It's getting c o l d in here.

Written late Tuesday, December 17

Tuesday dawns over Washington, DC with grey skies and hints of pink. Sleep? What sleep? I often do not sleep well when I travel. All my routines are off and it's hard to find the comfort I find in my own bed. The tiny roomette turns out to be more spacious than we first noticed when hubby climbs up into the top bunk and finds a nice storage space for some of our bags. He says goodnight, I turn out the light, and he's snoring two minutes later. Darn him. I put on a meditation podcast. It's nice and I am feeling tired (it is 1:30 am) but the podcast ends, and I can't get comfortable. Too hot. Too cold. Blankets too tight. Untuck everything. Move the bag to another location so I can stretch out fully. Listen to Edgar Meyer play the Bach cello concertos. Listen to the train whistle. Rock side to side as we rush around the curves. Right side. Left side. Flat on my back. Listen to another meditation podcast. Peek out the window as tiny towns roll past. Listen to my husband snore. Finally, sometime around 4:30 or 5 am, I do doze off, only to be wide awake a little after 6 and a little over an hour from DC. I watch the sky gradually lighten, listen to Aaron Copeland and the trainman knocks on the door to make sure we are awake to get off the train.
Damn! It is COLD here. I can see my breath as we trudge down the platform towards the station. I have not yet given in to the temptation of the wintercoat in my bag. In front of me, a lady tumbles backwards down the up escalator. With my hands full, I can do nothing but watch as station employees rush to stop the escalator and help her up. I trudge on past to the elevator and hold the door as my spouse catches up with me.

Upstairs, the mass of commuters rush from place to place, intent on their destinstion, clutching their Starbucks and commuter mugs, yapping on their ever-present phones, and navigating the complex routes through the station maze. We find the Amtrak Acela lounge, stow our bags and go off in search of breakfast. McDonald's aquired, we eat in luxurious slowness, talking, reading, looking around. Outside the window, I see a place where homeless people sleep next to the building. A man asks for a dollar, and I give it to him because my heart hurts to even contemplete someone sleeping outside on the freezing concrete and begging for food and money from strangers in the nation's capitol.


The hours pass slowly despite internet access and free coffee. The televisions are tuned to two 24 hour news networks who rehash and recycle the same stories, tweaking a detail here and there and trotting out a new passel of talking heads to endlessly debate whatever has captured the miniscule attention of the station. I give in to my winter coat because the lounge is FREEZING, and once I get warm and semi-comfortable, I fall asleep on the couch, having a nice little nap. Hubby wakes me, and we head downstairs to the multi-ethnic food court for dinner, and then, all too soon, we are trudging back out in the cold to board the next leg of our train journey: the Capitol Limited to Chicago.



If possible, today's roomette is smaller than yesterday's, but we manage to cram ourselves and our stuff inside, where we read and look out the window until darkness arrives, far too early, and then we nap until dinner at 6:30. Dinner is lovely (better than last night) and we eat across from a mom and daughter on their way to Indiana for Christmas. After a delicious chocolate mousse parfait (for me) and not-delicious baklava left over from lunch for hubby, we hang downstairs in the cafe for a bit. (and I write.)




Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

A call to radical self-love

"Live as if you liked yourself, and it may happen" Marge Piercy "The seven of pentacles" According to the societal standards of beauty, I am an abject failure. For years, I walked around, beating myself up in my head because of my fat body. Every day I looked in the mirror and was never satisfied. I obsessed about everything I ate, especially when eating in public. Unlike many fat women, I don't have any horror stories of ill-treatment from strangers, or potential romantic partners, or employers, but we know these exist for many, many obese men and women. When I look around me at women on television, in movies, in magazines, in advertisements, and in almost every representation, I see more benchmarks of beauty that I do not meet. That I will never meet -- not because I am slothful and uncaring -- but because they are meant to be unattainable. Long, thick, glossy hair. Wrinkle, blemish, and pore free. Perfectly proportioned body, boobs and booty. Cellulite
Read more

Reflections on a few days on the Montana/North Dakota border

Image
After our arrival on the 19th, it was dark by the time we reached our hotel in Syndey, MT, a small town graced by a few new stoplights since my last visit in 2007 (and a new grocery store or two as well). One of the best things about Sydney is Sunny's Restaurant, a charming and excellent breakfast/lunch place on one of the main corners in town. We ate there four times during our stay -- one day when my hubby was feeling crappy, they graciously served him oatmeal for lunch, while I chowed down on the absolute best hot roast beef sandwich I've ever had...with a side of real mashed potatoes. They are only open until 2 or 3, so you gotta get there early. Every waitress we had was pleasant and friendly, and the food was delicious. They were always hopping too. Steam rising from the sugar beet processing factory in Sydney, MT One of the side-effects of the Bakken boom is that many local businesses keep more limited hours and find it difficult to keep help. If you can go out a
Read more

The Christmas card I didn't send, 2014 edition

Image
I did not send Christmas cards this year. Parent and sibling exceptions. They got special cards. Oh, I purchased them -- boxes of adorable sparkly cards at Target -- and I already had some that I've squirreled away for future use in a box at home, along with a cute package of make-your-own cards as well (mostly all purchased at some after-Christmas rock-bottom sale price). Oh, and some nice free cards that came in the mail from some organization or other. I love getting cards, especially from friends and family, even those that are just pictures. I'm one of the last relics who also sends cards for birthdays and babies and sympathy and just because. Not many people reciprocate, but that's fine; I don't send cards in order to get more back. I like the old-fashioned and tactile nature of cards. This year, the spirit was willing but the flesh was weak, and I was totally exhausted from the semester's end and still needed to do Christmas shopping. Something had to
Read more