Operation Lily Get - Cardinal

Written live, posted much later.  So yeah, it's not Wednesday right now.

I think today might be Wednesday.  I did not sleep well last night, thus firing on a few cylinders short of a Prius with bad batteries.  The drop down bed was comfortable, the temperature was not too hot or too cold.  Pillow was just right.  None of that helped.  I don't remember this from last time, but I felt like I was about to roll out of bed and fall six feet to the floor.  There is a strap/webbing system in place to prevent that, but confidence in safety measures doesn't make you feel less apprehensive.  Also, how many people end up hanging upside down and sideways from their bed because they rolled out and got caught by the safety straps?

Once I got to sleep I kept waking up.  I would get right back to sleep, but that doesn't help.  Although I would look at the clock and think "oh good, I have two hours to sleep yet!"  I do remember hearing the kid in the roomette depart at Indianapolis in the middle of the night.  So an interrupted sleep, to be sure.

Also, I snore.  Or I used to.  Or sometimes still do, ask my wife.  When I was in boot camp, other recruits commented on my snoring - from the other end of the squad bay.  When we went to the field, I would be constantly woken up by the fire watch.  Everyone takes turns as fire watch making sure no fires happen or we don't get attacked.  But in the field the additional task of keeping the unit from alerting the enemy - thus waking up anyone who is snoring.  The theory is that they'd go back to sleep and not snore.  Not so much for me.  And finally, in language school I had neighbors who commented on my snoring - and the walls were thick cinder block impenetrable walls.  So yeah, I snore.

But now I have a CPAP, which is a machine where you wear a mask and it creates just the right pressure while you breath so the flappy bits of your throat don't do their flappy snoring noise.  It's quite effective, and I can't sleep well at all without one.  Which means I get to pack it when I travel.  As long as we're going way off the rails on the story..  I actually have an older machine I use for travel.  It's a bit smaller, light, uncomplicated.  And now the mask seal is broken.  No problem, I'll swap out a new one.  Nope.  I have fifteen extra masks for both machines but none would solve the problem.  So I packed my "good" daily machine.  Turns out that was good, as the power cord is massively long, much longer than the "travel" machine.  This came into play when I decided where to plug it in.  Rather, which of the two power outlets in the corner by the mirror do I want to use?  Of course it's diagonally opposite of the location of my head when I sleep on the train.  Thus the long cord.  The other problem is that there are no shelves up there.  There's a little pleather bag you can put your glasses and phone in, but it's no bigger than a shoe.  So where to set up the machine?  It's about the size of a small tackle box, so I turned it into my snuggle bunny.  Right next to me in the very narrow (but long enough for a tall person!) bed.  So trying to avoid sleeping on it and overheating it or something made the whole rolling thing even worse.

All in all it worked out logistically, I just didn't sleep well.  There was a time change in there somewhere, so I lost an hour too.

Random:  Amtrak "personal tissue product" is thin enough to read fine print through it.

Breakfast was coming at eight, so I had an alarm set early enough that I'd be up and dressed and ready to talk to a stranger.  As usual, I woke up before it, but not long enough to get back to sleep. So I looked out the window.  It was a bit gray, and very flat.  Not flat like Iowa, where it's fields and you can see for miles and miles.  This was an insinuated flat.  There were trees on the horizon, farms and roads, but something about it all made sure you knew you were in Indiana.

Breakfast came and there I was, appearing chipper and happy to speak to a stranger.  Standard breakfast sandwich and coffee, etc.  No peaches, but they would have been cut horizontally.  As I used one creamer and had one left over, I noticed it said "made with real cows milk."  I'm not going to go down the road of wondering what other animals produce milk, etc.  (Yeah, I get it, goats.  But you know what I mean.)  And it made me think about the percentage of animal product that gets thrown away.  I'm guessing it's not a low percentage.

We finally started to see hills.  Growing to be mountains before long.  I got to see a town or two, including a road that went 45 degrees up one of the taller hills.  And when I say 45 degrees I'm guessing, but I'm guessing low.  It was like a cartoon.  I can't imagine getting up or down that in anything but the toughest of vehicles.  Heck, coming down would be an exercise in control of chaos.  You brake, you slide.  I thought about that for a while.  And now I want to drive up that road -- on my scooter.

The scenery got more and more spectacular.  The only hitch was the fact that I wasn't on that side of the train.  I had a view of the scenery from about 50 feet, and it was either greenery rushing by.. 

or rock outcroppings rushing by..

Or a combination of greenery and rock outcroppings rushing by.  I tried to make the best of it and there were a fair amount of interesting things to see.  There's a particular plant they have that I'd like to look up because it's funny looking.  There are railroad ties piled at regular intervals.  Sometimes we'd cross a road.  One of the things I wanted to see on this trip was the New River Gorge Bridge.  It's billed as one of the highlights on this route.  And I've played a video game in which you're in a post-nuclear Appalachia and that bridge is in the game.  So I'm sure I killed more than a few zombies on and from that bridge.  But today I was looking at railside shrubbery.  So I went to the vestibule between cars, where there is a prominent and very clear sign saying "no standing in the vestibule" but I did anyway, because I'm a bad-ass.  (Unless someone had come along, in which case I would have been out of there like lightning!)

