was fun to do, but I want it to get out and be read.

So, prayers are always welcome. I'd better get back to work!

I desire mercy, not sacrifice

Last week's readings really got me thinking about a trend among Catholics today. Most Catholics nowadays do not have the problem I'm talking about. Within the more liberal sections of the Church, people tend to ignore rather that overrate the importance of sacrifice. But in the most conservative circles, perfection in liturgy or the advertising of a "Catholic way of life" which emphasizes public piety takes preference over values like mercy and charity.

What am I talking about, exactly? I'm talking about parishes with an absolutely flawless liturgy (whether "Extraordinary Form" or Novus Ordo) and no apostolic action--no Legion of Mary, no soup kitchens, nothing. They feel that the effort they pour into their liturgy excuses them from other Catholic activities.

I also have a problem with Catholic colleges that advertise the perfect Catholic atmosphere and yet are missing the most important Catholic virtue--charity. The most "pious" on campus feel they have a reason to look down on the others, to avoid them, for fear they will be "contaminated" with the less perfect attitude of those who don't go to daily Mass or who drink on the weekends. And the administration is so concerned with projecting a perfect image for outsiders that it is more likely to cover up problems than to fix them, if fixing them might hurt the public image. I'm not talking here about my own college specifically; I think this is a widespread problem, although of course there are movements counter to it in Catholic colleges as well.

To discuss the readings that got me thinking about this. The first reading was from Hosea, with the line "I desire mercy, and not sacrifice." The psalm helps to explain what God means by this:

“If I were hungry, I would not tell you,
for mine are the world and its fullness.
Do I eat the flesh of strong bulls,
or is the of goats my drink?”

God does not need sacrifice. Those who are too concerned about the liturgy think that they are perhaps doing God a favor by giving Him a perfectly-performed Mass. Of course, when we put it in those terms, the absurdity of the viewpoint seems obvious. God asks us to put effort into worshipping Him for our own good, not for His. Although I'm the first to say that putting that effort into the liturgy is important, unless this helps us focus on God more and to act more like the kind of people He wants us to be, we're wasting our time. The Pharisees got in trouble for just this kind of hypocrisy. They thought if their piety was perfect, they were good to go. Christ actually was harsher on them than on the ones who didn't pray at all. Why? Because they were misusing the worship intended for God, making it simply a way to make themselves look better than others. The best things, corrupted, become the worst.

The Gospel was the call of Matthew. Christ befriended a tax collector, and these pious hypocrites objected. As always, those who think they're the closest to God are the first to criticise Him when He starts doing things they disapprove of. They think they know everything there is to know about God, so they're terribly offended when all of a sudden He does things they don't understand.

I wish some of our modern-day Pharisees could understand the saying, "Those who are well do not need a physician, but the sick do." In other words, the most impressively holy parishes, colleges, and organizations should be serving the greatest of sinners. Instead, see how quickly they abandon someone when they fail to live up to the code of virtue. I have recently found out that students of Catholic colleges who become pregnant are often expelled. Meanwhile, it's public colleges who earn praise from pro-life organizations for being welcoming to pregnant students. They realize that those who have fallen into sin once are fragile: they need to be treated with mercy and compassion to encourage them to come back to the flock, not with the rejection that might lead them to further sins, like abortion. It would be ironic to think that Catholic colleges encourage abortion, but it is not impossible that a frightened, pregnant student might take that path rather than face expulsion when discovered.

All in all, I'm frustrated. Even those who seem the best seem to have their hidden faults, so much so that one looks for communities with obvious imperfections--that way we know we won't be surprised. In the end, I would like to see prayer and piety united with a real interior life, mercy, and charity.

“Offer to God praise as your sacrifice
and fulfill your vows to the Most High;
Then call upon me in time of distress;
I will rescue you, and you shall glorify me.”

On being 22

Today I turn 22 years old. It's the oldest I've ever been. ;)

22 seems a more steady age than 21. At 21, the main milestone is that you can drink. At 22, you're likely to be graduating from college (although, of course, I myself graduated last month). A 22-year-old is someone who's starting out with "real life." He still seems like a kid, with little experience with how life works, at the bottom of the totem pole in whatever job he has. But he is not on the totem pole. He isn't still in school, living in what some would deem a prolongation of childhood. He's fighting the battle of life, even though he's a newcomer to the battle.

At any rate, that's how I see myself. Many people suggested I go on and get a master's degree after graduating. But I just couldn't see myself staying in school that long. I felt I'd been receiving long enough: it was time to find how I could give back. Learning is great, but there is a place for doing as well. I hope learning never ends, especially with a job in education. But I wanted to start passing on what I know as soon as I can.

This birthday, though not a particular milestone, has been very nice. John, my extremely awesome boyfriend, traveled all the way from Virginia to surprise me with a visit to my family. I think that might be the best present I've ever received, even though he couldn't be here for my actual birthday. His journalism internship in Philadelphia starts today, so he left on Friday to travel there.

Also, some of my other close friends were able to come to a small party on Tuesday. It was great fun, playing games and talking to people I have known for years. It's good to catch up.

I hope this year is a good one. I sure will do what I can to make sure it is!

Commencement Pictures

Here are all the pictures I have so far. It's just the ones from my dad's camera and one from the school website. Hopefully I'll get more, but who knows. It sure felt like I posed with a lot of different people at the time.

Getting my diploma from Dr. O'Donnell. I guess anyone who wasn't there will want to know it was summa cum laude. But I feel like I have to mention around 15% of the class got the same. I'm mostly proud of the fact that I graduated with a life as well as a diploma. There were moments I didn't think that was possible.

Joseph was so proud of me. I was just happy to see him again.

My dad got camera-happy with John and the little kids. So it's no surprise I've got tons of pictures with them, and don't seem to have any with my parents. I know some were taken, but I have no idea by whom.

The boys wanted to graduate too.

Looks like John was getting a little tired of the photo-op. Juliana and the Little Pope seem to be having a good time though.

It's over...

Four years of my life are past and now I'm graduated. I really thought I'd be happier about that. The future is bright and there's no reason for me to regret anything. But still, it's sad. I've been wandering around an empty campus all morning (I don't leave till tomorrow) and missing everyone who's left already. Some of them I'll never see again. Maybe this would be easier if I hadn't made so many friends, but I can hardly regret knowing so many wonderful people. It's just always so hard to say goodbye.

At least I'll be back in the area soon when I start teaching. I don't know how many of my friends I will see out here, or how often, but I know I will see some of them. Luckily a lot of my friends are in the DC area, for now at least.

Once I'm back home, I'll try to get some graduation pictures up.