The interrupting *and repeating* piano

 One of my father's passions was woodworking.  He could build almost anything, often indestructible and useful items.  The square stools he build for my three siblings and me are still in use at the cabin.  They've withstood my family growing up, but also my children, my sister's children, and countless guests.  They will outlive us all.

We all spent our own long hours working on things with Dad in the ever expanding workshop in the basement.  Once furnace adjacent, it eventually spilled out all around the boiler, and into another room.  I loved the belt sander, was deathly afraid of the table saw, and thought the grinder was the best fireworks show ever.

In his workshop he had a radio, and listened to the classical music public radio station.  Come to think of it I don't remember where the radio actually lived, as I never would have turned it on myself, and certainly wouldn't have turned it off, or - God forbid - changed the station.

But he had small speakers that he would collect.  The kind that came with a turntable/radio/tape deck sort of system, never super high quality, but enough.  And he would put them in the ceiling spaces in the workshop.  So wherever you were, you would hear this music coming from nowhere and everywhere.

As kids we didn't "get" classical music.  So we referred to it as "Dad music" and never with an appreciative tone.  He played classical music in the car, in his workshop, on his stereo upstairs.  To us it seemed like it was everywhere, always waiting to jump out at you and bore you to sleep.

It was rarely loud enough to hear outside of the basement, but there was one weekend day where we all heard it and commented on it.  It was a simple piano piece, and it was repetitive.  Like, on a short loop.  I think the common concern was that someone had a record that was skipping and just playing the same handful of notes over and over.

His explanation was that it distinctly wasn't the same notes over and over.  It was the same notes but just a little different every time.  I thought the idea was dumb, got on with my life, and never really thought about it until I was older.

Now that I am turning into my father in age and interests (thankfully not hair loss!) I appreciate the things he did when we were young and ignorant.  And one of those things is the music.  I have a limited knowledge of classical music, and I don't profess to know much about different composers, performers, or collections.  But in the very recent months I have been listening to a few pieces, and from those finding a few more.  Most of them are similar to the modern pop/alternative music I listen to - moody and dark, or minimalist and out of the ordinary.  In other words, not generally popular in large numbers of listeners.

One of the pieces I have grown to love just a little bit more with every listening is Górecki's Symphony No. 3, Op. 36, also known as the Symphony of Sorrowful Songs.  It is a symphony in three movements composed by Henryk Górecki in Katowice, Poland, between October and December 1976.  You know, when Poland was a happy place to live in.  It's obviously steeped in the oppression they felt, and the hopelessness of a country trapped by another.  In other words, it's perfect.

It is dark, somber, builds to wonderful hills of emotion, and rolls back into valleys of sadness.  Beth Gibbons, one of my favorite singers from a band called "Portishead" performed it with the Polish National Radio Symphony Orchestra.  She even learned how to sing in Polish for the album.  There is a great review on Pitchfork (link) and a great article from the New York times (link) telling the story of the 1989 London Sinfonietta recording that popularized the piece - and the composer - and sold over a million copies.  Which is quite a feat.  By February 1993, it had reached No. 6 on the British pop charts.  Crazy.

It's possible my father heard a version of the symphony, but I don't know.  I also don't have a firm grip on the exact genre's and pieces that he loved the most.  It's another regret I have, that I never discussed the music with my father that would eventually be able to elicit more emotion from me than any brooding goth pop piece.  Hoping my family can give me a better picture, but so far it's just been mentioned of composers and such.  Nothing specific enough that I can listen to it and feel my father listening at the same time.

I am not going to go on too much about the music itself, but Spiegel im Spiegel (lit. 'mirror(s) in the mirror') is a composition by Arvo Pärt written in 1978.  It's a ten minute song, but I can (and have) listened to it for hours.  Sometimes when I listen it brings me deeper into my dark depressions.  But other times it can lift me up and make me peacefully happy.  Was this the kind of thing he would have listened to?  Would have have hated it, loved it, or just not noticed it?

I have found my own favorites, and will grow that collection, I'm sure.  And I've searched for that repetitive piano piece, but so far haven't found it.   

But I sure would love to listen to that piano piece again as my current me.

The interrupting piano

When I was young, my father used to play the piano.  He didn't know how to read music, and it was all chords.  If you didn't listen closely you would think it was the same song over and over again.  But after hearing it for years, I realized it was just the base for his real music.  During the holidays, you would hear classic holiday tunes float gently through the sound.  Like he was using his music to seek out and play what was in context.

When his mother died, it got dark.  More bass, harder on the keys, mournful and sad.  It was reassuring to hear my father grieving in some way, as he didn't express his emotions often.
We were stupid kids.  We would be wanting to watch TV, so we had to hold huge headphones close to our ears with the volume turned up.  It was loud enough that the vacuum was less annoying.  And we took it for granted.

Nobody learned how to play like he did, as unique as every person.  Nobody recorded even a sample of it.  The house has been sold long ago.  My father died decades ago.  I now play music and think of what we have lost.  But I can still feel the passion, the joy, the whimsey in his music.  It's in my head like an unfocused picture.  I can't see the details but it can still remind me of how much I now love his playing.

More than you ever thought you could learn about concertinas

I'm reading The anglo-German concertina, a social history, volume 1" - it's a daunting book of hundreds of pages of fascinating information.  At least to me.  You wouldn't think there would need to be multiple volumes, but there are two so far.  It goes into excruciating detail, and then does a deep dive on each point.  

I really didn't think I could read all of it, so I was just going through and reading the captions and looking at the pictures.  But I kept finding myself going into the text to get a better explanation of the illustrations, to the point that I was just reading everything. So I went back and just started over.  I figured I would skip the minutiae as needed, as one doesn't really need to know the history of a specific concertina maker in England who was the apprentice to an apprentice.  But of course, once you get into the text you're led to that information in a way that makes you want to know.

There is fascinating trivia, but also valuable history such as the origin of the names of the types of concertinas.  A quick summary: There are two most common types of concertinas, the English and the Anglo.  Of course that would be confusing, since they're the same definition.  But as it turns out the English built concertinas were custom made and only affordable to the upper classes.  When the Germans started building them cheaply in factories and exporting them to England they were called German concertinas.  But they were cheap and low quality.  So the British sellers asked the Germans to make theirs look more like the English (6 sided, not 4) and eventually people were asking the custom concertina (English) makers to make high quality German concertinas.   Because they wanted buyers to know they were of the higher English quality, they started calling them Anglo German concertinas.  When the world wars came, Brits didn't want to buy anything German, so it was shortened to Anglo concertina.  There are enough differences between the two types that they need those distinct names, and thus they live on to this day.

Telling the tale isn't enough, so research into the incidences of the word concertina in all manner of sources reveals trends and such using graphs and tables.

Ok, so you might think that's a bit too much information but those are the points I just love.  There are other stories and descriptions that include historical documents, quotes from literature, and even legal documents.