I did get to see the bridge from the correct side of the train, but it was just a bridge way up high.  Now I have to crack that video game open and compare the two...

Eventually we got to a bridge over the river and the tables were turned.  

The couple across the way who had the great view so far and squandered it doing crosswords were now looking at a wall of green or rock.  I could see the river, trees, hills, birds, everything!  We love watching raptors at home, and I'm well versed in Bald Eagles and even Golden Eagles, but a little less confident on hawks and such.  But they had very large brown eagle like/hawk like creatures that I just couldn't identify.  They even flew in groups!  Will have to look that up for sure.

I got some video, mostly of things rushing by.  Photos from a moving train through a double pane window with the sun shining are another matter completely.  I went for the volume method and hope there are some decent shots in there.  The very best way to see something interesting is to put the camera away.  And as soon as you take it out, you're going to go into a tunnel.  Many of the more interesting homesteads are isolated, so you don't know they're coming until you see them.  As I was typing this, we suddenly came upon a town that had some pretty crazy homes and storefronts, but just getting the camera turned on made me miss it.  At least I saw it, I guess.  Though I am likely to forget it within 15 minutes.

When the river was at it's most exciting, and the hills were nicely pronounced, it seemed like it turned into vacationland.  So many campgrounds and places were people had parked their RVs semi-permanently, and on the maps I was seeing summer camp after summer camp slide by.  One store that looked at first glance to be a farmer's supply shop turned out to be an "Outfitter" that catered to those just passing through.  And so many restaurants and coffee shops.

As time passed, we got out of the busier areas where towns have a dozen or more streets, and moved into what my father used to call the "Wild and the Wooly."  I never really understood what that meant, but it does capture the situation quite well.  Forests, gravel roads, few towns or houses, etc.  Remote.  I would see gravel roads that I couldn't imagine two cars passing on.  They also didn't do bridges for those roads.  When it came to a brook or creek, the road just went right through it and if the water was too high or you didn't have a vehicle that could splash through, you were out of luck.

Homes

There was a good variety of homes and home types.  Some were really large and fancy with the driveway that loops past the front door.  Others were simple, neat farmhouses.  

And there were trailer homes.  I think I may have more respect for them now.  I thought of them as trashy and dilapidated.  Unkempt and harboring at least one vehicle with no wheels up on blocks.  But down here where winter wasn't created to kill you and tornadoes don't hang out in river valleys, a trailer home seems fairly efficient.  I would see great collections of them, neat and pretty with a nice modern car parked in a proper driveway.  Sometimes they would be a bit weather stained, but they still looked like they were kept up fairly well.  This is not to say there weren't some solid cliché makers.  Imagine the worst, and there you have it.  It did make me think though - what do people from down south look for up in the northern states?  We associate large drunk people in lawn chairs in front of crappy trailer homes with the cartoon version of the south.  But what do they think of us northerners?  I'm guessing they're looking for the flap hatted buffalo check shirt wearing "dontcha know" fellow ice fishing - maybe even in summer, somehow.

Is there a special kind of grass they have down here that never grows long?  Or is everyone just that conscientious about mowing their entire property lawns short?

I saw more than a few tent encampments that looked like a collection of things over many years.  Granted, they don't have the worst winters, but it's still heartbreaking to think people are calling tents their homes.

I have to take a break, as this land ship has found a storm at sea.

Towns

Passing through the towns on a rail route is fascinating.  The bigger cities are pretty much what you'd expect.  Warehouses and other industrial facilities right by the tracks and train yards.  Sometimes you're behind a strip mall, and other times you may even be near residential neighborhoods.  While you may assume those neighborhoods aren't going to be the best because there is a train in their backyard, there are plenty of times where the houses look very nice, almost expensive.  I think it's related to the concept of "location, location, location" in that some cities are crowded enough that if you want something nice, but affordable, you may have to hear trains 24x7.  It's a tradeoff.

Of course, there's also the rusty underbelly of America living next to tracks.  The house with the barrels in the backyard.  Trailer homes.  Abandoned buildings.  Those are fun to look at and see the graffiti, try and imagine how to get into them, and wonder how many people live and/or do drugs in there.  

