Riding the 14D Bus, or, Finding Zen on the Crosstown
The 14D crosstown bus has become my home away from home. Caleb started kindergarten at a new school on the Lower East Side and Liam was chosen for a travel soccer team, which means that in addition to two school schedules, we’re juggling twice weekly soccer practices—on Avenue C one day, and at Stanton/Chrystie Street the other.
The weather is still nice enough that I can occasionally get the boys where they need to go on bikes and scooters, but there are other days—Mondays, for example—when I ride the 14D four times. Husband and I pass an unlimited monthly Metro card between us on our respective LES trips and while there is a certain amount of glee in knowing that we are getting more rides than we’ve paid for, it doesn’t quite make up for the fact life was easier last year, when the nursery school and the elementary school were both within walking distance, and when travel soccer was just a dream in the Arsenal-shirt-wearing soul of my then third grader.
Now our mornings move with a (kind of) military precision: breakfast on the table by 7:20, lunchboxes packed by 7:40, out the door with the bus-riding kindergartner by 7:50, latest. The other parent heads off with Liam, in the opposite direction, around 8. Somewhere in there the fish get fed, teeth get brushed, and (kind of) clean clothes are put on. Mostly, it all works, but the most serious wrench in the system is what waits for us on 14th street: the bus. I’ve realized that city busses (way more than the subway) require a level of Zen that I may never attain, no matter how much yoga I do.
Busses are just so dependent on...people. Does the bus driver feel generous? Then no matter how late you are, she’s going to wait at the stop for that last guy running from a half-block away (unless, of course, it’s me and Caleb running for the bus, in which case she’s sure to pull away from the curb, even if only to sit at a red light two feet away). Is it raining? Then we wait and wait while everyone climbs on, closes their umbrellas and shakes them off, fumbles for their metro card, sidles down the aisle. And why is it that when I am late to pick up Caleb that every single stop seems to have someone in a wheel chair? See what I mean about no Zen attitude? I’m delighted that the busses have been made handicapped accessible – I just wish it weren’t my bus.
After a month of this, though, I know I have to make the bus “mine" in order to survive--adapt or die, right? I read to Caleb—we’ve finished The Invention of Hugo Cabret, with its amazing black-and-white illustrations, and now we’re deep into the adventures of Ralph the mouse and his motorcycle. And when I’m shuttling back and forth between pick-up points, I can justify “unplugging” in a way that I can’t when I’m alone at home: there’s no way to do laundry, vacuum, cook dinner. Instead, I can catch up on back issues of The New Yorker (an infinite task), or read a section of the newspaper, or just stare out the window, watch the city go by, and not do anything at all.
Maybe that's the real ticket I need: finding those pockets of time when I can just let go, stare into space. I guess maybe it's a little strange to think of the 14D as a higher power, but what the hell. An NYC mamma has to find her Zen where she can, even if it is on a crosstown bus.
This is an original post for the NYC Mom's Blog. If she's not on the bus, Deborah Quinn can also be found at www.mannahattamamma.com