To illustrate a decline in profitablity of concertinas buskers, they include a court transcript of an alimony dispute.  The husband was making less than he was when alimony was determined, and wanted it lowered.  They brought in experts and other buskers for their testimony.  It doesn't sound like a big deal but they were making the equivalent of $50,000 per year just by playing concertinas on the street. Victorian London had so many different types of buskers that the book describes each distinct type. When you think that's enough and you want to move on, the next section turns out to be detailed descriptions of each type of busker with further evidence and so forth. The section on blind people who are getting around the anti-begging laws by playing concertinas poorly is particularly fascinating.

While there were some street musicians who were quite skilled and made good money there were also street musicians (of all instrument types) that simply played poorly so people would pay them to move on. They even go into the distinction of different types of reporting on the quality of busker. For example the upper classes thought it was coarse and obnoxious so they reported it as being a public nuisance. The middle and lower classes, however, found it to be a fun distraction from things like public transportation or simply carrying on down the street. So they actually liked it.

I won't go on because I'm sure this is far more information than any non concertina playing person would want on concertinas, but to me it's mesmerizing. Every amusing story or interesting fact makes me want to pass it on to anyone who will listen, and I think things like "I should do a concertina history podcast so the kids of today would watch!" (since they don't read) and then I realize it's probably a bit too obscure.

Unfortunately the reason I'm reading right now is that my tremor is bad enough that doing things on my phone is tricky, and I'm even just voice transcribing this post. So here I am with the last thing I am able to do, and it turns out to actually be satisfying.

Sounds boring but it's fascinating.  Pictures taken right out of the book with no proper credit given.  :)

Operation Lily Put - Heading Home: The end of the journey

When I'd had a bit of a break and felt less like I was going to fall over from heat, I headed out to find my departure gate. Looking the train up on the screen, I headed off to the north concourse, for gate 19. As simple as that, right?  Not so much. It was cordoned off, and I look to my right to see a long line of folks in a glassed off waiting area.   I still had a ton of time before the train was due to leave so I wasn't worried. At least not until I tried to find my way into the waiting area, and saw the line snaking along through crowds of people. There were very few places to sit, and it felt like being at an airport when all the flights have been delayed. Announcements were made, but it was horribly hard to understand them. I figured out that the line wasn't for my train, so I went into the outer waiting area and found a squeaky bench to sit on. I had forgotten to get any more snacks or drinks, so I headed out to find a shop in the station, when I saw there were pop machines by the door. They had the little touchless icon, and I'd been using my phone to pay for everything so far, so I thought I'd give it a shot.

Worked like a charm, and I got a nice cold Diet Pepsi, delivered to the receptacle by a robot arm and everything. I remember back in the 90's hearing about the fact that some scandanavian country, I want to say Finland, had everything hooked up to their phones.   They could literally get something from a vending machine just by using their phone.  Incredible!   And here we are, just thirty short years later and we're able to do the same!

I had a long diatribe about the Amish passengers.  But decided just to summarize. I don't know their story, but it's got to be hard trying to be low-tech and having to interact with our modern systems. I will admit I was having some serious Handmaid's Tale flashbacks.   And while waiting in the Longest Line Ever, some kind soul decided to let them cut into line.   And then they let someone else cut in front of them, and my particularities about queueing just tweaked a bit.

I was, however finally cool, thanks to some giant fans in the waiting area. They didn't announce my train but clearly nobody knew what the line was queueing for, so I got in at the end. By the time I was worried about how long the line would take, and how many people were in front of me vs departure times, the line began to crawl forward. As it turns out nobody knew if it was for our trains or a different one, but we all queued and by the time I got to the front it was a line for anyone with a ticket. I get through the front of the line and am directed to a train and from there guided into the right coach.   A little crowded, but really not bad at all.   My fears of having to fight for a bad aisle seat were unfounded, and we're almost to Minnesota and nobody is sitting next to me.

Amtrak is serious about masks.  Got a gaiter, or a bandana mask?  Fail.  Shield instead of mask?  Fail.  Haven't got your mask over your nose?  Fail. They were handing out generic masks to people who didn't have the right kind on, and I was very impressed at how clear they were.

After the train had barely started, they had a long announcement reiterating those rules, as well as clarifying behaviors. Like, keep the mask on unless you're eating.  But if you're drinking, you should be able to keep it mostly on. If you're eating, you literally have to be taking a bite of food.  Chewing?  Mask on.  Breathing between bites?  Mask on. Most everyone was compliant, though someone at the check-in line had gotten animated about their gaiter not qualifying. It did seem like the Amish folk had a problem with their giant beards.

When we got to Milwaukee it was sunny by had clearly just rained. I'd been watching storms go across Minnesota and Wisconsin, and eventually we found one. Some stiff wind and a huge downpour, but it didn't last long. It is now raining extremely hard.  I have every confidence trains are hard to blow over though. One of the best things about travelling. If it's raining, you're likely to drive away from it or pass through quickly. Before long it was golden sun again and green fields of Wisconsin. We stopped for a bit of a delay as the power had gone out and the signals weren't working. Whatever community that was, they figured it out quickly, and we were back on our way. I don't care, as it's my last leg.   But it wouldn't be a train journey without some kind of delay.

We did pick up more passengers in Millwaukee. I tried to do my best "you don't want to sit next to me" attitude, but that doesn't work very well because I'm polite. Someone paused and I was typing fiercly and they moved on. I think they may have read the previous posts and knew I would be clicking away for hours.

Headed off to the observation car to see what was up there, and it was fairly full. I had no interest in sitting in there though, as it was a nice open area with comfortable chairs and had a good community feel. Meaning everyone was chatting with each other.  Check, please! I figured out that the snack car (diner car?  club car?  food getting car?) was just down the stairs and rolled the dice. Thankfully, it was a straightforward system.   Attendant behind a counter/glass and options on the wall. A hot dog, cheese plate and a Coka later and I'm back on my way to my seat. So technically I got a Chicago-sourced Hot Dog. They were making announcements about people with reservations in the dining car at various intervals. So clearly there was another food getting car, but I wasn't interested.

A little more writing, some chatting with my sister over Facebook, and half of Driving Miss Daisy helped me pass the afternoon.

At the Wisconsin Dells stop we got to see the same Dells businesses Lily and I saw on the way east.  And the actual Dells, of course.

Ghost Boat!

There was no wifi on the train, so I was tethering off my phone just enough to listen to music and save drafts of the blog entries. The previous train from NY to IL had wifi, you just had to accept their terms and you were in- but it wasn't very fast and streaming was not a viable option. My phone had fair coverage, but the more rural it got, the more the signal dropped out.  The things we have to put up with when being zipped across the state at 70 miles per hour.

Wisconsin looks like this

Wisconsin also looks like this.  Over and over again.

