Blogetary (Weblog + Commentary = Blogetary)

Anytime I try to sort of try to think of the train trip home and maybe kind of describe it to someone, the one song that keeps popping into my head is Grateful Dead’s Truckin’: “What a long strange trip it’s been…” That’s the closest I get to describing how it felt, but I’ll try here to be more specific. See if I can catch some of surrealness of it all. If you don’t get it and want to skip it, that’s fine. In the end, I get home okay.

One of the reasons I like taking the train, and I’ve said this before, is it’s more relaxing. People are friendlier. Sure it takes longer, but you feel better at the end of it all in a lot of ways. Me, I hoped to get in some sleeping, reading and writing on the way up and on the way back. Now, I hadn’t really gotten any writing done on the way up because of the friend I made on the bus. And I had been so busy during my trip, I hadn’t been able to do any journaling even. So, I was hoping, since I would only be transferring once, and that in Oakland, that I would have a long 12 hour soothing train trip to do nothing but read, write, and sleep, and possibly cogitate on my life.

Back when I made these reservations, I had no idea that May 9 would be National Train Day.  Also, in some segments, especially in the LA area, unless you specifically ask for a sleeping berth, you aren’t assigned seats. You just sit wherever and make sure to take your seat tag with you. That’s the way it was on the trip north. Sometimes, though, they do assign seats. They don’t expect you stay in them, but they expect that when you need a place to land for a while that that is where you will be and not somewhere else. Sometimes people get put out about it. You just have to understand that sometimes you get an assigned seat and sometimes you don’t.  This will be an important point to remember later on.

So, it has been suggested that since my train leaves at 7:55 that I get there by 7 a.m. to check my baggage, this means leaving at around 6:30 or earlier and getting up around 5:30. Dad’s already an early riser. But I set my phone’s alarm for 5:15. Then, when I’m just convincing myself to snooze a little longer, the phone rings and it’s my stepmom to make sure we’re up. We get out the door and Dad’s thinking a little coffee. We hadn’t been to his favorite place. He’s been too busy. He’s talked to me about it for years and I eventually wrote a short story based on Dad’s visits to Ma’s Cafe and his making friends with the fish there (it’s being published in an upcoming edition of Aoife’s Kiss).  I’ve wanted to see it ever since he’s talked to me about it. So, Saturday morning, while we didn’t have time for breakfast there or to stay long enough to see his friends, we did stop in for coffee.

See how overcast that is there? That’s how it normally it is (this pic is from the Yelp site). The morning I was there, the sun was shining. Still!

I’m glad I got a chance to visit. It’s a lot like I imagined for my story, but even more surreal. There’s a little Buddhist altar in back, by the fish tank. Not the same fish, though. Dad said his friend died when some new guy was told to change the water and used regular tap water instead of distilled. Some people just don’t realize how much chlorine is in regular tap water until their fish dies.

The Amtrak bus building is right behind where my sister works and next door to the Ferry Building. Everything centered around the Ferry Building this trip. The guy behind the counter laughed at me checking in so early. He said since they’re an Amtrak bus station, I only needed 20 minutes before boarding to check in. But, oh well. Dad had found a parking spot at Sinbads. No one was around that time of the morning except people going to the Farmers Market at the Ferry Building, and we saw many people who looked at us in shock as they parked their cars at Sinbads and went over to the Farmers Market. They thought they were the only ones to know about the “secret” parking spot. Heh. So we watched people and drank coffee. Felt a little like we were in a 70′s cop movie and on a stake out. Finally, a couple of buses showed up and Dad said, “You should check on those.” So, I did and the guy behind the counter told me to get on the first one. I said goodbye to Dad and began the surreal trip back home to LA.

First, the bus driver said my ticket was wrong, (right number, wrong destination – he was going to Emeryville and I was supposed to go to Oakland) but let me get on. Then he came on the bus and told me to get off the bus and get on the OTHER bus parked behind him. Yes, I made sure my baggage got on the same bus I did. I was with a chatty crowd on the bus. The sun was shining. There’d been a game the day before.  It was train day. And I just wanted to veg out and be cranky in a corner. So, when we got Oakland to transfer to a regular train there I checked to make sure I had time for a restroom stop. One thing you can be sure of in restrooms is that you have one whole cubicle to yourself. No one can touch you, look at you, and unless they’re good friends, they don’t talk to you. And after seven days of loving family, I was ready to be a loner again for a while. But, that wasn’t to be.

