By JANE LOTTER

Today, I want to talk about this big round thing at the end of my block called a chicane. And I would talk about it, only I don't know how to pronounce "chicane." I'm not even sure I know how to spell it.

Chicanes have sprouted up in intersections all over Seattle. They're also called "traffic circles" or "donuts" or, in technical terms, "that goldarned thing at the end of the block." The idea behind chicanes, as I understand it, is to slow down traffic. And they certainly do that. The HomeGrocer.com trucks just crawl when they have to maneuver around a chicane on their way to making emergency deliveries of Pepsi and Cheez Doodles.

(Whenever I see those HomeGrocer.com trucks I pull over and let them pass. I figure they're on a mercy mission, bringing Pop Tarts and Chex Party Mix to some poor soul whose life is hopelessly overbooked she can't even make it out of the house to shop at QFC. And have you ever seen those HomeGrocer guys after they park the truck and go to deliver the groceries? Before they step into your house, they put on antiseptic white booties. They look like they're planning to walk through plutonium. "Hello! I'm from HomeGrocer.com! I've brought you your Cheez Doodles, and now I'm going to perform open heart surgery.")

Anyway, last spring my husband Bob and I donated $25 to help pay for a tree to be planted on the chicane at the end of our block. We were told by our neighbors that the tree would cost a lot of money, but I know for a fact that you can buy a perfectly good tree at Chubby and Tubby for, like, 50 cents. So I wouldn't be surprised to find out that what really happened is everybody on our block got together and bought the 50-cent Chubby and Tubby tree. Then they all had a good laugh on us and took the left over money and went out to eat at McDonald's.

But the laugh's on them because when they came by after lunch, smelling suspiciously of french fries and burgers and asking for help with the tree planting, we were conveniently "unavailable." That is to say, we "took a hike" or "took a powder" or possibly "took a nap."

So now we have a tree planted in the middle of our chicane. As far as I can determine, the tree performs two functions. It's there to destroy visibility - which certainly slows traffic - and it also serves as a target. There is a group of car-driving people in Seattle who don't understand that they are supposed to go around the traffic circle. They think it is a sort of child's game, the object of which is to drive {through} the chicane. These people have the IQ of a chicane, and in some misguided lemming-like effort, they repeatedly launch their cars at chicanes. Perhaps they are trying to mate with the chicanes. I'm not sure. I only know they keep flattening the chicane trees.

Indeed, these trees get flattened with such regularity that I could see the phrase "chicane tree" slipping into the language as a metaphor for certain death. As in, "Poor devil - the chicane tree would have stood a better chance." Or even, "You're toast, Mr. Sherlock Holmes. You're dead meat. You're a chicane tree."

Of course, there are several volunteers on my block who take care of our chicane tree. They bring it water on hot days and prop it back up after it's been flattened. They risk their lives on a regular basis, dodging cars and running out to the chicane tree. Then they get stranded out there - often for weeks at a time - until there's a lull in the traffic and they can sprint back across the intersection to the sidewalk. We don't worry too much, though, about anybody who gets stranded on the chicane; whenever that HomeGrocer.com guy drives by he always remembers to toss them some Cheez Doodles, some Pepsis, and some antiseptic white booties.

Jane Lotter lives in Maple Leaf.