Tangent:  I have three standing offers to my kids on road trips.  Of course, now that they're older and we don't do as many (any?) family trips like that anymore, I don't think I'm going to have to pay out.  The first offer is for a moose.  As someone from a state that has a moose or two in it, I've always wanted to see one.  (I also feel I should see an actual tornado at some point but that's a bit more dangerous.)  So the offer is that if someone sees a moose, alerts me to it, and I get to see the moose, I will give them one hundred dollars.  Pretty confident it was going to happen.  And it hasn't so far.  I think at one point I had the requirement that not only did I have to be able to see it, but I might have needed to take a picture of it.  Negotiable if it happens.  The second offer is ridiculous.  I love Capybaras, they fascinate me and they're kinda cool looking.  Also, they're the only land bases mammal that goes *to* water when in danger.  So the offer was similar to the moose with a few specific points.  They see it, alert me to it, I see it, I think I did require a picture on this one, and.. it has to be a wild Capybara.  Not in a zoo or cage or on a farm or something.  Since they're native to South America and wouldn't survive our winters, it's a pretty tall order.  But when (optimism) it happens, the reward is a stunning one thousand dollars!  Since it'll never happen.  The third offer comes from going to and from family land along a highway with a railroad parallel to it.  I had seen a "Thumbs Up" (David Choe series about hobo travel in the modern age) episode in which he and his cousin hopped trains from Tijuana to Canada.  They carried a toy drum set and played in amusing situations.  You can find it on Youtube, used to be on Netflix I think.  Fascinating to watch them infiltrate train yards, get on trains, ride under the end of hopper cars and so on.  It occurred to me I'd never seen a hobo, or anyone riding the rails like that.  So another one hundred dollar bounty for calling out someone illegally riding a train.  Honestly that was the one reward I had some hope of paying.  Never happened.

So I was watching for hobos in the train yards, no luck.

As we got deeper in the hills, the towns changed a bit.  I'm used to driving through the Midwest.  If you happen to actually go through a small town (and not be routed past it by an interstate) you generally end up going down the main street.  It always feels a bit sad to cover the two blocks of "downtown" and see all of the old storefronts.  You can imagine the different shops back in the day, and how this was the heart of it all.  This is where people came to shop, to socialize, to be among other people and not just their family or farmhands on the farm.

Now they're either abandoned storefronts, turned into residences somehow, or holding strange and unique boutiques or touristy shops.  And of course at least one obligatory bar.  It's not just that the towns have changed, but it's such a stark highlight of how much the towns have become less the center of the world.  Now if the remaining few residents need clothes, food, or anything else, they drive for 20 miles and end up in the regional "bigger" town with a Walmart or other big box store.  I understand why and all that, but it's still a bit sad.  It's one of the few times I yearn for the past when "life was simpler" or some noise like that.  

It's different in the hills or mountains.  And even on the East Coast to some extent.  In a little remote Appalachian town, there are no straight roads that can get you to a big box store in less than half an hour.  They have trouble expanding the footprint of the town because of the geography, and as a result some of that "old" business remains in their downtowns.  They're a bit less abandoned feeling, and while they have their fair share of the changing society we live in, it seemed refreshing to me to see those buildings, some of which are quite old and beautiful, used well and productively.  It's not to say there aren't towns that have become tourist zones.  The storefronts now contain businesses like expensive coffee shops, antique stores, fancy restaurants, and anything else a visitor might want to spend their time and money.

You'll occasionally see a chain business mixed in, but it's not common.  It's jarring to see unique local businesses with a Panera mixed in.  Or worse, a McDonalds or a Dollar General store.  Of course all of this is based on my extensive research and experience in these towns.  Spending time looking up information and visiting historical societies to get a full understanding of the changes in society.  Oh wait, no, it's all based on a dozen or so hours looking out a window at towns by train tracks.  So yes, I do understand my own limitations and the fact that I'm making more assumptions than a person judging soccer moms at a suburban mall.  See refund policy previously stated.

Coal card and McDonalds.  Contrast.

How many undiscovered buried bodies in shallow graves by train tracks have I passed on this trip?

Lunch was pasta and meatballs.  I ordered a Coke but got an Orange Juice.  That was fine, I'm sure I could use the vitamins instead of the equivalent of 12 sugar cubes and snorting a line of caffeine that you get in a cola.  Also, I just saw it as further proof I was on a land ship, and that this was one ocean voyage where scurvy was not going to be a problem.  I got a brownie but saved it for later, though it's still in my backpack and likely will be until it's a ball of crumbs in its plastic wrapper.

One of the desserts they offered was something called a buttercake.  The attendant in my car talked me into trying one and I'm glad she did.  Even if it's just to know not to eat one again.  It was very delicious, I will admit.  But it lived up to it's name.  Each bite was like biting into a stick of butter dipped in powdered sugar.  In the middle was a pudding or custard like substance that was more of a liquid form of the cake portion, only sweeter.  Somehow.  I could only take two bites at a time before putting it away for later, as I could feel my arteries snapping shut with each swallow.  It was absolutely the sweetest and densest and richest thing I've ever eaten.  Ever.  I'll never have one again, but you should. 

Eating helped the exhaustion a bit, even if there was no caffeine.

I think we were a bit behind schedule at that point, as during lunch the train sped up quite a bit.  It was only 60 miles per hour sometimes more, but it made managing a meal on a tony table a challenge.  And as we got faster, the gently swaying turned into more of a tossing and turning with the occasional scary jolt mixed in like we were being punished for something.  I just kept reminding myself of how few train wrecks we hear about.  We would pass through a tunnel (so dark!) or a train going in the other direction and it would be surprising, but over very quickly.

The tank car people!

As the mountains faded and we rolled through the foothills, the scenery felt somewhat repetitive, so I took to writing.  Again, being on a train makes my fingers itch for a keyboard.  I would look out and see farms, or white fences containing horses or cows.  It was all very pretty but again, not too unique.

