Inner and Outer lights

I don't know why, but most of the street lighting around here 

casts an eerie yellow aura over everything,

as though we're in a perpetual fight against mosquitoes.

Just before the bus for home came, I looked up

 to see this young woman wearing a bright yellow jacket.

Just twenty minutes earlier, I'd stood on a corner

at North Illinois Street, near the Hinkle Fieldhouse,

bathed in the pale yellow hue of the street lamp,

butting against the window light of this home,

one eerie, the other welcoming.

Portrait of a Bus Driver: About the Sixth

I spent Monday at workshops meant to assist me 

to develop my job hunting skills.

The first had one sentence of value to me,

the second was of more use. The work force in this

city is geared more towards the insurance, medical,

technical businesses. My skills are more specialized, 

meant more as support for all of the above -

design for advertising and promotional pieces,

so work is going to be more difficult to find.

I finished the first workshop, then took a bus

back into town to get lunch. 

The bus driver was a picture of concentration 

as she wove through the work day traffic.

Earlier that morning I'd stood at the corner 

of 10th Street and White River Parkway 

to make the connection to get to the workshops.

The structures are storage silos for grain 

storage, specifically corn that the farmers bring

to be dried. On some days the breeze smells like

popcorn, wafting across the river and through

the neighborhoods.

Sunset Commute

The big orange ball hung just above the tree line,

looking for all the world as though it was lined up with 

10th Street as we headed towards Speedway.

Another passenger and I had the same notion and spent 

the last few moments before it sank away, 

trying to capture a bit of the fiery orb 

on our cameras.

Contrails and the Sun

I happened to glance up at the building 

across the street from my bus stop

to see that the rhythm of its glass-clad

carapace had been interrupted.

Two long contrails from jets made a scraggly 

white trail, breaking up the blue grid, 

and the sun's bright glare threatened to burn 

a hole in the offices above.

On the Bus: Daily Folk

The word "commuters" conjures up images of big city folk 

who come to work each morning, brief case in hand, 

crisp white shirt and tie with their business suits,

 or women wearing neatly polished pumps 

with a conservative dress.

In this town, they'll drive an SUV to one of the local 

 parking garages, where the vehicle will stand

all day, costing their owners fuel, fees, upkeep,

insurance, monthly payments, blah-blah-blah --

while the owner spends eight to twelve hours working

to earn all that money to have this "convenience."

The people who take the buses here are generally

politely referred to as the "working poor."

As shown in the above picture, they are a carpenter

and a healthcare worker, accompanied by a number of

wait staff and cooks, hotel workers, and maintenance staff

for offices in the area. Now, the business world

can do without the presence of an attorney

or file clerk for a day or so, but if the maintenance staff,

the hotel maids, the janitors, and the healthcare

workers could not get to their jobs, the workday 

would come to a complete standstill.

Yet we still have a public transportation

system that is woefully inadequate

to meet the needs of a place

that likes to promote itself as a 

"world class city."

Portrait of the Bus Driver, II

A couple days ago, the bus from work 

was full of passengers -- standing room only.

The driver is a  good and patient man,

able to be courteous to his customers, firm with

people who insist on displaying their idiocy

in public, as well as get his fares to their destinations

on time and in one safe piece. In recent years, 

I've come to appreciate the drivers' job 

even more as the customers' behavior in recent

years has seemed to become more erratic.

Dead Twice

On my way to swimming practice Saturday morning, 
I stopped for breakfast near the Circle. 
On my way back to the bus stop, I saw giant pots 
topped by mounds of snow that reminded me 
of white froth on top of coffee. Beneath the froth,

remains of flowers had emerged. Long dead, they 

appeared, only to die all over again

in the winter air.

Beautiful Green

Standing in front of the Federal Court Building while 

waiting for a bus, I looked up to see a tree 

I'd seen a gazillion times before. This time, however,

the tree stood out sharply from its fog-draped

surroundings, covered in a coat of moss

that accentuated its shape and the texture of its bark.

Can Dots Also Be Square?

