Remember that fractured Latin translation: Gloria gets sick on the subway every Monday?

I thought of it yesterday when I came home from my lake retreat by bus. I don't get sick. I doze and think, and I'll tell you another discovery tomorrow. But for now, it's the trip. Without a car, I have been taking public transportation more and more, not only local. I really like trains and buses. The 401 was not very interesting yesterday but my fellow-travellers were fascinating, including the dog. Don't ask me the breed. I can't tell cars, either.

I wondered, when I saw it, whether its owner had to buy a ticket but later I saw the SERVICE DOG label, so then I started to worry about it. They didn't get off the bus at the terminal where I boarded, and they had come a long way then. Didn't the dog need to pee? What about water? It was very patient. It lay on the window side, shifting occasionally, to accommodate its owner's movements. She stroked its head once in a while but at one point she started twisting its tail quite forcefully, twirling it around and around. Why did she need it? She certainly wasn't blind. She was painfully thin and carried on a long, loud conversation with a teenage boy in the seat in front of her. Anorexic? Bipolar? I raised more questions than I could answer.

The couple in front of me was very young. I could see the boy's face as he looked at the girl, very loving. I could see only the back of her head when she ducked it down on his shoulder. They didn't talk much but they were in constant contact.

The bus driver was also young and thin and very efficient. I thanked him when I left and complimented his driving. His face lit up in surprise and he thanked me.

I notice now that everyone is younger than I am, much much younger.

I'm not telling you a thing, but it gave me something to ponder. That, plus scenery (yes, a little, on the 401) plus my own thoughts, back to pummel me, and a two-hour bus ride passed very quickly. It's like a time machine. You get off in a different space.