On a recent Sunday morning, I stood at the foot of the Brooklyn Bridge in Manhattan.  I looked in wonder at the sight of the building I had just left, where I spent the night in the new home of my son and his wife.  They called me at 9AM the day before, on Saturday, to hop a Vamoose bus and come up.

“And we can take a walk across the bridge in the morning.”

I’d been wanting to go – to see their new home on the 56th floor of the new Frank Gehry seventy-six storied building, the tallest residential structure in America.  It is a magnificent reach of art and engineering.   

I almost missed it that glorious Sunday morning – sunny and just warm and cool enough to enjoy the outdoors. 

When they asked me the day before, I thought: too much of a rush, and I have this mental health thing to write, a meeting agenda to put together.  I thought about the preparation for my pending kitchen renovation, the extensive dental work facing me, my tiredness from recently diagnosed sleep apnea.  I thought about missing my usual routine,   Sunday yoga class. I felt old and scared, depressed, and everything felt like too much.  

“I’ll let you know.  Keep your phones on.” 

I did check the bus schedule.  But did nothing more to ready for the trip.

My phone rang, and a friend asked what I was doing that afternoon.  I told her my conundrum. 

She said, “If this was twenty years ago, you’d be on that bus.” 

I replied, “I’m on that bus!”

We had dinner fifty-six floors above ground, overlooking the new world trade towers still under construction.  My New York based twenty- three year old granddaughter joined us.  We played ping-pong in one of the activity rooms on the sixth floor while the steaks cooked on a gas grill on the deck just outside. 

And to think I almost missed this glory.  These hours of renewal and restoration, the joy of feeling vibrant – of listening to the thoughts of my progeny, of walking that bridge from a new place to a new place, of standing in the awe of progress, of being a part of it.

 I’m going to keep taking that bus. 

My Mental Health Day Thanks:
Norma Tucker
Norma Tucker lives in Bethesda, Md.  She retired from higher education administration after a thirty-year career and is now fulfilling her long-time desire to write a memoir and personal essay.  She is a member of The Writer’s Center in Bethesda and SOMOS, Society of the Muse of the Southwest.  She enjoys yoga and staying active..

4 Responses to “ON THE BUS”

  1. Phyllis Landis says:

    You go girl!


    Phyllis ( who at the moment can only go slowly but that’s fine with me.)

  2. Abbie says:

    This is wonderful. Just what I needed to read today! It is exactly these little barriers we put up because sometimes we aren’t aware of our fear of the unknown. We are loathe to leave our routines for a day or two for something slightly challenging and spontaneous. This happens at all ages not just for seniors or those with health concerns. Take that bus! That is a great affirmation for life. Take that bus and feel the love, feel the wonder, the richness of life!
    Thank you for a perfect and perfectly timed article. Thank you for sharing your life and wisdom, Norma. Abbie

  3. IRVINA says:

    As Kesey and the Merry Pranksters knew, you’re either “on the bus or you’re off the bus.”. So happy that you’re still on the bus…

  4. Sue says:

    The Norma I know is always “on the bus”. She is smart, interesting, tenacious and fun. Thanks for the reminder that we all need to keep site of the “bus ride” that awaits us!


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