I was watching our arrival estimate and texting my daughter to coordinating a ride from the station.  Things were looking good, maybe even a bit ahead of schedule.  I was getting very ready to get off the train.  We were due late enough I had dinner on the train.  That's the third meal in a day.  Too many meals, too much food.  But it was a glazed salmon with rice and stir fried vegetables.  It was all good.  There was even baby corn!

As I'm feeling more and more like this trip is coming to an end, the train stopped.  Trains stop often for other trains or waiting for clear tracks or whatever.  But the moment we stopped this time it felt much, much more.. stopped.  Soon an announcement was coming on that said we had a bit of a delay and they'll update us with more info.  The conductor sounded tired and maybe frustrated.  And so there we sat.  After 20 minutes of wondering, the announcement came on that there was only one track, and we had to wait for two other trains to come down and pass us on the wait to the maintenance yard.  And they were running a bit late.  Also, we were told that once we started up again, we would be speed limited to 25 mph due to construction on the tracks.  Which was also likely the reason for the single track.  We were not given a time estimate, but with every announcement the conductor sounded sadder and sadder.  Apologetic, even.  His sincerity made me feel like this was the first time it had happened, and it was going to be a long time before it was over.  Not sure if that made me feel any better.  

There is a certain kind of stress you feel when you're stopped on a journey and need to make a connection at the other end.  You begin to worry, and think about what you can do when you miss that connection.  But when you're near the end of the trip like I was, the stress was so much less.  But now I started to worry we would get in late enough that I would disturb my brother and his family when we got there.  And that my daughter was sitting in her car waiting for me and we were already an hour and a half late.

Why aren't there more country songs about waiting on a train?

We finally started moving, albeit slowly.  And at some point we passed the construction and began to speed up.  We were finally on the home stretch.  Or so I thought.

I feel like this is where a commercial or ad should be spliced in.  "Hey readers, are you frustrated not being able to find a good ambulatory surgical center for people with O positive blood types and an allergy to parakeets?  Check out Dave and Max's ambulatory surgical center at... blah blah blah"

Since we were now on busy east coast tracks, they were built for speed.  I hadn't seen our speed go over 79 the whole trip, but I was curious so I decided to check again.  I had to reset my GPS app twice in order to fix what was clearly an error until my daughter texted me and told me that yes, we were indeed going well over a hundred miles an hour according to the Amtrak status update site.  Crazy!  And butter(cake)y smooth, too.  It didn't feel like 50 much less twice that.  

As soon as I became comfortable with the speed and how quickly it was closing the gap on the map between me and my daughter, we got another announcement.  I was going to Baltimore, but first we had to pass through DC.  The announcement was that when we did stop in DC we would be swapping out engines and crew.  This would take at least 20 minutes, and the power would go off on the train during the process.  We were allowed to get out and get some fresh air, however.  So there I was, standing in the thankfully cool night air, already an hour past our original arrival time, watching the Amish walk their kids up and down the platform.  Likely trying to tire them out a bit to keep them from getting stir crazy.  Again, they seem to have a good amount of wisdom.  I did see one father with a cell phone, which was surprising.  But it was one of those 1990's candy bar shaped phones that I was surprised still worked.  I guess though if you live in a society that shuns modern technology, one of those phones would be just as acceptable as a horse and buggy, or milking cows by hand every morning.

I also noticed that I hadn't been off the train in many hours, and I had some serious sea legs.  You could feel the world moving beneath your feet gently, sometimes a big wave would come and you'd lean on something to support you.  I love that feeling.  Some of it may have been the absolute exhaustion I was feeling.  Sleeping on a train is neat and all, but between that, sitting in one place for too long, and eating so much, I could have begun hallucinating small animals and it would not have shocked me.  And all of this so very close to the end of the trip!  I went back onboard before the boarding call, but was happy to see that while the "power" was off, our power really wasn't, and the air conditioning still worked.  So I sat in a strange kind of silence waiting for the engine to start again.  In the trains vs planes argument, I was not moving due to a delay, but unlike an airplane, I was still comfortable.  I hate it when you're waiting for a gate or something and they stop the plane, but also turn off the air.  So your claustrophobia can cook at a temperature that makes everything start to squeeze in on you.  But here I was lounging on the train with comfortable air blowing and more room to stretch my legs than I ever could need.

I finally arrived, my daughter picked me up and we were thrilled to see each other.  We headed out to the suburbs for my brother's house, but she did take a short detour through the heart of Baltimore to show me a church that was the original building/location of her college.  Full of facts and interesting information, it was a welcome detour.  I don't know what impressed me more, the nerding out on a piece of history, or her flawless ability to hold an animated conversation driving through crazy narrow downtown streets with fast cars passing and people on electric scooters going the wrong way through traffic - between lanes of cars.  Chaotic, but she drove it like a grizzled taxi driver in New York City.

We did not disturb my brother and his wife, they were still up waiting to welcome us.  My brother had to work early so he headed off to bed fairly soon, but my sister-in-law stayed up and chatted with us for a good amount of time.  Exhausted but buzzed from the trip, it was the perfect way to relax and cool down before trying to sleep.

