1. My bench of choice has a view of the school, well a view of the mound of dirt in front of the school at least. This bench is on the edge of Boulevard Park almost on the corner. A very convenient bench because while I wait for the bus I can sit on it and write part of this assignment. Just like the blue bus that comes to this stop this bench is blue. Everything in transit is blue; the seats, the signs, I wouldn’t be surprised if the drivers are blue; well their uniforms are. To be more specific than just transit blue this blue is an unnatural one it’s the kind one would find on dollar store made in china baskets like the kind Mr. Hallam has as a block 3 hand in box. Defiantly not a sunny day sky blue of great herring blue. It could also be described scientifically as blue#44 exactly. Its artificial skin is slightly chipped off in places revealing its long lost naturalness. A crack to my right has turned dark brown with age and sprouted small tuffs of jade colored moss. Several immature phrases and images have been inscribed others are just common and boring. My back is faced to an inscribed heart containing “SP + JB 4 ∞” which I found the most intellectual surprisingly enough and only because of its use of the symbol for infinity. The bench has been worn and battered by the horde of adolescents that utilize it.
2. The house in fronThe house in front of me is the main thing I see. It looks like nothing special just an average house covered by trees and bushes. It must be noisy living there right by Lynn Valley Rd. there is still snow everywhere although it looks more like dirt and feels more like ice not that I go around feeling snow. All I’m trying to say is the snow is hard and crusty. The giant mound of filth ridden snow the plow left behind contains hoodoos on top due to the rain with cakes of mud acting like cap stones. The park is a glacier, just a giant expanse of ice eroding the ground away and when the coming warmth causes it to retreat all that is left are fine alluvials deposited in curious patterns and puddles representing kettle lakes spread out everywhere. Not much can be seen of the school itself only the ongoing development it has been going through for the past 4 years. The average hamster doesn’t even live that long. Cars wiz by on the drenched road allowing their wheels to spray up the filthy mixture and redeposit it on the road. Now I just realize the bench is still soggy from melted snow as I feel me moisture creeping through my many layers of clothes. I want these sidewalks to be properly shoveled to be considerate of others who slip and slide in front of their houses. I also want some dry clothes because now my bottom is soaked. I wish the bus would come soon.
3. If the highly unlikely and unwanted situation of having a bench dedicated to me were to happen I would like it the middle to be placed in the middle of nowhere. Perhaps on the edge of some cliff in the rocky mountains only accessible by air or the brave mountain climber. Most of its days spent in the presence of the ravens that reside there. In this bench’s possibly short existence only few human bottoms would touch it if any. Anything can happen on the side of a cliff; the mast wasting of a rockslide or just the rapid erosion due to freeze-thaw. Those lucky few would also have the privilege of a glimpse of the inscription which would read “To Alicia whose head was always in the clouds and thoughts in the middle of nowhere” which would also be appropriate for the location too.
4. If I were to dedicate a bench, which for once again I say “highly unlikely” even though I could probably guarantee and promise it wouldn’t happen but if in some alternate universe where I have an ounce of heart I would dedicate a bench I’d dedicate it to my mother. No expense would be an obstacle with this bench that would be made of bamboo planks grown on the slopes of the Himalayas and held together with bolts made of Aztec gold from Central Mexico. It would be placed in a humble crystal greenhouse with a silver plated steel frame. This piece of architecture would be located on the tip of the peninsula of Varadero in Cuba. Inside this crystal box surrounded by orchids and lilacs of all genetic color possible and a moon rock pebble path leading to this astounding bamboo bench mounted on a slab of polished granite with a platinum inscription reading,” me giving you the entire world would not even equal up to one percent of the price of your love for me. From a loving daughter to her loving mother,” as an ode to my mother and her incredible scarcely rewarded compassion for me.
5. My trip to the park would not be an accurate title for this journal entry for it was not as much as a visit but more of a pass by. It was not in my objectives to visit Boulevard Park it is just there containing my bus stop along the route which I must take in order to have a wonderful raw fish meal with a friend after school. The clock ticks so slowly of Fridays especially in this last class, my third block English class. The second hand of the clock taunts me with a little dance tangoing two ticks forward and one tick back and as the minutes get closer to that final bell that bell of freedom the second hand gests slower and slower. One second to the exact time the bell should ring but the second hand stops for what seams like and eternity. 2:54:59!? “Just one second”, I yelled at the clock to myself so as not to seem insane, “MOVE! Just one second more please.” The suspense was killing me literally; tearing me apart from the inside then all of a sudden 2:55:00. Up I went like a runner on set but where was the gun there was no go the bell had not rung. “Come on!” I stare at the PA waiting for that horrible bell to set me free. 5 seconds pass and nothing but the sound of my classmates chatting away is heard. 10 seconds, nothing. 20, nothing. Now I hear the clock’s ticks pounding away at my nerves so deafening I was afraid it would drown out that painfully earsplitting final bell. As I’m still standing like a stone person cursed by medusa Mr. Hallam addresses me in monotone “Alicia, sit down and wait for the bell.” In my head I ask him how I can wait any longer; my patience is at an end my mind is slush because of this waiting. I collapse back to my desk and drop my head to my arms and take a nap. As soon as I do so that aggravatingly irritating bell finally rings and I make a spastic bolt for the door. “I’m FREE!!!” I psychotically laugh to myself in glee. I’m going slightly mad; it finally happened; I’m slightly mad. I speed walk my way to the front dodging students walking and stupidly standing in all directions. Hitting speeds that were sure to break the unwritten hallway laws. My hand touches the cold bar of the large metal door I push and a gust of cold crisp air hits me how refreshing. That is till it stings my nose as I breathe and freezes the juices of my eye. I must keep going I must catch this bus. The dirty snow still reflects light and causes an acute snow blindness with the sunny weather. I feel my corneas burning from the UV radiation of this burning globe of gasses we call the sun. The world has turned black and white; things are either black or snow covered. But the sky is amazing. A blue unlike I have ever seen before it was the only exciting object of color, an overwhelming vast expanse of brightness, purity, and beauty. I stood there for a moment forgetting everything, the past, present and future, it was only me surrounded by chilled blue air. In my state of daze a sound so familiar enters my ears. “The bus!” I shriek sprinting to the crosswalk that told me not to cross but I crossed anyways nearly getting hit by through traffic. But my efforts were in vain as the buss bulled away from its stop and continued on without me on it. I grunt a sigh in anger toward that goddamn bell that wasn’t on time and the bus that was. And as for the sky, I curse it, I curse the good weather; I condemn it to the fiery pits of satin’s domain. I sit down on this blue bus stop bench and once again I must wait. Waiting only to wait again and again. But it is not always about waiting but how one spends there time waiting.
6. This is the poem I chose and found it suited my bench:

