bookmark_borderThese are the people I see…

I see many of the same people at the streetcar stop all the time and a few stand out:

  • The bike-riding guy who wears pointy white boots tucked into his pants. He dresses normally except for the boots, which look like they were made for walking. Maybe when he gets to work and fixes his pants, it all works out for him.
  • The teen with super long bangs who’s always carrying a book. I get the sense that he’s a kind young man — he’s very polite.
  • The otherwise well put-together woman who always seems to wear her pants too short. I think she must get her pants measured when she’s wearing low shoes. She should really bring her heels when she gets them pinned for hemming. Or else she buys them that way. It’s entirely possible that she thinks her pants look fantastic.
  • The most interesting people by far are the buggy ladies. They travel with a bright red dog buggy and it’s quite a production when they lift it into the streetcar. For quite some time I wasn’t sure that they had a dog in there — the flaps are usually down. But one hot day they let the little dog out and it sat nicely on one of the women’s laps. One of the women has fondness for bejeweled shoes and fancy outfits, while the other is a jeans and runners type. Both seem to love the pet and worry about its safety on public transport — it is really tiny and obviously quite spoiled.

Pet on Wheels
Like this but bright red…

bookmark_borderI need gas for my Acadian — I gotta get a new job

I don’t usually write about my dreams but I had a strange one recently.

It was so all-consuming that I woke up worried that I needed to find a new summer job. It’s not summer — and I have been gainfully employed in the non-camp sector for a very long time — but it took a few minutes for this to sink in.

I dreamed that for some reason, I could not get my regular camp job — I applied too late or something — the reason was unclear. (I was camp counsellor all through high school and university but I never worried about getting rehired — I worked at the same camp right up until I got my first full-time job.)

The funny part is that the camp director was a colleague with whom I am very friendly — and she was very apologetic but could do nothing to help me. Yet I was not angry. Just sad. She seemed sad too.
We were both sad … it was very strange!

It probably means I should not have a Caesar too close to bedtime.