Compost Studios

Maybe it’s the relatively flat lay of the land or the way the geography channels the air moving off the North Sea, but when the winds picks up here, I feel like I’m playing a part in a gothic drama.

The wind truly howls and moans incessantly, an eerie braying wrapping around the walls of the house. The rain is lashing the windows and forcing me to look this ugly day in the face.

On my way home from walking the kids to the school bus this morning, the wind snatched my umbrella out of my hands and sent it cart wheeling down the street. I chugged after it like a brontosaurus lumbering after a hot-footed chihuahua, praying I wouldn’t get nailed by a driver in a speeding car startled by an unidentified flying object hurtling past the windshield. I managed to avoid becoming expat road kill, but by the time I dragged my sorry self home, my coat was wet, my pants soggy, and my spirits dampened as my shoes.

On Wednesday afternoons, I normally help teach writing to the second-graders in my daughter’s classroom. I don’t know if I’ll be able to face the trip to the school today.

Weather aside, I’ve had so many Charlie Brown moments with public transit lately.

Last week, coming down a side street to catch a bus, I saw it barrel past on the main road and leave me behind. It had arrived two minutes early, which meant I had to wait 30 minutes in 30-degreee weather for the next bus.

Two days later, chastened by my experience, I approached another bus stop on a busy street a full six minutes before the bus was due. Waiting on a corner for the light to change so I could safely cross the street and get to my stop, I saw the bus approaching from the right. Gah! Early again! How is that POSSIBLE?

I watched in frustration as my bus pulled into the bus lane on the opposite side of the street. The light changed and I dashed across the street with a grocery bag bouncing against my leg, running like a cartoon character, waving my hand as the bus driver pulled back into traffic, oblivious to my plight.

Well I learned my lesson. The next time I had to catch a bus, I showed up at the bus stop a full 10 minutes early and was slapped down by the transit gods yet again when the bus appeared almost 15 minutes late. Lucky me. I spent 25 minutes shivering and jittering in freezing weather, waiting for a ride. And things only got worse.

Because the bus was late, I was delayed arriving for and returning from my doctor’s appointment. Scurrying into the Metro station in downtown Brussels on the way home, I heard a train coming in. Perfect timing! I ran full tilt down the station steps and hopped on the train in the nick of time. My relief turned into dismay five minutes later when I realized I was on the wrong train.

I had to get off at the next stop, cross over the tracks, catch the train back to my original station, get off again, then catch the correct train. The end result—I missed the bus that would take me home from the Metro station at my destination and had to wait an HOUR for the next one.

I didn’t cry, I didn’t cuss, but trust me, I’m nursing my wounds. With the rain blowing sideways outside today, I’m not sure I’m willing to play games with public transit—even for the noble cause of helping in E-Grrrl’s class.

Instead, I’m harboring childish fantasies, wishing I could pop open a magic umbrella like Mary Poppins and glide to a happy place with birds chirping and flowers blooming and a lovely park and carousel. It sure beats enduring another debilitating series of “Good grief, Charlie Brown!” moments.

Sigh.

February. Day 15. We’re more than half way through.

February 15, 2006