When the train heading south pulled into the station (final destination San Diego), they herded us to the back part to get on and this is where they assigned me a seat. This train had upper and lower levels and most of the time they make everyone go up top, unless you’re a senior or disabled. Luckily, I got assigned a window seat on the upper level. The seats are nice and big and have lots of leg space so you can keep your things with you. You can put them above if you like, but you can keep them with. In fact, unless I had a seat mate, I was revving up to keep all my stuff in the aisle seat and just camp out in my spot for the entire trip.

As I find my seat and settle in to my spot, I vaguely notice the people in the seats around me. As far as I’m concerned, they’re just going to be background noise. As soon as the train gets underway and I feel the rhythm of the rails, I’m going to pull out my iPod shuffle and my notebook and set to. Except, that doesn’t happen. Almost as soon as I get settled, the guy across the way asks how I’m doing. Calls me “sis”. Graying hair sticking out below his baseball cap and his beard and mustache, bleary eyes (and it’s 8:30 in the morning) make him seem old to me.  Apparently he’d been on the train since Eugene, maybe even further north. He’d been on it all night, anyway. He kept calling the woman behind me “sis”, too. And seemed to know the woman’s three year old daughter. I thought they were brother and sister until I realized, no, they’d just been on the same train for a while, long enough for them to be comfortable traveling together. The daughter is a friendly little sweetie pie. She’s adorable. She wants to make friends with everyone.

Anyway, so Steve starts talking. And he goes on and on. “Ya know what I’m sayin’? Gimme a knucklebump on that one. Just gotta keep on keepin’ on, if ya know what I mean, right sis? Hey, great tats! Oh, I know. Yes, don’t I.” Nod, nod, wink. It’s not all cliches and BS coming out of his mouth. Enough real stuff comes out for me to realize he’s a lonely guy who keeps himself occupied and away from his own inner thoughts by making conversation with other people. I figured in a while he’d get distracted with someone else and leave me be. But that wasn’t to be.

I made the mistake of saying I liked Bloody Marys sometimes, I think we were talking about New Orleans.  So, he pulls a can out of his camouflage duffel bag and I hear a pop and hiss as I see the PBR label through his fingers. It’s 9 a.m. now and I recognize the smell is not from some spill last night, but from him, bleary eyes not from a bad nights sleep, but from never stopping drinking. But maybe I’m wrong. But maybe not. He’s mentioned his age, and it’s two years younger than I am. But he seems so OLD.

So, “Steve” invites me down to the cafe car cuz he says he’s figured out how to make a Bloody Mary from what they have there. I say, no, no, I don’t need one. He tries to invite the woman behind me. She says no, she has to watch her toddler. I think that’s it, but in a few minutes he’s trying again, so I’m still in vacation mode and I want to check the train out, so why not.  I tuck my things away and follow him down to the cafe car where the cafe guy seems to know Steve really well. So, with a combination of that little vodka bottle, tomato juice, and ketchup packets, Steve ends up making me a fairly decent bastardization of the Bloody Mary. He also gets a couple of beers. It’s 10 a.m. and I have a Bloody Mary and beer in front of me and I’m thinking, I could be in big trouble if he’s going all the way down to LA, too (which his ticket said he was).  So, I’m politely sipping on my Bloody Mary thinking I might end up telling him to finish the beer for me and wondering if I can get away with buying myself coffee when I get the next round. He’s telling me a little bit about his woes (see, this is what happens when I’m in “open” mode and want to take in new experiences – the world decides I’m a good shoulder to cry on). I’m listening and giving some input. Then other people in the train come down and Steve seems to know all of them from the night before. And apparently the night before was a huge drunk-fest.

Apparently, I’m on the party train.  Who knew?

So, one guy stops, “Buddy”, and he has a coffee in hand, but he’s eyeing the beer in Steve’s hand. And I begin to realize that Steve uses his ability to pay for rounds as his way of making friends and not being lonely. Soon, Buddy has given up trying to have his coffee and has a beer instead. Then, there’s a crowd of people who all were together the night before, talking and chatting over beer on a Saturday morning, because why not. Not like they’re driving anywhere anytime soon. Even some of the people I would label “responsible adults” were having drinks.  It’s a regular pub. The mom that was sitting behind me comes through with her daughter and another woman with some great tats comes through with her daughter. And while they don’t stop – they’re in Mommy mode after all – you can see they want to. They’ve been on the train for hours with toddlers in tow. They NEED their Mommy medicine.

