April 12, 2016 by Amy
Finding my way back
I wrote and wrote and wrote for a third installment on the train trip. And then I went back to read it and discovered that in an attempt to avoid the whole, “My vacation is awesome” refrain and a detailed listing of all the tourist places we landed along with everyone else that goes to Seattle, I had instead devolved into a huge crabfest which really didn’t accurately portray our trip at all. What a waste of 2,655 words!
So I will instead attempt to pull out some of the more humorous anecdotes, because there were a few scattered around in there. I think.
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The aquarium in Seattle has a huge touch pool, where Zoe and I were able to “pet” sea anemones, urchins, star fish, and sea cucumbers. We petted them all. One of the anemones is a fraidy cat and sucks in all its fronds at the gentlest of touches. Zoe loved that and “scared” three of them. I was amazed at how different star fish can each feel. M stood nearby and watched, trying to hide the look of horror on his face that his two girls were touching sea monsters.
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Close quarters on the train means that embarrassing situations can happen. Like when the guy didn’t pay attention to the compartment numbers and whipped open the curtain on mine, thinking it was his. He about fell all over himself apologizing and desperately trying to fix the curtain with one hand while not spilling his coffee, and I congratulated myself for keeping the compartment door closed and locked until I was dressed. I had just been fixing my head scarf, so it wasn’t like he got a good view of anything, but it scared the heck out of both of us, I think. I bet he never yanks open another compartment curtain without checking the number first.
On the Coast Starlight route, when we had coach seats, I went downstairs to use a bathroom. The bathrooms on Amtrak trains have light indicators for when the lavatories are occupied. If the light is on, the potty is populated. Easy peasy. I marched downstairs and yanked open a door without a glowing light, only to find myself face to face with a petite Asian woman who I could tell was just as startled as me. She pulled the door back as I slammed it closed and stammered my apologies, and I moved less assuredly to the next bathroom. This time I tapped on it and listened for a moment even though the light was off. It was open, so in I went. As I sat there congratulating myself on my superior intellect for using the door lock and preventing something like that happening to me, a man yanked open my door. It appears that the door locks can be tricky on these trains, leading to all sorts of surprises and fun, unexpected get-to-know-your-neighbors visits. Later, on the Empire Builder, I learned that no matter how securely you close the door and latch the lock on the upstairs lav of our sleeper car, the gentle jostling of the train discreetly unlocks the door regularly. Now I was paying attention as I sat there doing my business, having been surprised twice now by men I don’t know, and watched as my locked door unlocked itself three times with the quietest of clicks. I think they’re out to get me, these doors. I’m hyper-aware now. You won’t catch me with my pants down again, potties.
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The steward for our sleeper car on the Empire Builder route is named Rodgie. He has been with Amtrak over 20 years and is funny, efficient, and knowledgeable. Everything you’d want in a steward. He informs every group of new passengers that this car requires smiles. If you lose your smile, just find Rodgie and he will replace it. He peppered most stops with rhymes and limericks, and you could hear people up and down the corridor laughing. Amtrak should make Rodgie their poster boy for riding the rails.
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I enjoyed wine on our train trip, and M enjoyed beer. However, one passenger began his libations before boarding in Seattle and then continued, to the point where he was not only ejected from the train in Wenatchee, Washington in the middle of the night, he was also arrested. Rodgie told us that he hadn’t been playing nice with the other passengers, but wouldn’t go into detail because the man is a professional and because telling us what some drunken sot did wasn’t guaranteed to put smiles on our faces. M and I agreed, and Rodgie confirmed, that Wenatchee, Washington, probably isn’t the best place to get kicked off the train. Google tells me that it is the largest city and county state of Chelan County, and offers Wenatchee Valley College and Academy of Hair Design as its institutions of higher learning. I didn’t look, but I’m sure that Western Union has an office there if your wife has to wire bail money to get you out of the pokey after being thrown off the Empire Builder.
