Amtrak’s Number 1 Fan

I think that had my darling husband realized that my innocent visit to South Carolina would lead to my renewed addictions to anime and sci-fi fiction and a severe reduction in his spare time, he might not have been so quick to agree to my little vacation. Then again, he has known me 9 years now, during which he’s held my hand and rolled his eyes and tossed me a few verbal barbs about my various obsessions with Robert Downey, Jr., The Matrix, medieval literature, and Mexican culture. And those were just the ones that made the most sense to him.

This trip was an adventure for me because it was the first time I have ever ridden on a train (except for the Metro in D.C., but I don’t count that). Let’s just say that I am now a walking Amtrak commercial. The ride was comfortable. The crew was a delight. The food was better than a school cafeteria. The price was unbeatable.

 

I thoroughly enjoyed my time with my family, and I am still processing each moment as they become part of my memory. For now, I suppose what strikes me most is how our families shape us. Despite the fact that I grew up in a town 8 hours away from this side of the family, I see clearly just what pieces of my grandparents are a part of me. Fortunately, it’s more than just a prominent nose and round face.

 

Tucked away in my own quirky sense of humor and dogged determination to my own ideas is the genetic makeup that ties me to other people with the same traits. There’s a certain comfort in knowing that someone else out there will laugh for days at a random picture of a dog birthday party or understand the importance of taking photographs with a head stone. I needed that reminder that although I am a unique creation, I am not alone. For that reason, I do love being viewed in the context of family.

 

All in all, last week was a fabulous experience filled with lots of late night conversations, drives across the Lake Murray Dam, much needed discussions about deceased family members, plenty of laughs, and some of the best food I’ve ever eaten. Between potato pancakes at a local German restaurant to my uncle’s homemade pancakes and enchiladas, I’m surprised I didn’t gain 20 pounds.

My latest Twitter update says it all: “I hate saying good-bye.”

A Long Overdue Introduction

Last Thursday I made a special visit to see the burial site of my paternal grandfather. Since he died before I was born I never had the chance to know him in this life. Yet I have carried his eyes and mouth and head shape and name my entire life, physical proof that we all leave something behind when we leave this world.

 

It was a beautiful moment as I stood looking at the copper plate bearing his name and birth and death years. Here I was as face to face as I could possibly be with him for the first time in my life. I was acutely aware of how much I wish I could have known this church pastor and father and friend. I even whispered, “Hi Grandpa. It took me 31 years, but I’m here now” and couldn’t help but wonder if there’s a protocol for spirits meeting the living.

 

My hopes were high before we reached the cemetary, although I didn’t know exactly what I expected from a plot of skeletons. Just before we left, though, I stood and took one last look at the length of his burial place. At that moment I clearly felt a hand rest on my shoulder and an arm across my back. I believe he met me there for that one brief moment, and we were connected there.

Perhaps the line that divides this life and the next is quite that transparent. And then again, perhaps it is. Life is fluid, flowing freely between us and those connected to us…from the people who stand behind us in line at the grocery store to those who share our genetic makeup.

Here’s a Great Example of My Life’s Commercial Breaks

Right now, I’m feverishly trying to meet a writing deadline for today. I’ve known about it all week, but the diversions of life (like a trip to the only pharmacy in the county that will fill my dog’s prescription, a successful search for a new computer bag, and an irritated piriformis) have a way of sapping my inspiration.

This magazine article is about a fascinating real estate company in Tuscany. In fact, if I had the money, I would buy one of their properties tomorrow just so I could go out for myself and wander the ancient cobblestone streets of Italian villages. And that’s just what I’m trying to convey in this article. So far, I have 162 of 1000 words finished.

Thinking that some wine might push along the creative process, I opened the closest thing I had to an Italian wine. It’s a German auslese: very, very sweet, and it’s from a region far closer to Italy than the Argentine wines on my shelf. So here I am molding the words in my head like modeling clay and sipping a delightful white wine and hoping that the right phrases are somewhere in the ether around me. I really could do this full time, you know.

This has been my life for the last few weeks.

My one creative endeavor has been an experimental poem that’s not quite finished. I watched a documentary on Jack Kerouac last week. Although I’m not a huge fan of his work, I like his concept of spontaneous prose and the idea of seeking out and writing about life’s experiences. One of Kerouac’s more experimental works was a poem about a conversation with the ocean. In the poem, he captured the sounds of the ocean.

With that in mind, I sat on my porch one afternoon as the evening storms were approaching and wrote down what I heard. Keep in my that this is a very rough draft taken directly from my journal. If and when I finish it, I will share the final version. In the meantime here is my “Conversations with the Wind”:

aaaAAHHHAAaaa
Flit-it-it
OOOOoohoooAhhh
Flit-it-flap-flAP-AP-Ap-it
hooooOOOoooohoooOOOooohooo
flit-flap-flap-tit-tit
ShooSheeShaShooSheeSha
haAAAAAAAAAA
hiIIIIIIIiiiii
noHAhaHaoo
shew sha sha shew
dip-dip-flit-tit-tit
whoooooooSHHHHHHoooo
shhhhhHHHHHHHOOOOOOOOOOOoooo
whichachachacha