For some reason, my eye just loves the way the grid of the heat vent 

works with the printed design on the flank of a city bus.

They seem to complement each other.

A Head for Beauty

Eunice spends her days traveling back and forth 

between work and home in a hot pink tote.

She serves mutely, with no thought given 

to her personal tastes and desires, as her mistress

learns the basics of hair styling.

She begins her career with a full head of hair then,

as the course progresses, her hair is cut, braided, partitioned

with foil for coloring, and cut again until, her career

complete, her brunette tresses have disppeared. 

Eunice will become bald, sacrificed to beauty.

Working

As the bus approaches the stop where I am waiting, 

I contemplate the work for today - not the job where I am expected,

but the outline and shape for my next book. 

What do I want to say? What will be it's purpose?

How can I tell my story so that other people, who

may know nothing about the topic, will be affected by the 

people I want to present to them?

I go to this little part-time job to help cover expenses

and to keep myself socialized; it would be so easy to become

isolated and turn into the neighborhood cat lady.

On the way into town,one rider boards in tears - 

she has lost her hat and the little

pocketbook in which she carries her bus tickets.

Profoundly deaf, she communicates by sign language

and grunts, tears streaming down her face

as she attempts to make her difficulty known to us,

the hearing world.  When I left the bus, I felt inadequate;
all I could offer was a pat on her shoulder and a smile as I left,
my sad attempt to communicate to her that it will all work out.

My little concerns are nothing.
I can see. I can hear.
I spend my time trying to find ways to make interesting pictures 
and to string words together in way that people will want to
read them. I am among the fortunate who can, to a degree, extend
that ability a bit further than usual practice. 
I do not yet have the misfortune to struggle to find 
ways to make myself understood without words,
either vocally or in writing.

End of Day

Headed west on 10th Street at the White River Bridge, 

we had our way lighted by the bright orange sun, 

as it briefly sat poised on the horizon, then dipped below the tree line.

I had begun my day with the sun turning the eastern sky

mauve, then pink, then orange as it lit our path, 

then guided me towards home in the evening.

April Theme Day: Pedestrians Crossing

Every morning I go to work, I love to watch the colors

of the sunlight as it illuminates the narrow valley that is Ohio Street.

Most people have their heads down, already focused on the day ahead

as they rush through the intersections.

A few weeks ago, we began daylight saving time, which meant 

that the sunrises I love to see were sort of artificially 

pushed back an hour. Or something like that. 

It means I get to see the beautiful pinks and golds as they rise 

from behind the treeline in the park, while here, 

at the bus stop at the corner of Capitol and Ohio Streets, 

I can look down the street to see the colors 

as they are reflected off the limestone, granite and glass

surfaces of the buildings.

Today is Theme Day for the bloggers of City Daily Photo. 

To see how other members have chosen to interpret 

the April theme, Pedestrians Crossing, just click on the link

to enjoy beautiful photographs from all over the world.

Back and Forth

When I left for work this morning, I decided to wear one of my baseball hats 

to help fend off the morning drizzle as I walked to the bus stop.

It felt liberating to be free of the snug, cocoon-like fleece ski hat.

Late this afternoon I was wishing for snug; the temperature had dropped

and the edges of a late winter snow squall blew over the city.

The picture above shows other commuters who, like me, quietly

waited for their ride home, resigned to the cold breezes slapping our

faces with big, sloppy flakes of snow.

The picture below was taken at about 8:15 a.m., as a woman

crossed the intersection on her way to her office.

Her long, blond hair was probably free of a hat for the

first time since last fall.

Off-Center

While waiting for the bus the other morning, I was looking around

for something, something to take a picture of,

when I noticed the shrubbery at the corner had been removed.

Their absence revealed a cement base, perhaps for a security light.

With rocks in its water-filled center, it looked, however,

like an outdoor swimming pool for faeries had been revealed

to the passing traffic. Or a small drinking pool for birds.

While I took my pictures, I set my tote against the signpost, 

with my ever-present coffee mug keeping it company on the sidewalk.

Family Portrait

Thursday morning, during my bus ride to work, 

I met these two little girls with their mother, 

on their way to day care.