As time goes on I can tell that Buddy and I have become Steve’s “keepers”. He’s making sure we stick around by buying drinks (took Buddy’s coffee and skipped the next couple of rounds of beer though), and we’re making sure that he’s not dropping bills on the floor or getting himself into trouble as time goes on. Cuz, he is a bit of an ass, but he’s okay. Plus, and I learn this later. Buddy is a writer and an actor. I’m a writer. Steve is GREAT material. Or rather, everything that happens around Steve is great material. So, in some bizarre part of our creative brains, we’re filing everything that happens here under “research”. It’s what happens when you’re a creative. It’s why June got so mad at Henry Miller and Anais Nin. Even when you’re going through the most intense experiences you’re thinking, “wow, this is great material.”

There are a couple of stops long enough for the cafe to close and people to get off the train to smoke, but I just sit when Steve and Buddy go out to smoke. At least the cafe car is empty then and I have time to myself. I can’t quite pull myself away though and back to my seat. Not yet.

About mid-day, I think, we hit San Luis Obispo. It’s going to be a long stop and I’m tired of sitting, and I know Buddy and Steve want to smoke. So, we get off and I pace from sitting so long. I’m restless. The day is bright and warm and I’m in a long sleeved top. I’ve taken my jacket off but I’m all sweaty and grimy and the beer wearing off isn’t helping me any. But I know it would be better if I had some water and wandered around. Steve thinks he hears about a cafe open in the train station. As long as the train is stopped, the cafe on the train is closed. And as long as the cafe is closed, Steve does not have access to alcohol. I had never really seen this in action before. Not really. But as we’re standing in the train station, Steve decides he’s going to that cafe in the station. But it’s just vending machines and treats brought in with displays for National Train Day. Not good enough. He wants a drink. Someone says there’s a bar around the corner. Buddy and I are pulled along in Steve’s wake as he sniffs out the nearest watering hole. I’m only beginning to understand how bad it is. A couple of men pass us in the other direction sharing a latte between them. Steve looks back over his shoulder and nodding at us says in a not so quiet voice, “Odds are those two are homo-sexual!” Buddy and I exchange a look. I sigh. We get to the bar, which is a nice restaurant. The doors are open, the alcohol is not flowing, however.  At this point I have said several times, “Listen, the train is going to start back up anytime now, you can get alcohol there if you need it.”  When Steve starts asking for the manager to see if he can buy something to go, maybe with a screw top, I tell them I’ll meet them back on the train.

I wandered back to the station proper and through the displays. There was a model train running through tunnels and things I almost took a picture of. There was a band playing some great music, too.

There were pins, crowns for the kids, paper fans that said, “I’m a train fan!” (Clever train people.) So, it was nice.

I should have gone back to my seat then, while the boys were occupied with procuring more booze. But I didn’t. I landed back in the cafe car with them and their two bottles of wine. Our crowd grew and we moved to the back part of the car where there was more room for a bunch of people to sit (thanks to Sean who pointed it out and was a much needed practical voice on the party train).  Eventually the mommies with the toddlers joined us. The cafe car was the one car where their girls could run back and forth without annoying too many people. That’s the bad part of train travel. If you’re a kid and need to get out and move, there’s no where to go and all these adults yell at you when you just act like yourself. So, the girls made friends and played with each other while the mommies had a little soothing cocktail and we all watched out for the kids. And while the guys didn’t feel uncomfortable having Steve buy drinks for them, we women did, I think. I made sure to buy stuff to eat – peanuts, M&M’s and crackers.  People always forget to eat when they drink and they’re always sorry afterward. That’s my mommy moment. And when one mommy sent me with money to get her a drink, I just got her a drink and stuck her money back in her wallet.  It was one of those “it takes a village” moments. Sean, the down to earth guy, was really good about distracting the toddlers, “Look at the ocean, look out the window.” I asked him if he had any kids of his own. He looks young, around 26, but he’s actually closer to my age. He said he’s got a passel of nieces and nephews he’s used to looking after. Buddy was trying some of his routines on us. Steve was trying to bring the conversation back around to something he’d be interested in (he tried guns for a while), but by now it was all over the place. There were too many people, plus a couple of kids. It was a free for all. We were talking about where we’d been, where we were going, and why. How long we’d all been on the train. “Holly” and “Jamie,” the two moms, had their own stories of why they were on the train with their little girls. They both had great tattoos, too.