And did I sleep.

Operation Lily Get - Empire Builder to Chicago

Wife took me to the Union Depot at 7am after a particularly not refreshing few hours of sleep.  It was really nice seeing her though even if for just a short while.

I had been monitoring the train online and it appeared to be coming in on time.  With only a 2 hour connection window in Chicago, I was very worried about timing.  Half an hour late is fine, but those delays that last 3 or more hours -- that would be tough.  We boarded easily, and I found an upstairs seat in coach, on the left side.  I figured this would allow me a view of the river as we followed it south, and maybe some Wisconsin Dells action.

As we rolled out of downtown, I noticed "Korn" carved into the cliffs under mound park.  A band from the 90's and on.  Aren't they old enough they should be doing the casino circuit as "Korn, with the original bassist"?  The train yards in that area were where we used to go trainspotting with Dad.  I never really understood the draw until I got older, but I suppose that's how it is.

Just a bit further on, passing the area where Phelan creek leads to the Mississippi and the island across the way where Kaposia (look it up, it's interesting!) was located, I thought about the history of the city, river, state, and everything else.  You get a different perspective from a train.  Sometimes right on the river, other times next to a road.  But my favorite bits are the lost little pieces of land right by the tracks.  The train feels like it's on old forgotten trails and roads.  And honestly, the rail right of way has been there since the early days of the state and territories, so technically much of the land by the tracks is (somewhat) untouched since those days.

When we passed through Red Wing I saw the giant teepee frame sculpture.   I had seen it from the river when I was making the 80 mile trek from the cities down to Lake Pepin in my tiny-ass boat.  At that time I felt like I was cruising in the biggest yacht on the river.  Passing the sculpture on the train and looking up that wide monster of a river, I was a little amazed I had done that.  Successfully.  The perspective from land and the perspective from water are so completely different.

I watched eagles and cranes and sand hill cranes and all sorts of wildlife on the river, especially Lake Pepin.  And floating branches, of course.

When it comes to river navigation there are two types of floating markers.  The red ones are triangular and are called nuns.  The companion green ones are called cans and are square, or look like a can.  Red on the right, green on the left.  (Red river right return)  My extensive (not) Internet searches using the sketchy train wifi did not clarify if the cans are removed in the winter.  I sort of remember they're not.  At the very least they're there every day and every night.  They are beaten and battered by the river, as well as any flotsam that happens to run into it.  That might be a branch, a whole tree, or a stupid boater.  I think of the countless gallons of water that has passed them by, but also the storms and weather, the winter cold and ice at the edge of the open water season.  They're just out there.  Cold metal in a cold river, sitting patiently waiting to help guide the next tow/barge combo.

We also passed countless backyards.  Some of them in the cities are neat and look inviting.  Some others look like they're collecting different types of rust and the vehicles that can contain it.  Some of them are just bizarre.  Who has barrels upon barrels in their backyard.  What are they doing with that?  Besides the backyards are many businesses - factories and such.  You'd occasionally see one or two people sitting at the "smoking" picnic table out back, watching the train go by.  You'd see cars waiting at crossings and bikers who have stopped to look at or even take a picture of the train.  How many times have I seen a plane or train or boat and wished I was on it?  This time I was!

My spot in coach was okay.  Two older ladies behind me chatting and laughing the whole way - not as bothersome as you would think.  A couple in front of me mostly sleeping and cuddling.  More Amish in groups of half a dozen, usually just a single family with a farmhouse full of kids.  Sitting three rows back and one across is a young lady who needs to maybe take a phone free vacation.  It's not actually that annoying, but it's just amazing how many calls she can make and chat with people.  She sounds exactly like the "Sweet Birthday Baybeeee!" character from Russian Doll.

For all of my planning, I have everything organized and efficient.  But no wall wart.  You know, the thing you plug into the wall and it looks like a wart - and you plug a USB cable into it to charge your phone?  I do have a power extender that has USB ports on it as well, but that's a bit bulky.  There are certainly worse things to forget.

Passing through Wisconsin Dells was amusing as usual (ghost boat!) but that might have been the highlight of the state of Wisconsin.  Sure, it's pretty this time of year, but not really that diverse.  Trees, fields, green, towns, etc.  Milwaukee not as bad as I thought it would be, especially near the train tracks?  I think I may have seen a nice suburb for the most of that experience.  Lots of chain businesses.

I saw my first Amish at a fresh air stop.  The wise passengers get out there and walk and stretch legs.  And these Amish folks appeared wise.  I've always been mesmerized by the old school lifestyle, though I get a little confused about how strict they are.  My old phrase was "how Amish can you be shopping in a K-Mart" but I realize they need to buy necessities that they can't make or grow themselves.  Everyone under the age of married had on the same black sneakers.  This was common across pretty much all of the Amish I encountered.  But my new phrase is "how Amish can you be wearing a Dora the Explorer backpack?"  Though that family was traditional in all other elements -- except the dad.  He had the beard, no mustache, and a hat.  But it wasn't the standard square straw hat, it was a "cool guy hat" but still made of something woven.  And he had cool guy sunglasses perched on the brim.  He was always smiling - a smile that was genuine and made you think maybe you should just smile all the time.  He also had a yellow polo shirt on and sweater.  Gray pants and non-stylish brown sneakers, but he just didn't seem to be following many of the rules.  This was in Chicago, and I wondered that maybe he had enough work or contact with "the English" that this was just the way he rolled.