They were good little girls and it was clear 

their mama cared for and loved them.

Just Folks

It's about 4:40 PM and all we want is to get home.
This bus is always full.

After work, a lot of my co-workers and I make a dash for the bus home.

It is virtually always packed with people, standing room only.

If we happen to miss the bus, we have to wait about forty minutes

 for the next one going downtown. A lot of us, including myself,

have to make a connection downtown to the bus that

will take us the rest of the way to our homes. 

If we miss that connection, it can be as long as an hour 

before the next bus is scheduled to arrive.

When I ride the bus to work in the morning,

the other passengers are usually all workers for downtown

businesses or students.  We are all alike in that

we are just wanting to get to our jobs so that we can

put food in our kids' bellies, clothes on our backs and

a roof over our heads -- as do the people who

drive to work. I will be the first to admit that a great

many of the people I see at the downtown bus stops are

less than reputable, but that problem would remedy itself,

as would problems with scheduling, if more 

of the office workers left their cars at home.

To say that the city government has no regard or respect

for commuters who use the bus system would

be putting it politely at best. Consequently, the Indygo bus system

is the "red-headed step-child" of the city/county government.

They all seem to have forgotten that the people who clean 

the offices where they work, who serve them in the restaurants

and cook the food, who file the paperwork, who park the cars, 

who make the beds in the hotels that host the city's sports events 

and conventions -- all of them are likely minimum 

wage workers who also take the bus to their jobs.

If they could not get to work, then business would

likely come to a halt. When was the last time

a CEO bused his own table, emptied his own waste basket

or unclogged his own toilet? 

From time to time, plans are floated to the public about

prospective urban rail systems, but so far its only

lip service; somebody, somewhere, is making too much money

from the parking garages, as well as the new meters that have been installed

by an outside vendor, which splits the proceeds with the city/county

government. Obviously, an improved bus system that actually

is well-scheduled, well-run and that works for

the commuter would be a threat to the sweet amount 

of pocket change received in parking fees.

Daily Routine

I love the morning light. I like the way it brings a golden edge to everything it touches, the way it infuses the day with hope. Anybody who rides the bus must carry a mote of that golden promise with them because it takes faith to believe that the underfunded, under-equipped, and under-scheduled public transportation system will get them to work on time. Most of the time it does, but those days it does not can easily result in awkward explanations to one's supervisor, even job loss.


One day while riding the bus to work, I took a look around and saw people, themselves on their way to work, trying to keep roofs over their heads, food in their kids' bellies and clothes on their backs. They were people who do the "grunt work"  -- customer service representatives, accountants, maids for the many hotels downtown, waitresses and cooks in the restaurants, practical nurses and orderlies for several hospitals, personnel who clean the offices, security guards, baristas, et cetera -- a work force that is generally treated as if they are invisible that would suddenly be missed if they could not get to their jobs.

The "city fathers" tend to treat the system as if it were their proverbial "red-headed stepchild," to be ignored, abused and neglected. Generally, the buses seem to be regarded as the transportation system of the poor, the elderly (poor), the blind (poor) and disabled (poor). Visitors to our city invariably turn to the buses to visit our numerous  attractions and are, again, invariably amused and dismayed at the system's scheduling and routes. 

There have been recent efforts to improve the system, the drivers are usually courteous and considerate in sometimes difficult circumstances and, while cuts have been made in some routes, efforts were made to improve connections between others. Plans are in progress to build a light rail system and to add service to outlying areas. So ... maybe? 


We'll see. With the economy in doldrums and governmental squabbling, the city fathers may suddenly find there's a knot in their pockets and not be able to raise the stepchild's allowance. 

One can only hope.

"And now for something completely different."

The picture above is of another Speedway landmark, the Mug'n'Bun Drive-In on West 10th Street, which has been in business since 1960. The place has a national reputation for its home-made root beer as well as a menu chock full of every standard American drive-in staple one could ever think to order. The store's appearance is unpretentious, but the treats inside keep people coming back for more. Yum.