I had been advised back at home that when we get to Tomah that was my cue to score a seat in the observation car.  I wasn't into that, but I had picked a seat on the advised side of the train, and since I was in the upper of a double floor car, I figured I'm high enough to enjoy the scenery.

I can't help but think about the Hudson river as we cross the Mississippi. It's not just coming home to Minnesota, but to *my* river.   The trees look right, the islands scattered in the channels look right, even the surface of the river looks right. The Hudson was an amazing river because it was so pretty, and I'd read about the ships and boats both large and small that had plied those waters for the first time. Men rushing to find the next location for a fort or trading place.   Wars between men of all different nations, going so far back in the history of the country that some of it happened before it was even a theory:  The United States. When I look at a river I love to look at it through the eyes of the men who saw it hundreds of years ago.  

Imagining how far we are from the things of man, and any hope of rescue should something happen. Also of the people who called this home, and used the rivers and forests as their own highways from community to community. I think of our neighborhoods and what the land must have been like before houses and streets. Before time was measured and hardship was shared but routine. The light is fading, and we're not likely to have much of a view of Pepin, at least the top end of it. And I've seen this river a hundred times, it's nothing new.   But it's the something old about it that I really love. For so many years the water has been slowly slipping down the Mississippi, just as it has the Hudson and every river creek and brook in between. It also marks the halfway point of the country, in many ways, and reminds me that I've just gone from this place I call home all the way to the ocean and it's long history - and back to mine. Taking the train home has been fun, but I forgot to think about it's own history.   The generations of families taking the train to their homesteads. The traders and business people travelling by train on the exact same path I just took. Their rides weren't quite as comfortable as mine, but I'm sure they were a hundred times more exciting. And even though I'm not journeying to make my mark on the world, or my fortune, or even a simple existence for my family,

It's so good to be home.   

Operation Lily Put - Heading Home: A slight diversion, or, how I got heat exhaustion

<record scratch>  Short walk?  I don't think so.

Pretty Architecture!

My little family has a proud tradition of taking the four of us (me, wife, two kids) on Legendary Death Marches. We've done it so often it's hard to think of examples. I know we did one in New York when we had at least one baby and my mother with us. All I remember from that one was darkness, bright headlights at a highway tunnel, and having to cross that street. But seeing the Statue of Liberty from afar in the cold dark night was worth it.

And apparently I just whipped up a Legendary Death March myself! At some point I realized Route 66 starts in Chicago. So I looked it up, and the intersection wasn't too far off.   Maybe 6 blocks?  Less than a mile.  Ok, almost a mile. But I had plenty of time and it was nicely air conditioned in the lounge as I planned the trip, so I thought it would be pleasant enough to go outside. Outside, by the way, wasn't pleasant enough. It was blast furnace hot with the sun turned up to full blast. Humidity so thick it felt like I was in Baltimore again. I am really ready to be back on the tundra, or at least in familiar air conditioning.

So here's where I went, complete with pictures:

Walk down Jackson Blvd a few blocks and cross the river on a cool lift bridge.

I saw many tourists, but also some random sketchy looking people who looked like they were doing risk probability math in their heads.

But they didn't bother me.

Also, I had my "I'm from the city" face on, the one that would make Mom think I needed a hug.

I realized while waiting at a light that I am directly under the Sears Tower/Willis tower, and took a picture as a selfie without the self because it was too tall to aim at.

Walked another couple blocks to Calder's Flamingo, a "Monumental 1974 abstract sculpture" and the location of the free cigarettes mentioned previously.

Also I'm pretty sure a shot like this was in Ferris Bueller's Day Off

I remember being very impressed by the sculpture when I saw it, and have always wondered when people don't know Calder.

I guess I thought if someone could make something that big and impressive, everyone would know who they were.

Continuing on I pass by The Berghoff, the only German restaurant in Chicago.

Saw the Art Institute of Chicago ahead and there were street signs talking about a Banksy exhibit somewhere.

I'm not sure if that makes me happy or sad for Banksy, to be honest.

You're going to want to come back to this image later in the post.  Specifically to locate a detail on the left side of the image.

Saw the Lions, not too crowded, but it'll get worse.

I saw a sign I'd seen on the east coast that interested me.

It was the handicap logo, but had an energy of motion to it.

I took a picture of this one as I wanted to remember to look it up and see what's happening there.

Turns out it's trying to update the old logo and verbiage for better inclusivity for all disabilities, etc. which I'm fully supporting now.

Ok, I figure if I've come this far I should go far enough to see Lake Michigan, right?

So on another block or two and there it is!

Unfortunately, I forgot to get a picture of the largest lake within hundreds of miles, so here's a picture of me at Lake Michigan in 2005 looking like a goofy dad for the kids.

Oh wait, something said Millennium Park.

That's where the mirror bean thing is, isn't it.

Fine, another couple blocks, past fountains and gardens, mass yoga in the park, etc.

Oh and there it is, all reflective and so on.

Didn't even go up for a boring selfie, just "click" the camera button and keep walking.

This made me think of something interesting.

When you go see something famous like this, which has been photographed so, so, so many times, what makes you think your camera phone is going to be better than anyone else's, much less professional photographers?

So I propose a new way of doing tourism:  The Google Image Search Tour Philosophy.

When you get to something like the bean, rather than taking a picture, do a google image search for it.

Pick the best image that most closely resembles the bean on that day, and save it.

Boom.  Perfect picture and you're not even in the way of it.

Yes, there are some limitations, like not having your child Scout, Tyler, Ashley or Siobhan in the picture when they're five years old.

But that's what photoshop is for and they didn't even want to be in a picture.

So now you've just saved the whole family the resulting grumpiness and then tantrum because your son Ruttiger really didn't even want to go on this trip in the first place, and now you're taking a picture of him and he's not at all happy about it, etc.

I think this concept has legs!

You saw this image at the top of the post, but it really illustrates the fact that there is a ton of beautiful architecture but after a while it all starts looking the same.

Got some pictures of cool Chicago Architecture, and finally made it to Jackson and Michigan, where Route 66 starts. Except Jackson is a one way in the wrong direction.

 

I eventually found a sign, and it said it was the END of route 66.

 

Weren't you supposed to "motor west?" Not on that one-way the wrong way!  I had an internal conniption about that for some time, until I was looking up street names for this entry and noticed that Adams goes the right way, and apparently it has a "Historic Route 66 Begin Sign" Not only was I dumb enough to be confused, but I actually had to walk past it. And what do you know? I actually got a picture of the back of that Mother Hubbard when I was admiring the Banksy posters.

 

I just spent an awful long time on google maps verifying that this is indeed the sign that indicates the beginning of route 66. Thus allowing us to motor west, much to my relief. I'm an idiot. It's not like that was the Only Reason I Went On This Death March!

On my way back I got a classic image of being under an El. 

By this time I was completely drenched in sweat. And possibly starting a sun burn. Jeans for the train good, not so much for the 2.7 mile walk I just took. I was starting to feel a bit.. ethereal? Every once in a while a crosswalk would have a constant heavy wind, and that would cool me enough for a few blocks.

