Month: December 2024

Going the extra mile: Kindness drives a city bus

On By Mary KochIn Uncategorized, Urban Life1 Comment

If I had to choose one word to describe Seattle’s Metro bus drivers, it would be “kind.” I could add other words: patient, professional, pleasant, helpful, knowledgeable. Recent events add the word “grieving.” Drivers and passengers alike are mourning last week’s fatal stabbing of a veteran driver. A homeless man has been charged with first-degree murder.

The tragedy felt personal to me and I’m sure to many Metro passengers. We trust and appreciate the drivers who skillfully navigate the clogged byways of densely populated King County. It’s common practice for passengers exiting the bus, even from the back door, to call out, “THANK YOU!”

When I read about the homicide, I immediately thought of the driver I’d ridden with just days before. I don’t know his name, and it’s unlikely I’ll ride with him again — he’s one of nearly 2,500 Metro drivers. He’d been exceptionally helpful, and I hated to think of him grieving, much less worrying about his own security.

King County Council member Peter von Reichbauer issued a statement asking, “If our bus drivers are not safe on Metro buses, then how can we convince our public that it is safe for them to ride?”

I’ve been riding buses for a year now after giving my car away. I’ve never felt endangered, insecure, or even uncomfortable. I know I’m safer climbing onto a bus than into a car. In the United States, the fatality rate for car occupants is twenty-three times higher than those for bus occupants.

The recent ride I mentioned was on a rainy, blustery day. A friend and I had tickets for a concert on the other side of town. We knew we’d have to transfer along the way, but the route schedule was confusing. When a No. 2 bus pulled up, I asked the driver about connecting with the No. 13. It became clear to him that I wasn’t understanding his directions. To save time he simply said, “Just get on.” 

This is where trust enters the picture.

The bus quickly fills with holiday shoppers, including a young family. As one child sleeps in his stroller, his slightly older brother wails about some perceived injustice that his parents can’t seem to resolve. His cries persist above the murmured conversations among passengers on the crowded bus.

We head up breathtakingly steep Queen Anne Avenue. Coming on board is an elderly woman — possibly around my age but with mobility issues. She has trouble navigating her walker across the lowered ramp. The driver gets out of his seat to guide her into place. The sleeping child’s stroller is repositioned to make room for her walker.

Upward we climb. At the next stop, the elderly woman slowly maneuvers her way off the bus. “Oh,” we hear her exclaim over the drumbeat of rain as the door begins to close. “This is the wrong stop!” 

The ramp is lowered again, the driver steers her back onto the bus. “I want you safe” he tells her. “If anything happens to you, it’s on me.” Further up the hill she disembarks, presumably at the correct stop. When we reach the hilltop, the driver sets the brake, stands up and motions to my companion and me to follow him off the bus. I can’t believe he even remembers us among the stream of passengers who’ve been boarding and exiting.

He shows us where to shelter from the rain while we wait for the No. 13. He’s back in his bus, preparing to drive onward when No. 13 pulls up next to him. Our driver once again exits No. 2, tells the No. 13 driver where we’re headed and shepherds us onto that bus. He shrugs off our exclamations of appreciation. My companion, who is always prepared for any occasion, hands him a large, carefully wrapped cookie. He accepts, possibly because he’s not inclined to argue with her. I sure hope cookie handouts aren’t contrary to Metro policy.

May we all be safe during this sacred season, and may we all be kind, just like city bus drivers.

Pro-Active Aging: Mapping a path toward the inevitable

On By Mary KochIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

November 5 marked one year since I moved to an “old folks’ home,” as a friend patronizingly describes it. I neglected to observe the anniversary. Apparently other events on November 5 distracted me.

Now I’m taking a breath, reflecting on that decision to turn my life upside down one year plus one month ago. I exchanged a rural riverside home that I loved for a city studio apartment in — NOT an old folks’ home — but what the industry prefers to call a CCRC — Continuing Care Retirement Community. I live independently in my own apartment until, until … I no longer can. Then I’ll be appropriately cared for.

Do I miss my previous life, the people and place I left behind? Every moment of every day. Did I do the right thing? Absolutely.

I carry this paradoxical load of joy and sorrow by embracing both present and past with gratitude. I’m thrilled to be where I am: in a vibrant community, soaking up the energy and culture of a large metropolis. All the while, I revel in memories of rich relationships and events that once were and can be no more.

During the final hectic weeks of preparing to move last year, seeds of doubt threatened to erupt into full-blown angst. To ward off inner explosions, I kept a list in my journal under the heading,“Reasons For Moving.” No. 1 on that list was “Pro-Active Aging.” More than anything else, I wanted to make my own decisions while I still had the capacity to make them. Above all, I didn’t want to reach the point when family and friends would debate, “What should we do with/for/about dear old Mary?”

I’m not interested in denying the effects of aging. There’s no debate. Our bodies and our mental capacities change. I’m interested in acknowledging those changes, accommodating them, even savoring them. Age is a convenient avenue for setting boundaries: No thank you. Not interested in going there. Not doing that. And the world shrugs its shoulders. What d’ya expect? She’s old!

Even as my own Earth-bound future grows shorter, I care about the future of our world. No. 3 on my “Reasons” list (after No. 2 — financial) was “Lower My Carbon Footprint.” That could’ve been a sub-head under No. 1. One of the most vexing issues for families with aging members is convincing them to stop driving. For too many, losing the freedom to drive is the death of independence. 

I recall a friend at age 90 gleefully maneuvering England’s country roads, one leather gloved hand on the wheel, the other briskly shifting gears as we sped from curve to corner. “They’re going to have to pry my cold, dead fingers from around the steering wheel,” she declared. They didn’t have to. A paralyzing stroke ended her driving days.

I gave away my car before it became an issue. I revel in the true independence offered by mass transit. No hassles with parking, gas prices, insurance, maintenance and repair bills. And, oh my, the interesting people one can engage with on the bus.

“Want little: you’ll have everything,” advises Portuguese poet Ricardo Reis. He continues, “Want nothing: you’ll be free.”

I’m not suggesting everyone should follow my path of aging. We each find our own route, which is why some folks call it (s)aging. We don’t have a choice. Aging begins with that first breath and continues throughout our lives. I’ll not quote that old saw — the one that says growing old beats the alternative. 

Oh. I guess I just did. A sign of age?