It was the day before Mother’s Day and I kept thinking, it doesn’t matter if the Mom has a lip piercing and a tattoo, or if she limits the piercing to her ears and only wears Keds on her feet, and not boots, Moms rock. Both these young women had stamina and patience like you wouldn’t believe. There were a couple of spills on Holly’s table and one time when her daughter took a dive under the table, and I never heard her raise her voice. She’d breathe. Get frustrated. But man, she was so patient. Jamie was the same way.

By this time, Steve and Buddy and Sean and another guy were planning their stop in Santa Barbara. The cafe was out of hard alcohol and the beer was low, too (wow – but we’d all been working on it. I might be slow, but I’m sure. ). So, Buddy was calling a friend to see about getting a beer run or something while the train was stopped in Santa Barbara. Steve kept saying he knew people in Santa Barbara and he just might get off there and stay a few days. I don’t know if he did because about then, the moms decided to clear out. One was getting off in Santa Barbara and the other wanted to see if her daughter would nap. I just thought them leaving was a good excuse for me to leave and head back to my seat. The seat I had barely sat in all day.

It was about 3 p.m. and I hadn’t been in it since about 9 a.m. or so.  So, I shouldn’t have been surprised to see another person planted there. I had been assigned a seat mate and he’d taken over both seats since I wasn’t there. Which is normally fine (remember the disclaimer above). I ignored him cuz I perched somewhere else and talked with Jamie (the woman who was behind me, but also down in the cafe car), but only after I tried to chase Holly down to give her daughter her pink baseball cap back. Found out Jamie and I have both lived in WENATCHEE! How is that for six degrees of separation! WENATCHEE! Her daughter had been born there, I think. So, we were talking about this and that. She was going to see her mom in San Diego.  Eventually, she needs to try to put her daughter down for a nap and I need a real seat to sit in. I think about sitting somewhere else and just moving my tag, I mean, the car is empty. But, it’s my seat.

So, I say something. And the dear young boy who got on in San Lui Obispo mutters something about, “it doesn’t really matter you know” and I volunteer to sit somewhere else, but he must have been raised well and maybe I was matronly enough, but he eventually moved his stuff. I thought he was going to sit in the aisle seat (his assigned seat) but he moved to another car altogether. I guess that would be the SECOND teenager I’d pissed off in about a week.

So, Jamie got her daughter settled and then she and I talked for a while. She sat in Steve’s chair so her daughter could sleep because he never did show up in his seat again. He was supposed to get off in LA, but when we got off, his duffel bag was still in his seat and he was nowhere to be seen.

Lights got low and everyone spoke more softly and finally we were in LA’s Union Station at 8:30 p.m., a half hour ahead of schedule. I helped Jamie by holding her daughter’s hand while she lugged all her luggage (think duffel, backpack, car seat and purse) through the terminal to a stopping place in the waiting area. I would have tried to hold more but I was lugging stuff, too and wasn’t sure what else I could hold. Poor kid. Then I guarded the stuff so she could take her daughter to the restroom. Then it was goodbye to the last of the party train.

I had kind of been on a beer and social high while on the train, but I could feel it draining, ebbing out slowly as I made my way to baggage claim and then around to where the taxis line up. By the time I was loading my luggage into the taxi, I was barely speaking. By the time I got home, I was moving very slowly. I think it took me 10 minutes just to get up two flights of stairs. When I opened the door and came in Pye would not leave my side. (In fact, he’s been following me like a puppy all week long.) I was in a trance. I got home by 9:25 p.m., and should have gone to bed then. But I made phone calls. Said I was home. Played with Pye, took a shower. And eventually fell into bed. But I was sleep walking.

The next morning I looked at the kitchen and realized that somehow I had managed to walk through a pile of Pye’s barf (he barfs when he eats too much too fast and he does that when he’s nervous and he’s nervous when I am gone too long) and tramp it all around the kitchen, but I had never seen it. Or felt it. But now I needed to clean it. My vacation was officially over.