I know it's not all of Chicago, but that's an awful lot of iconic Chicago items. 

And I did all of that (2.7 miles!) in 45 minutes.  

I checked the timestamps.  That's an average of 3.6 mph.

 

But by the time I got to the main entrance at Union Station, and headed down the "Untouchables" stairs (or not, remember the mirror trick) I thought I might tumble down them light the stroller in that movie. But I was fine, and also discovered that the air conditioning in there was super cold! I sat on the furnished benches and tried to concentrate on cooling off and maybe drying a bit. Just as I thought I might have it under control, a drop of sweat falls from my face onto the floor, as if scripted.

Went to the nice lounge, got a clean shirt out of my big suitcase, changed into it in the bathroom (in a stall!) and found a place to sit, try and continue the cool down, and write some travelogue.  It wasn't until I was changing my shirt that I realized I hadn't put my mask back on. So I just paraded through Union Station looking like an anti-masker. It's things like this that will make me want to just abandon all of my stuff, taxi to the airport, buy an expensive ticket and just fly home rather than show my face again.  Good thing I'm wearing a mask, nobody will recognize me. But I was fine, and appreciated the fact that I had a nearly full water bottle.

Operation Lily Put - Heading Home: The overnight train ride

 

Saturday (with some Friday night mixed in)

I climbed into my top bunk -- and I mean climbed. I don't know how anyone less mobile than me would do it. Wasn't sure if I wanted to sleep in my clothes, or set up a whole bedtime thing. Decided on sleeping in my clothes, as they had already been sweated through a couple times, and I was going to need to change them in the morning anyway. There were too many pillows, and two Amtrak blankets that were so nice I considered stealing one of them. The bed itself was fairly comfortable, and there was a seatbelt/web on the lower half so you might not roll out of bed.   Except there wasn't a barrier on the "top" half and I spent a lot of the night worrying I was about to go headfirst out of the bunk. It ended up being really almost too warm and by the end of the night I was in full pajama mode. I didn't pull out the CPAP because there really wasn't anywhere to put it, and I didn't want it to fall off. Also, I was alone in the roomette and couldn't hear anything from the other roomettes all day, so I figured if I snored it would be okay. Just couldn't sleep.   My legs wanted to run a marathon, my brain wanted to go to sleep, and my instinct to survive was trying to be as close to the window as possible so I didn't fall off. Ok, maybe it was all the caffeine after 4pm.   I am old, after all.

[Correction:  Turns out I was backwards.  You climb up to the rack and then head into the bed, so the webbing to keep you in is focused on the upper body, and the slightly narrow portion of the bed is where your feet are.  Also makes more sense that you would climb "up and in" rather than "up and try and get your legs turned around and in."  Thanks to a discussion with the wife about the arrangements.  I think I'll bring her with me next time so I don't sleep in a bed wrong again!]

Me, in bed.  Loved the Amtrak Blanket!  Oh and to the right on the wall is a little purse-like thing you can put your glasses/phone/whatever in while you sleep.  Conveniently placed for those people smart enough to sleep the right direction in the bed.

Above:  Spot for luggage, but mine got to sit in a seat.
Below:  Curtains over the door and window to passageway
Left:  One of the webbing straps to keep you in bed

The train was pretty quiet beyond the train noises - no loud neighbors or people in the hallway. The rocking of the train was actually quiet nice and I didn't feel too nauseated. I woke up way too early many times.   Finally checked the clock, as I was sure my 7am alarm was about to go off.   It was 3:15.

In the end I feel like I got about three hours sleep, but don't think it's the roomette's fault. Got out of bed groggy and not wanting to interface with humans, so breakfast was out. I really wanted some coffee, but wasn't willing to put in the actual work to get any.   So I had free bottled water and three mini tootsie rolls. Breakfast of champions.

The view from my upper window when I woke up.  Bad angle, motion blurry, partially out of focus

 and it's one of my favorite pictures from the trip.  I also feel like it resembles the paintings my great-uncle Pitt used to create.

Here's a quick tangent to describe where I sat most of the ride..

On the left, the long curtain is over the sliding door.  You can lock the door from the inside but not the outside.  The next curtain covers the window to the passageway.  All curtains were heavy, had velcro to make them stick to the opposite velcro on the frame, so you could really feel the privacy.

Top to bottom in the middle:  Mirror with hand towels and lotion soap.  Below that, on the left are attendant call buttons and flush button for the toilet, and most importantly two full AC power outlets.  On the right side of those is a fold down sink.

You can see my mask and one of the free water bottles on the extremely useful shelf, which doubles as the second "step" up to the top bunk.  Below all of that is the toilet.  The illustration on the wall explains how to use the space-toilet.  It's pretty straightforward, much like an airline toilet, but one layer above the toilet lid is that reddish countertop.  It folds up for toilet use, but when down it's a handy place to put things that you respect so little you would put them on a toilet.  It did not smell like a toilet or smell at all, and the fact that it was by the curtains meant you could hold the curtains more tightly against the wall to avoid anyone seeing you - but you didn't have to, as the curtains were rock solid.  To be honest, if I hadn't seen it on the layout map of the room in my research, I could have completely missed that there was a toilet there.  So handy to have your own though!

Opposite the toilet was a wall with speakers, light switches, and other sundry items. On the far right you can see a curtain, which when pulled back revealed the upper window.  Above the seat you can see a line running down the wall.  That's the track for the bed.  When it was time to set up bedtime, a handle on the "ceiling" of the roomette pulled the top bunk bed down from the actual ceiling.  When it was down, you could still use the chairs, etc. but couldn't fully stand up.  In addition to the top bunk, the main seats could be slid together and folded back, then a second mattress went on those.  When that was set up you would still have a foot or so between the bottom bed and the door.  Tight fit, but workable.  For one person it was just gadget heaven and I loved it.  If I were sharing the roomette it would have to be someone I am intimate with, as it's a small space.  But not get intimate, because those beds were tiny!

Finally in Chicago, now it's the normal drill.  Get large suitcase through impossibly narrow hallway and break into the fresh air of the terminal. Hot, humid, diesel-ey fresh air. I notice there is a large group of Amish-like folks getting off the train.   I don't know what exact flavor they are, so I'm going to call them Amish. I'm sorry if that's wrong and I offend anyone, but to be honest they're not going to be reading this if they're any good at spurning the technologies of the "English."

Made my way to the Grand Hall, because I really enjoy seeing beautiful station architecture, and it seemed like a good place to start. I don't remember being there before but it was indeed impressive. And they even had benches for the unwashed masses to sit on! Looking around it occurred to me that the stairs from the movie Untouchables was probably nearby, and it turns out they were right behind me. Ok, so I don't know if it was the north stairs or south stairs, but they're identical except for the orientation.   So if I did get it wrong, please hold your computer up to a mirror when you look at the image.  Way too lazy to check for myself.

