POM POMS #3

(See previous nominations here and here.)

My pick this month is Metro Transit of the Twin Cities. Now if you live in Philadelphia or Chicago or Palo Alto, this can still work for you. The dealio is to choose public transit, at least one day a week. It's a beautiful day in the neighborhood, gas prices just hit $3.40 here in St. Paul, and you'll make Al Gore AND Leo DiCaprio happy.

(An aside: Once we published a book by Dan Maguire, theology and ethics professor at Marquette, and the final bound books shipped with a heading something like this: "Engage in Pubic Policy." Yep, that dreaded A-level head with the bad typo, one of the ones they warn you about in proofreading training. We didn't even catch it until Prof. Maguire himself faxed a short note that read, "While I'm sure this would be a lot more fun, we should correct this heading in our second printing." So I always triple proof a phrase like "public transit.")

Many of you (here and here) already commute by train or bus daily. I share a car now with the college kid and take the #74 down Randolph Ave. to downtown St. Paul a couple of times a week.

I'm a big believer in the idea that you can learn many of life's little lessons by observing closely all those people and places in your own neighborhood. And what better way to see the details of your lovely neighborhood than through the windows of a slow-moving bus. As Point wrote in Ma Gastronomie: “. . . one must read everything, see everything, hear everything, try everything, observe everything, in order to retain in the end, just a little bit.” I am getting to know the 74 regulars. The woman with white orthopedic shoes who gets off at Smith Ave. near the hospitals. The man who gets on by "Run and Fun" and carries an old Land's End softside briefcase. The crowd of men who get on at the Salvation Army, full of piss and vinegar, as my grandma used to say. Two of them sat near me the other day.

One said, "Hell, I feel like I got run over by a dump truck."
The other said, "You shouldn't feel bad. You should feel good. Wine's supposed to be good for us now, you know."
"Wine? It is? What kind?"
"Hell, it don't matter. White wine. Red wine. Just wine. Good for you. Stops heart attacks."
"I guess I don't feel so bad after all."

When I was a kid I used to bring the Sears and JC Penney's catalogs to bed with me. Sometimes I'd pretend I had to outfit myself and my brother for a year for under $100. Or I had to outfit a new apartment for under $100. I always had a $100. Weird. But now this kind of thing is a regular feature in glossies like Simple Living and Seventeen so I guess I was ahead of the curve.

So sometimes when I ride the bus I think about living without a car. (I lived it as a new editor back in the eighties, riding the Lorenz commuter line down Rice Street.) I know exactly what I'd do on my first car-free Saturday. I'd walk down to Kopplin's at Randolph and Hamline for a hot chai and zucchini bread with my big market bag slung over my shoulder. After reading the paper and watching the morning coffee groups I'd take the 74 downtown to the Farmer's Market in Lowertown to pick up some spring rhubarb. Then I'd hop it back up Randolph and get off at Sophie Joe's Emporium, at 453 W. 7th St., for a little retro shopping, and then I'd walk over to the Day by Day Cafe for lunch on their back patio. I'd step back on and take the bus all the way up to the College of Saint Catherine's, where I'd hop off to stroll through the lovely campus, stop by the Catherine G. Murphy Gallery if it's open, and watch the geese slip around at the pond. I'd walk down the block to buy some bulk granola and bottled cream at the Mississippi Market Co-op, and then head back home. Lovely.

All for way under $100. Beats driving your truck to Target.