While we all waited in line, there were at least four different groups of Amish folk.  Some in all black, others in the more relaxed black and gray, but they all had the trappings and stood out quite a bit from the random mix of urban and suburban, old and young people in the waiting area.  At one point the mother (yeah, I'm making a crap ton of assumptions) from one group (wearing all black) came over to the confusing Dora family and started chatting with them.  Just connecting with like minded folk.  I have trouble hearing in loud environments like that, so I couldn't really hear what they were saying, but eventually recognized they were speaking in German.  I wish I had paid more attention in language class in high school.  Fun fact - the Pennsylvania Dutch are not Dutch.  They're originally German.  But German in German is deutsch.  So somewhere deutsch got confused for Dutch and there you have it. (Google told me that's how it's spelled, and yet it's marked as misspelled.  And when I look at the options for changing the spelling, guess what's first?  Dutch.  Point made.)

I needed lunch, so I headed out of my comfort zone (seat) to the lounge car to get some food.  The lounge car is the modern equivalent of the observation car, with bigger comfortable seats facing out the large windows.  On the lower level is the "café" where you can get snacks and microwaved fare.  THe nuked pizza looked like a grade school cafeteria in the 70's tried to make pizza but instead of a lunch lady they had a janitor.  And maybe dropped it on the ground.  The hot dogs however, with the right level set on expectations, are awesome.  Last time they were Nate's but this time they were Hebrew.  Large dog, buns reasonably less rubbery than they could be.  Again, I think expectations have so much to do with enjoying a train ride.

The couple in front of me were Amish.  Seriously, I'm pretty sure they shun air travel, so trains are the way to go.  Technically trains haven't changed all that much since the "olden days" so I could maybe see it as a traditional technology.  I knew they were a couple because she had the bonnet color that indicated married (white, I think?) and they were clearly a couple.  But young.  He was probably 20something but on the low end, and hadn't been able to grow a beard out fully.  She looked like she could be nineteen.  I wondered if they fell in love and had a dream Amish wedding, or if it was an arranged marriage.  How awkward would that be?  I hope they were in love.  I saw another couple later with a baby and they didn't even look twenty.  That must be so hard, married with a kid and you're really just starting out in the adult world.  That's a lot of work and pressure.  Watching one of the older mom's working her butt off to tend to the army of children I thought about depression and how in some societies it's something you can live with and work on and get support for.  But in others "suck it up" is the rule.  I'm not saying it's like that with them, but it gave me pause to think about the pros and cons of both their lives and ours.

We ended up coming into Chicago on time, and I went to the "important people" lounge because I have a sleeper car ticket.  Free pop and snacks, comfortable and plentiful seating, and a place to store your luggage so you can walk around the block or just wander the station.  Or sit in the comfortable chairs and work as hard as you can not to fall asleep.  I'm tired.  So tired.  I was worried I'd wake up in the comfortable chair and my train would have been long gone.  But I didn't, and when the train was announced, I headed off to the gate.

My train is the Cardinal, which dips through the Appalachian mountains before rolling back up the east coast.  It's supposed to be the most scenic route in the system, but the more I read I realize people say that about every route pretty much.  It'll be great, no doubt.

The lines to board the train were long, but mostly just waiting to be let into the train area.  Once we got moving it was game on.  Since I was in a sleeper I was in one of the first (or last, actually) cars so it was a nice short walk.  I got settled into my roomette and really let the appreciation sink in.  I could burp out loud and nobody would hear it.  And I wouldn't hear anyone on their phone.  Also, full meal service is part of the ticket, so I had the vegan enchiladas for dinner - the same thing I had last time because it was so good!  I was also awarded one alcoholic beverage for the trip.  Which is cool, since they're pushing ten dollars and I wasn't going to pass that up.  I don't normally drink but thought a Corona would go well with the meal, and it did.  Ordered breakfast at the same time, and it's going to be delivered at eight in the morning, so early alarm again it is.  But that's actually good, because the really amazing (read: mountains) start at about that time.  If I'm too tired I'll nap later on the trip.  Yeah, right.  I'll probably just keep adding to my sleep deficit like a politician adds to the national deficit.

Spent time as the sun went down writing, and eventually the porter came by at nine and set up (lowered) the bed.  I can still it in the seats and chill, the bed is just like a lowered ceiling.  Can't see much outside unless we pass through a town, so it may be an early bedtime for me.

It was an exhausting day, but a good one.  I just pushed through and acted like a normal human being, and now I can crash hard.  I only had one anxiety attack mid-day as I was worrying about connection times, but it passed.  There's only so long one can pretend to be a person.  So we'll see how long that is with me.

Also, I'm checking these posts for spelling and such, but I'm really tired.  So if something is wrong, figure it out.  