Found a Dunkin' Donuts and got a Latte and a breakfast sandwich, rightfully thinking the three tootsie rolls weren't probably enough. I also found the special people lounge right off the grand hall, as well. It wasn't anywhere near as nice as the one in New York, and there were a lot more people who had access. But it was a clean, well lighted place and they had lots of couches. Honestly it was worth it just to have a place to leave my big suitcase while I waited. It was a 4-ish hour layover and I had some time to kill. I noticed that even sitting still on a comfy couch I could still feel the train rocking back and forth.   That continued on through my layover and now I'm back on a train typing this, so I don't know how long it will last when I get home!

Even though I was tired, I thought I might take a walk outside.  Just a short one, maybe see some architecture.  What could go wrong?

Operation Lily Put - Heading Home: Connecticut to New York

Buckle up, this post going to be a bumpy (though hopefully amusing) ride!

It's Friday - time for the great train ride!  I'll be going from Stamford to Penn Station, and transferring to the Lake Shore Limited.  That will take me upstate New York then straight west along the bottom of the great lakes to Illinois overnight.  Coming into Chicago the next morning, I'll hang there for a few hours and get on the Empire Builder, and a mere 19 or 21 or 43 hours later, I'll be home.  Well, in Saint Paul.  But close enough!

I've been on my share of trains in other countries, and they're neat and all, but there is something super romantic and exciting and adventurous about a train journey in the United States.  (tangent:  An Irishman and a Texan were talking and the Texan bragged that you could get on a train and not get from one of the state to the other in less than two days - to which the Irishman said "So?  Our trains are slow too!"  Not sure why it's an Irishman.)

When I was little (like, 9 or less) my mother and aunt and I took the train (Empire Builder) to Chicago for a few days to visit their aunt.  My great aunt.  But we just called her Aunt Lil.  (Oh!  I just saw a connection - though Lily isn't named for my great aunt Lil, but partially for her great grandmother, my wife's grandmother, who was, of course, named Lil.)

I can see that this post is not going to be very focused.  Already two paragraphs in and they're actually just short sentences followed by random stories and jokes.  (I'm on a train, in my own space, I've eaten an actual meal, and the curtains are drawn.  Mask off and there might be a little bit of Jameson to keep me and my luggage company.  You're welcome.)

Back to my childhood..  I know I did that trip more than once, but the most memorable was when I was in fourth grade.  Mom pulled me out of school for a couple days and I remember feeling quite conspiratorial, like I had just been legally truant!  The train station was literally Midway between the Twin Cities in a new (then) building.  It was like going to the airport, but without security.  Or airplanes.  The train was huge and impressive and had a very distinctive smell.  It was the smell of train, add some actual cooking diner car, get everyone to smoke cigarettes, booze up half the breaths of the passengers, and maybe toss in some Old Lady Perfume for good measure.  That assembled creates the magical scent you could only get on a train in the 1970's.  Now you have to remove the actual food in the diner car and swap in microwave meals, take away the cigarettes altogether, and minimize the booze.  But you know what?  It still smells like train!

We would go to the diner car and eat on white tablecloths while all of the food and dishes rattled around, or we would go sit in the Vista Car and look at the scenery passing by in full color, 3D surround-sound.  At one point the train stopped and there was an unidentified delay.  I saw a guy running across a farmer's field and said "hey there is a guy running away from the train across that field" - to which everyone shushed the imaginative nine year old.  Not five seconds later some adult genius says "Hey there is a guy running across that field" like it was brand new news or something.  Anyway, I'm not exactly sure why he was doing that, but we had apparently hit someone and he was going for help?  If you add two and round up then it's actually half a century ago, so some details may be fuzzy.  So we end up waiting for a long time while they sort things out and my Mom got to explain what suicide was to me.  But I remember it being a beautiful blue sky puffy clouded day in the Vista Car, so it was a fun tragedy or something.  Later I was wandering the train like you would let a kid do unattended in the 70's (not that I'm about to Boomer Rant about how we used to eat asbestos and formaldehyde for snacks and *we* turned out ok.  (But we did)) -- and we must have gone through a tunnel or something, because I didn't see the "stop here, don't go past this unless you work here" sign and wandered into what seemed like an office on a train.  The guy from the field was there!  Everyone turned to look at me and tell me to go back, I wasn't supposed to be there, etc.  and I slunk back to my adults.  That's about all I remember about the train, so it must have made an impression on me.

We ended up getting to Chicago just fine, and saw Aunt Lil.  She told me about how she used to make gloves in a factory, how she had a daughter named Madonna (or Mona?) who had died when she was a teen or something - which felt like TMI for a nine year old, but there was a portrait on the wall, so..   We got to stay in an actual Chicago apartment, and I don't think I'd even been in an apartment like that before -- there was a back door!  On an apartment!  Leading to stairs and trash!  It did not seem as glamourous as Bob Newhart's apartment, but it was the right city and that was enough for me.  The trip was fine - we went to a German restaurant and Mom made me get milk with lunch and I wanted pop and the milk was gross.  It's possible I just took the kids to the same restaurant a few years ago on one of our family trips.  After all, how many German restaurants are there in Chicago, right?  We passed some art that was car bumpers welded into the shape of a horse and Mom took a picture of me, bowl cut bangs and my fanciest nylon disco shirt (with snaps, not buttons) that had collars big enough they could just touch the tops of my shoulders.  I loved that shirt.  But it was a different time.  We also took the bus, which was a disappointment after the "el" which seemed like a subway at times.  I thought when you were in a subway you were supposed to be old jaded and cynical and not smile, so I put on my best apathy face.  Mom thought I needed a hug and completely blew my cover as an authentic subway rider.  But the bus was crowded and just like our buses, so it was annoying.  And then mom got cross with Aunt Mary because we needed to go another three blocks -- but Mom called her out on it and she clarified that it was three "hundred (100 addresses) blocks" so that meant more like nine blocks.  I'm almost done here, but my favorite moment and most seventies thing ever is my last memory of the trip - we were going to go up the Sears Tower (did, don't remember it) but in the plaza outside they were giving away these cute little 5 cigarette sample packs to people, and my adults made me go get two more because they were free.  WHAT?  Apparently they'll give more samples to the nine year old because he's wearing an amazing shirt?  Also, the train ride home to Minnesota was boring because we didn't hit anyone.  We did go through a town called "Tomah" which sounded like a made up name to me.  Apparently tonight's rambling narrative is brought to you in the style of Allie Brosh - look her up, she's awesome.