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At lunch our final day, we sat with a young Indian man earning his PhD in food safety in Fargo, North Dakota. His name is Ashish, “Like hashish without the H,” he explained. Ashish and M had a wonderful conversation about Indian cuisine, and about driving in India, and about how there are many different languages in India, and countless dialects. He told me about Holi, the festival of color in India, and made me want to go there even more now. He was traveling to Chicago to meet his cousin for a Pink Floyd concert. Ashish is a pretty cool dude.
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I may think of more later, but those are the standout ones right now. It was a wonderful trip and we all had a blast, etc. I highly recommend train travel if you have the time and if you don’t mind forced relaxation.
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Sunday afternoon
Right now I’m sitting in my home office/writing studio/photography den/room of her own trying to write and being largely unsuccessful. I have gotten too much out of the habit, I think. I didn’t write nearly as much as I expected on the train, probably because I was far too busy watching the ever-changing scenery out the window. At night I felt too tired, although in hindsight I probably should have just forced myself. The past week I’ve been busy getting back into the routine of things at home (cooking and cleaning and laundry and bills) and the routine of work (writing, editing, proofing, photographing). It has felt good, this return to the work of daily life. I do love travel and experiencing new things, but just as much I love the feeling of being home. (I’m only saying this because right now dinner is in the oven, the house was cleaned yesterday, laundry is going, and bills are paid. So I’m feeling fairly on top of things.) Zoe is outside with M, working on her softball skills. She’s batting in rubber rain boots.
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It’s now 5:35 a.m. Tuesday morning. I dragged my sorry butt out of bed to write. Mostly because I had a little nutty last night and melted down over absolutely nothing, and afterwards, with a lot of thought, figured out it’s because I’m not very happy. And I’m not happy because I’m not writing. I wrote a bit on our vacation, but not as much as expected. Then we returned and the first Thursday night, my normal writing night with my writing group, we had to go see the tax lady. Tonight is Open Mic, which usually gets me writing, but a Girl Scout meeting for troop leaders to figure out where the hell we’re going to go after being kicked out of the parish was scheduled, and I need to be there. So no Open Mic. This Thursday I was invited to a fun party which I wouldn’t miss for the world, so no writing group again, making it a month since I’ve been. Apparently I need these scheduled writing prompts or I don’t write, because instead of writing I’ve been very good about getting laundry done and the house clean and the taxes pulled together and the bills paid and good, healthy meals made and grocery shopping done. I’ve been very good about doing everything but writing. Which is great for everyone else and terrible for me.
I was tired and had a throbbing headache after my nutty last night, so I set my alarm for earlier than normal and gave up the day. Just gave it up and went to sleep. When the alarm went off this morning I was in the middle of a vivid dream about being with my Girl Scouts and drawing pictures based on Little House on the Prairie, and I was determining whether I was going to draw the tiny stone-fronted soddy they lived in when they first left the Big Woods and went to the prairie, before Walnut Grove, or if I’d draw a log cabin that Pa built. Clearly I’ve been thinking too much about Girl Scouts and we’ve been watching too much Little House. I was having a good time with the girls in my dream, though, and turned off the alarm without getting up. Then I remembered melting down and knew I had to get up.
So this is my new endeavor, to keep peace with myself and ensure my family doesn’t end up having me committed. I used to get up early and write, and then fell off the wagon for whatever reason.
Although I will admit that just after I typed that, I spotted a stack of checks on my desk that need to be deposited, and realized that this morning would be good because I don’t have to be at work early. So I sorted those. And then one of the cats came in and meowed and used the litter box just outside my studio door, so I got up and cleaned the box.
Clearly I have some work to do with this whole notion of shutting out the world and writing.
I’m going to post this to the blog now, even though the whole thing is a mish-mash of bad writing and disjointed thoughts, because, well, that’s just where I am right now and it’s been too long since I posted and I’ve always been honest here.
The second cat just stalked in, yowling. I give up for the day. Tomorrow I know to start with a clean desk and a closed door.
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