Operation Lily Get - Why I love Trains

  Why do I love trains so?  Well first of all my father worked for Burlington Northern.  He was in the information processing department -- aka computers.  And that was back in the 70's.  I have fond memories of going in to his work and having a computer punch-card made for me with my name on it, just for fun.  I also remember seeing all the computers - my current laptop possibly being more powerful than all of them combined.  

Alligator looking to the left.  See it?

He also had a jacket which was the traditional green Burlington Northern color and the logo - which always looked like an alligator head to me.  A little scary, but more fascinating than anything else.  Dad used to take us down to the trainyards just out of downtown, and we'd park and watch the trains.  To a seven year old, this was a little low key and not exciting.  Boring, even.  But as a (dorky) adult I now understand the fascination.

Like this but without the "Joyce" patch.

Growing up we had an aunt (great aunt?) in Chicago, and my mother, my aunt and I would take the train to visit the great aunt.  Each of the kids in the family had this opportunity, but for some reason I got to do it twice.  It always involved the Empire Builder, and to a fourth grader, it was an amazing and wonderful adventure.  We would talk to the ACTUAL CONDUCTOR - how cool is that?  He taught us how to walk on a train.  Look straight ahead and walk with your feet as wide apart as possible.  We would go to the snack car and get.. snacks.  We'd sit in the observation car, as it was called at the time.  Big domed windows and lots of light and views.  Some vague memory in the back of my mind is yelling something about crosswords, but I have no idea what that memory would be.

On one of those trips we were in the observation car and the train had stopped in the middle of nowhere.  I saw a man in a red and white striped shirt (Waldo's grandparent?) running across the field.  Being a precocious little nine year old I said "Hey, there's a guy running across the field" to which the rest of the car snorted or giggled or scoffed or laughed at the imagination of a child.  And then someone saw him too and said "Hey, there's a guy running across the field" at which point everyone was interested and looking, etc.  I think this was my first really significant experience learning that kids just don't get listened to.

I don't know that we found out what the deal was - someone said someone jumped in front of the train, but I think the delay would have been much longer than 20 minutes.  Later as I was going from one car to another I think we went through a tunnel or something, as I passed our seats and went into the last car on the train.  Apparently that was crew only -- and the guy with the red and white shirt was there!  I was admonished and went back to my proper seat.  I never told my mom about the admonishment part.  But it was events like those that really made taking the train more interesting than driving or flying.

That's the memory element.

Logistically, I think I could go on for an hour and a half, which also happens to be the flight time from Minneapolis to Chicago.

But as far as cost goes the ticket prices are close enough that monetary cost isn't totally a problem.  It's the time you burn.  Train time is 8 hours.  So it's a little slower.  But the train station is beautiful and vintage/classic and sparse and uncomplicated.  No metal detectors, no huge crowds (because, well, train crowd) and when you board you pick the seat you want (in your assigned car) and just chill.  No seatbelt.  (Another thing they actually boast about)  No need to put the tray tables up.  The massive space between seats means you're never compressed by an overweight man in front of you reclining all the way back.  And as long as we're talking about reclining - airplane seats recline back somewhere between an inch or an inch and a half.  Pointless, pretty much.  Train seats, however, recline about a foot or so, so you can really lean back and chill.  And the space between seats means you still have more room behind a reclined seat than you do in a full space on an airplane.

Union Station in St Paul

I mentioned no metal detectors - there aren't any.  And apparently carrying a weapon on the train is legal, according to the Amtrak literature.  Except flintlocks or other black powder guns.  They have to draw the line somewhere, after all.  But there were Homeland Security agents all covered in flak jackets and Velcro, cargo pants and military shades.  (By military shades I don't mean officially issued shades, but the stereotypical wraparound "I have a goatee and a pickup truck with a bumper sticker that has profanity on it" type.)  

From the movie Zero Dark Thirty

I did feel a little bad for them, as the senior citizens and other train nerds offer a pretty minimal threat.  I can imagine if you screw up working for homeland security they'll send you to Union Station in Saint Paul.

Security with their tinted SUV

Speaking of passengers - nobody is boring.  You know on an airplane where there are interesting characters but more often than not it's businessmen and pretty people and so on?  Yeah, I know, I'm generalizing.  See the money-back offer earlier.  But the people I'm seeing on the train - wow!  From the different types and groups of Amish, to the senior citizens, to the strange looking guy who may or may not be carrying a gun (but not a black powder rifle!) you'll be hard pressed to find someone who doesn't have an interesting story.  Being an introvert I'll never know them, but if you have even just a scrap of normal personality, you can find people everywhere to talk to.  From the lounge and dining cars, to the coach seats (that aren't in a "quiet car") if you want to, you can get to know everyone so much more than maybe you even want.

So much tastier than it looks!

While I waited in line for a hotdog I realized one of the reasons I love the train.  They're land ships!  My love for and fascination for the sea is thwarted by living as far from an ocean as you can.  So taking a cruise liner across the Atlantic to the UK, sitting on deck chairs with a blanket on your lap and tea brought to you by a man named Jeeves while chatting with glamourous movie stars isn't really feasible.  Nor is stowing away on a cargo ship with the animals being transported in cages but being discovered by a deckhand with a heart of gold who brings you meals and ends up becoming a lifelong friend while you both laugh at the antics of the monkeys being shipped to zoos.  Not that I have extremely specific scenarios in mind or anything.