As I was saying, it was a Friday in 2021 and I was going to train home.  The trip from Stamford was fine, comfortable even.  Not too crowded, and I got on the right train.  Much like my daughter I go through all of the possible "oh shit" scenarios before I do something, and this one had a whole bunch of them, mostly involving getting on the wrong train and ending up in some kind of Borough.  One of my concerns was that I would get on a train going the wrong way.  I've got some cardinal orientation issues these days, but was really confident (because I looked on Google Maps) that the platform I was on had trains going north on it.  And I wanted to go south.  Didn't help that they had departure times, random destinations, but no train numbers on the status signs.  It seems like that might be one of the more important pieces of information, but what do I know?  My town only has three trains in it.  Much to my surprise, after a few northbound trains, my train showed up going southbound.  I know they know what they're doing, but it just seemed dangerous to me to have trains going different directions on the same tracks.  I have enough trouble trying not to imagine the first scene of "Unbreakable" every time a train speeds up, I don't need to know there is potentially another train headed straight for us.

Where am I again?

Which reminds me.  I'm not easily scared, but when you're on a train ticking along at Amtrak miles an hour and another train goes past you on a neighboring track at Metro miles per hour, it makes this huge WHOOMPH and then whooshing sound and scares the bejeezus out of me.  Still kinda cool though.

Comfortable though (snooty snort here) coach seating, it felt odd on this trip not to have a seatbelt.  But I guess seatbelts don't help much in train crashes.  But no cup holders.  I had a Big Gulp sized iced latte (which apparently is just a Pumpkin Spice latte without the Pumpkin spice, but they made it special for me) and needed a place to put it.  So I let it sweat all over my leg.  Seriously though, why is that detail even worth mentioning?

I was well informed and sought out the "quiet car" - which is one of the best things ever.  When someone tells you about the quiet car, they always relate a story of someone getting forcibly removed for taking a phone call.  But it's always a friend of a friend, so..  Another philosophical point - I got on a train with a very large suitcase and at no point did I pass through even a metal detector.  At Penn station I was amazed at the number of different law enforcement types I saw -- not number of officers, but number of different agencies that had many officers and big guns wandering around.  And yet here I am on a train with any kind of bad thing in my luggage you could imagine.  I fact, you could even say "bomb" on a train and I'm sure they would just find you a mixed drink with that word in it, instead of kicking you out, putting you in an orange jumpsuit and taking you to Cuba.  Long story short, I sure did like that quiet car.

Regardless of my mental state of late, I can always go into problem solving mode when I travel.  It's a logistical mindset and it allows me to get from point A to point B with the most efficient, least anxiety causing method available.  This is my state for the next two days, and I have a feeling I'll sleep for a week when I get home.  But the beauty of that state is that it allows you to do things you normally wouldn't.  Like ask for a custom Latte at a Dunkin Donuts while a clearly deranged woman next to you argues about the "$3 drink on the sign just give me one of those" with the manager.  Or reply to a truly scary authentic East Coast Irishman with a "no shit, right?" because you're in travel mode.  Also, if I have to talk to an official or clerk or ticketing agent in public I just pretend to be my brother, talk like him, act like him, etc.  Works every time, because he doesn't wig out if he has to talk to another human in public.  But I digress.  (it's what I do))  So the romance of travel helps overcome social anxiety.  Kinda neat.

Coach seat riding into New York City (my sister mentioned this week that even though she lives near NYC every time she hears that particular string of words, she thinks of the phrase "git a rope!" from the Pace Picante commercial in the 80's.  And I do too!)  I hadn't really seen the skyline in a long time, and was amazed at some of the tall buildings.  Yes, I saw the twin towers and the tall buildings back in the day, but they're making these buildings that are like twice as tall as everything else, and thin as rails!  You'd think if they were building something that tall they'd go for the wide model or something.  But those are just another one of the things I love seeing from trains.  You get to see the underside of the city, graffiti and orange vest wearing workmen and all.  Going into the city we got to look down into countless back yards and it was fascinating to see the different configurations, pools, driveways, and patios.  Someone can have a super cool trendy urban patio with light strings and tile, and the next door neighbor has a bad lawn with a Honda Civic parked on it.  And to be honest, I have to admit on hot days like today was, I watch for pretty ladies sun tanning in the buff in their back yards.  Tall privacy fences don't keep the commuter from seeing your scandal!  And no, I've never seen one.  But I will continue to look for them, even if it's just for the 10 year old me who thinks that happens a lot.

Ok, so I'm already at 2500 words, which is 500 more than the last post and I haven't even gotten to Penn station.  I would like to blame the siblings who said they enjoyed my ramblings for this.  That and I'm stuck in a train car too early to go to bed and the wifi won't stream anything to save it's life.  And the only downloaded shows I have on my phone are a bad BBC scifi drama and a movie with Matthew Modine and Jennifer Grey trying to win a sailing competition.  And that's been on there for almost a year, I should just delete it.  Maybe.  I'll let you know how it ends tomorrow.  (Update:  Stunning win at the last minute, shocker)  The point being you've read this far, you might as well keep going.  This blog post is essentially a fidget spinner for my hands on the laptop.  But aren't they all, really?

So I finally reach New York City ("git a rope") and get off to train to realize it makes sense that the train platforms and such aren't air conditioned, but that's not really very comfortable.  I knew I was going to "Moynihan" something and found some signs on the floor pointing away from All Things Leading to Air Conditioning, but I followed them anyway.  I end up in a beautiful concourse that to be honest reminds me of the old pictures of Penn Station but maybe passed through a couple of "don't remember it very well" filters, but there are iron beams and glass and open spaces.  I liked it.  It was the Moynihan Train Hall, and it was a large open area that promised retail shops and conveniences.. some time in the future.  After all, it's the cities newest grand civic icon, as the first google result will tell you.

It's a beautiful terminal, except for a few things that make you realize it's an evil expression of the modern age.  There is nowhere to sit.  If you want to wait, you have to prove you have a ticket and then you get to go into a glass box that looks like the smoking section of an old Denver airport, except you can see through it and it doesn't smell like (not cigarettes!) burning cigarette filters.  Also, all the murals showing the shops that are going to be there some day don't actually have shops in them yet.. so it's really just a large room you can only stand in.  But the light through the skylights in beautiful!  (One of the "future food" places had the name "this must be the place"  https://lmgtfy.app/?q=this+must+be+the+place+mormons)

One of the first things I wanted to do was go outside, breathe fresh New York air, etc.  Found an exit and popped out.  Hot.  Beautiful view down the streets with the Empire State Building front and center.  Posted to Facebook, as one does.  While I'm doing this I'm hearing a monologue from a guy that if someone wrote it and put it in a movie would be described as "heavy handed, unnatural, not believable, and too clichéd for any decent script" - lots of colorful words and accusing "some guy" of things, etc.  He's a large balding man in an orange shirt, wiping his brow actively due to the heat.  I'm trying not to stare but also working on a way to take a picture without looking like I'm taking a picture.  Meanwhile I look up and see three guys in Hasidic outfits coming through the people picking them off one by one with some question.  One gets to me and says something but too many awesome concerts at First Avenue means I can't hear anything in a loud spot like this, so I just went with "no, sorry" and he left -- meanwhile loud guy says something even louder and I look over and he locks eyes with me.  So now he's going to say something and I have to acknowledge it.  Great.  He's going "Am I Jewish?  Do I look Jewish?" and holds out his heavily tattooed arms.  I'm about to lose my mind.  Are those swastikas?  Is this white power?  Lord take me now.  Closer inspection shows green shamrocks, etc. and a very Irish guy.  So I give him "no shit, right?" and try and shrug it off while looking then back to my phone at Facebook and a top ten list about bad pajama commercials.  Apparently it worked.  He laughs and heads into the terminal.  I get a picture on the sly as he's going in.  In Apocalypse now there is the phrase "never get off the boat!" and I am now thinking "never leave the terminal!"