Bus Stop by Donald Justice

Lights are burning
In quiet rooms
Where lives go on
Resembling ours.

The quiet lives
That follow us—
These lives we lead
But do not own—

Stand in the rain
So quietly
When we are gone,
So quietly . . .
And the last bus
Comes letting dark
Umbrellas out—
Black flowers, black flowers.

And lives go on.
And lives go on
Like sudden lights
At street corners

Or like the lights
In quiet rooms
Left on for hours,
Burning, burning.

7. This poem connects with my personal philosophy of life by representing the simple things and relating them to life. In this poem people become objects the objects they themselves own in their lives. It objectifies people and puts them in the bigger picture of their gluttonous and inefficient standard of living. People don’t need expensive material things to occupy their time. Everyday things in our lives it what makes them great like our family and friends, the natural splendor of life and the world, and the smile of a loved one. Our consumerism lifestyle has allowed us to be lost in the desire for material items and loose focus of the things and people that really matter.
8. A park has many purposes including recreation, tourism, profit, environmental conservation, relaxation and also just something pretty to look at. People like to jog or ride their bikes through parks; it helps people get active. Some parks are points of interest with historical backgrounds making them optimal for tourists who are sightseeing. When I go through a renowned park I see several kiosks and food and drink stalls so for these business owners, parks bring them a form of income. Stanley Park is a great example of how some parks are built to preserve some green forests instead of paving them over; a park just wouldn’t be a park without trees. After a long day at work most like to relax but for most house wives that is an impossible task for there are usually dishes and laundry waiting at home but the park is right next to her workplace with a cute little coffee shop too so instead of going straight home she can take a little detour, get a coffee, go to the park, take a bench, watch the sunset, and unwind. These vital to the community areas are also some of the most beautiful forms of art; what is more beautiful than Mother Nature with her infinite variety of colors and smells. In my opinion I solidly think parks are a great asset to any community or city it brings people together to a common area where they can enjoy the genuine naturalness of our momentary life.
9. My haiku poem reflecting upon my bench experience:

The morning is through;

On the lone transit blue bench,

Little beads of dew