Sometimes I think long posts like these are going to convince someone I'm bipolar, since they're so manic.  But anyone who would do that stopped reading right around the "disco collar" story, so it's just you and me, friend.  Thank you for reading on.  The fact that you've gotten this far means you care.  Or you're stuck on a train and bored too.  Please copy (DON'T SHARE) this to your Facebook wall and you will receive an email from a Nigerian Prince as a reward.  Christ, we've just gotten to the terminal?

I remembered that because I got the "roomette" option on the train to Chicago, that got me into the Special People Lounge.  So I headed up there and somehow it felt *more* air conditioned, which was really helpful later.  I sat in a tall yellow high backed chair and enjoy my pretension while trying to figure out my next move.  I was actually quite tired, as I hadn't slept long or well the night before and my biggest fear was falling asleep in the incredibly comfortable chair and then waking up nine minutes after my train had left.  So I thought about looking at things in the area.  I had a bunch of apps that I was going to use on the drive out, but didn't, that had "interesting things nearby" features.  What I found was an article about "the old post office" - which was directly across from Penn Station, was built forever ago, had a huge open air atrium in which they had vacuum tubes to speed mail from place to place.  It ran most of the mail for Manhattan and had the whole "rain and snow" quote on it's block long façade.  (Great band name:  Block Long Façade)  I was trying to figure out where it was on the map but it was very confusing.  It gave the streets, but it would have been (I think?) the building I was in -- but it was an old entry so maybe they razed that building to put this one up.  Which sucks, because the old Penn Station looked cool and they destroyed it for a sports venue, and to destroy such a beautiful post office for an Amtrak lobby is just.. sad.  (Keep reading!  It's not so sad!)

I was nervously looking up information on roomettes when I came across another "tips for Amtrak" list that mentioned you might want to get your own snacks for cheaper, and that you can bring alcohol and drink it on the sly.  So I thought since I had almost an hour and a half I had time to resupply.  Before the trip I got a giant bag of tootsie rolls and a giant bag of pink/red starburst, and they've been sitting unopened in the outside pocket of my suitcase for 10 days now.  So I needed more, clearly.

Looking up Penn station it seemed like they had some shops and food places, so I'd go over there.  I didn't want to go outside because it was stupid hot even though it looked like it might rain.  But I think I figured out I could get there through the underground hallways.  So I headed out!  I thought about asking if there were lockers I could put my massive rolling suitcase in while I adventured, but didn't want to talk to a stranger - even as my brother - so I figured it would be fun and efficient to carry/drag/wheel it across the noisiest terra cotta the Moynihan people could find.  (Note:  I did not just document the wormhole I just went down that involved the actress Bridget Moynihan, mistaking her for the actress (Stana Katic, was in Heroes (another wormhole "save the cheerleader save the world")) in Castle, realizing via IMDB she was in "Prey" which was then misidentified as a made for TV movie about a John Sanford novel, which was set in the Twin Cities.  You're welcome.)

There was a noise in the hall of the train car just now and for a moment I got paranoid and thought the not-porter (see below) was going to bust in and say "Dude just stop typing nobody cares!" -- it's like a boring middle aged man pretending to be Hunter S Thompson, except without the drugs.  Although the Jameson bottle's cap is stripped so I'm going either have to finish it or pour it into my flask that I forgot I brought.  And the train is not going to allow me to do something so precise.  Don't worry, it's not a real bottle of Jameson, it's a tiny one I got at a Penn Station Liquor Store.  But it cost the same as a large bottle, if that helps!  (I'm re-enacting the opening scene of "Jewel of the Nile" as Kathleen Turner getting drunk on airplane bottles of booze with her cat.  Great movie.  Her winter coat in South America reminds me of taking heavy winter coats to pick up family at the airport who are winging in from Mexico.  The pain is real.)  If it helps, I'm now reading things and deleting them because you don't care about the chef who dropped everything to show a nice old man where the other part of the lounge was.  (Or.. do you?  <evil grin>)

Turns out those hallways and concourses are also not air conditioned, so I got so sweaty I felt like I'd just taken a shower.  I did find the wine and spirits place after looping around twice, was very intimidated by the amount of wine you could buy for your subway ride, and got the Jameson.  I also ended up also paying $9 for a sandwich that is still in my backpack, uneaten.  Might eat it now though, sounds good!  (I did, it was.)  It was fun going through the crowds and seeing all the different State Troopers and Train cops and Actual Military people who were guarding the subways.  There were highly skilled buskers, lost tourists and jaded city folk.  I saw homeless people sleeping in the midst of enormous crowds, and thought about COVID and how I was wandering amongst the most people I could, in the most international spot I could, with just a little mask covered in "ships in bottles."

The best thing that came out of the trip for supplies, besides getting supplies, was deciding to bite the bullet and go outside to get back to Moynihan.  It was Very New York out there.  Hot and humid, with the smells of street food carts, and clueless tourists standing in everyone's way, taxicabs unloading in the most inconvenient places but somehow getting away with it, and finally seeing that HUGE post office building across the street.  Where the Moynihan hall was.  And it all started to make sense.  The entry I'd read (which talked about how 90% of the old post office was abandoned) was way outdated, and the post office was actually the new Amtrak lobby.  I was happy to have seen the façade and all that, so my idiocy was actually well excused. (4,000+ words now.  That's 8 pages of single spaced text.  Seriously.)

The train just turned off.  Lights, engine noise, power outlets, everything.  It's not even 10pm local time.  Should I be worried?  Nope, went back on eventually.

After all of this I had a full backpack, supplies, had sweated completely to the core, and was now waiting for my train to be announced.  Sooner than later it is, and I make my way down to board.  So much more I could go on about in dealing with strangers finding the car and everything, but suffice to say, I found roomette 004 on the somethingsomething2 car.  I was really excited about this part of the trip, because I'd only ever been coach on a train except that one in Germany that was so cold the guy checking passports commented on it.  I've seen them in James Bond movies, and North by Northwest (which actually refers to going north on Northwest airlines, now Delta, a Minnesota company!).  I had splurged on this option for a few reasons.  Things like "I don't like other humans how can I avoid them" and "let's make taking a train cost more and take longer than an airplane."  Also, if I was going to have to sleep on the train, I wanted my CPAP and didn't think it'd be cool or inconspicuous to snap into my face hugger mask in the middle of a coach car.

So I had a roomette!  I'd done research but really wasn't sure what it would be like.  It ends up it's like half a sleeper cabin.  Two chairs facing each other, a small space and then a sliding door to the hall.  Curtains for privacy, all sorts of lights that are hard to figure out how to turn off, and can be transformed into two beds in the form of a bunkbed.  No space for luggage, but I just put the Giant Suitcase in the seat facing me and piled the pillows on it.  It's like my "Wilson from Castaway" except with pillows.  To be honest it does make me feel less lonely.  One surprise was the fact that they managed to fit a hidden toilet in the roomette.  I actually went and did a bunch of online research to make sure it was something I was allowed to use, and not just a "used to use those, but not now" kinds of things.  So cool.  There were bottles of water waiting at the seats in the CUP HOLDERS, but still no seatbelts.  While the train has an "always masks on" policy, I go rogue and take it off once the curtains are closed.  Yup, I'm a rebel.  The not-a-porter comes by (something online told me they weren't porters anymore but I can't remember what they're called now) and gave me the lowdown on some stuff, but left enough unanswered questions (Can I use that toilet?  When you say you could bring me my dinner was that something you expect to do or would I be putting you out?  How often do I have to talk to other humans? etc.) that I wasn't sure about a few things.  The dinner part was the worst, since I was actually hungry for the first time in a few days.  

As you can see my Pillow based travelling companion doesn't know how to wear a mask properly.

I had worn jeans even though it was 102 heat indexy outside, because I knew (from Germany) that trains could be horribly cold.  So when I found a thermostat I cranked it all the way down and I'm waiting to see if I can get cold, much less dry the sweat.  No luck so far.  One of the things I was worried about - and came true - was getting this expensive spot on the train and being on the wrong side.  And yes, I was on the "wrong" side.  So I wouldn't be on the Great Lakes side to see the awesome water.   As it happens, I was on the Hudson River side, and by the time we got anywhere near the finger lakes much less the great lakes, it was full dark.  So I got to see the Hudson, and it was amazing!  I had recently finished listening to the 12 hour audiobook about Everything Fur Trading, and the Hudson river was a big part of the history.  It was much wider than I thought it would be, and had all manner of interesting boats to look at.  I may be missing the great lakes, but I got to see the Hudson -- Palisades and all!  Those suckers are *tall*.

Sometimes my phone seems a little "too" smart  Wasn't even aiming at the coke bottle

Palisades

We passed Sing Sing prison, West Point, Saugerties Lighthouse, and so many very cool points.  Some I knew, some (most) I had to look up.  Got some lousy pictures, but pictures never capture awe in the right way.

I was getting hungry, didn't know if the not-porter was coming back to offer to bring me my dinner awkwardly, so I sucked it up and decided to find the food place.  There are diner cars and club cars and bar cars and who knows what, and I didn't have a clue what I had, or even how to order there given my meals were included in my ticket.  But I went anyway!  I did not meet Alfred Hitchcock in the hallway and have to intimately squeeze past him, and after two cars entered what might have been a diner car?  It reminded me an awful lot of the "hey kid you're not supposed to be in here" car from 1978, but it turns out it was just a bunch of Amtrak employees taking breaks in the diner car.  Awkwardly but Big Brotherly asked one of the staff at the microwave bank how to do this, and he told me if I sit down they'll come to me.  It wasn't crowded enough that I was worried about having to sit with a stranger, but that was a risk.  About fourteen times I almost got up and left out of confusion and anxiety, but thought that would be more suspicious than staying.  And of course it was fine.  Rather than the Creole dish (too many green onions) I picked the "nonspecific protein" enchiladas.  Finally ordered and after a bit of a while was presented with a nice handled bag with my food inside.  The guy at the table across from me had been talking to a not-porter about how he was crossing this great nation on trains and had some questions about what kinds of diner cars were standard -- and I realized I was at great risk of being approached to chat about why we're both taking the grand romantic trains of America across this great nation of ours.  Never have I been so focused on a cellphone "paint by numbers" game, and he didn't talk to me.

Took the food back to my roomette - actually found it again successfully!  No Alfred Hitchcock on the return either.  And proceeded to eat my moderately tasty meal like you would on an airplane, with one hand on your drink, one hand on your fork, one hand on the "plate" and one hand on the box of salad/roll/butter/etc so nothing falls off the tiny tray table.  The "nonspecific protein" was really pretty good, and I would absolutely recommend it.  Because apparently the menus never change, if you take a train in 15 years it'll probably still be available.  Dinner was a success!  Good news:  I'm not actually going to finish the Jameson and have been watering it down for a while now, bad news:  I need to navigate the in-roomette peeing exercise again.  Like being in an airplane bathroom during heavy turbulence, and if anything goes wrong it goes wrong where you sleep.

After I finish eating and start typing manically, we get to Albany.  The train stops and has to make a connection with another train.  There is one train coming from New York, and one train coming from Boston.  They meet and connect up passenger cars and continue on to Chicago.  Scary math question:  How fast would the first train have to be going to meet the second train?  Answer:  Faster than it was, because it was announced we would have to wait until 7:05 for the other train.  Glance at the clock and it says 5:15.  Fine, we expect trains to be late and there's a 5 hour buffer in Chicago, we can wait a bit.  At least the train isn't bumping all over the place.  And then it turns off.  All of it.  Engine, lights, power outlets, air conditioning...  And I'm looking at either 2 hours in a sweatbox and no moving air, or mingling with the other (Likely friendly and chatty) passengers on the platform as we wait.  Sweat lodge it is, I guess.

At some point in the trip I decided I would leave all of my manual clocks (watch, laptop apparently) on Central time and just do the math in my head.  (Have I met me?  Who thought that was a good idea?  Past Robert is a moron.)  Turns out it wasn't 5:15, it was 6:15 and the 7:05 was a wild estimate.  Sweat box somewhat managed.

Seriously, I think I'm going to have to pull a "Stand By Me" and at the end of this long and winding wordstorm and just delete all the text and take the kids to the beach.  If I save it I'll read it tomorrow and make sure it isn't just typed giggling ala Duke from Doonesbury.

And so we reach the end of the first day of the super train journey.  The not-porter came by and set up the upper bunk, and it's technically 10 (or 11?) and I could go to bed.  I might stay up and play video games a bit though.  It's full FULL dark outside, though sometimes we pass a lit intersection.  That warrants a honk from the train, as does many things apparently.  All I can think of is the property value of everyone we pass blowing the horn.  My travelling companion the piece of luggage is nodding off, and I feel like I've exorcised all of the pointless observances onto a keyboard.  Enough.

My therapist told me journaling might be a good thing for my mental health.  I'm trying to prove her wrong with 6,000 words.