Glamorous Ocean Travel of Days Gone By

Taking a train is, in many ways, like taking a ship.  The scenery is something you don't usually see from a car or airplane.  It rocks gently (or not so gently) and has roles from the dawn of travel like conductor, porter, engineer, food microwaver.  And it's slow.  People complain, but if you have the time, why not?

Operation Lily Get - the Setup

My daughter has completed her first year of college.  At the beginning of the year we drove together in her car to move her out to Baltimore.  Someone had the bright idea -- not sure if it was me or not -- to take the train home.  So I did.  And it was amazing.  I had a roomette from Baltimore to Chicago.  I had time to wander Chicago a bit.  And I had a coach seat from Chicago to Minneapolis.  Full story at this link:  Operation Lily Put

And now that she had rocked her first year, it's time for her to come home.  So we're doing it backwards, but this time with a little flair.  Coach from Minneapolis to Chicago, with a nail biting 2 hour stopover in Chicago, where I board a roomette on the Cardinal bound for Baltimore.  I'll have a couple days in Baltimore to stay with my brother and his family -- including the adorable toddler.  I was told she might find my concertina amusing, and my brother's wife even approved of and loved the idea.  So I'm bringing the concertina and working so hard not to forget it on the train.  That would be devastating.  I wanted to bring the kiddo a toy accordion but couldn't find ours from when the kids were young, nor could I find it in any brick and mortar store.  Just as well, since online I'm seeing them for $50! or more.  For a toy squeezebox.

Speaking of adult children, my other daughter just graduated college in Iowa!  I am proud for her accomplishment - through COVID and a derecho (land hurricane) that hit their area.  Other daughter flew in and the in laws drove down from up north (and west a bit).  The wife and the three all piled into our car (truck?  crossover?  minivan for people who hate minivans?) and drove 4? or 5? hours down to the college for the graduation.  That's a squich under 300 miles.  So we'll round that up.  Total mileage for May: 300 mi.

It was a wonderful graduation and we had a picnic in the state park on the river, and it was really lovely.  The graduating daughter had an apartment in Cedar Rapids and had mostly moved out of dorm and into apartment with roommates.  But she was going to come home for a week before settling into "Adulting" for the rest of her life.  So the return trip not only included the original gang, but another passenger and their luggage.  So we have myself, my wife, my youngest daughter, mother-in-law, father-in-law, graduated daughter and accompanying luggage all in the car for another four and a half hour trip.  Oddly enough it went fine.  Having that many people in a vehicle can be .. tricky.  But we made it home just fine.  Total mileage for May so far: 600mi.

One of the perks for my daughter coming home was that we were going up to my wife's family land.  200 miles, 3 1/2 hours.  And back.  200 more miles, 4 or more hours.  (Wife was going to nap, so she approved my "take back roads for scenery" route.  A bit longer, but when driving it's so nice to do something different.  Total mileage for May so far: 1000 miles.

Oh wait, the graduated daughter lives in Cedar Rapids.  So back to Iowa we go.  Oh wait, the graduated daughter is moving into an apartment for her first time.  U-Haul to the rescue!  Unfortunately, you're not supposed to drive the trailers over 55 mph, so I checked the "avoid highways" button on Google's directions, and away we went.  Only a few gravel roads, but it was so much fun to go through all the little towns and such.  And you know how on the interstate superhighway and you get behind someone going well under the speed limit in the left lane while using cruise control to pass a large truck over the course of fifteen minutes - when you're trying to maintain 10 or 15 over the speed limit?  Or the guy who comes flying up behind you as you're trying to pass a truck over the course of 15 minutes using cruise control?  Yeah, none of that fun happens on the backroads.  

Yes, you're going to come across some farming monstrosity, or a slow moving pickup truck.  But they're going to turn off the road within minutes or miles.  And on the way back even though I didn't have a trailer, I took a similar route.  And I was alone.  Rarely saw other cars, no traffic backups, etc.  And I went through every small town in those 200 miles.  I will say I was thrilled to turn in the trailer in Cedar Rapids.  Noise, speed limitations, and horrible banging when you go over a bump all got annoying after a while.  Oh and there was a "sour spot" instead of a "sweet spot" at about 35 miles an hour where everything just wanted to bounce around and make noise and push and pull on the car and so forth.  Getting back on track - driving 200 miles in each direction - Total mileage for May so far: 1400.

I was getting tired.

So I arrive home and need to immediately pack for the next journey - the train!  14 hours after I got home, we're at the train station in Saint Paul and I'm boarding the Empire Builder.  When I talk about mileage and such, I'm including the train trips.  Yes, I'm not driving.  Yes, there is a lounge car with hot dogs and treats.  Yes, the seats in coach are ridiculously large and comfortable and there's even power outlets.  But it's still sitting for 8 hours and craning my neck to look out the window at the sandhill cranes and rural backyard junk collections.  So I'm counting it.  If you have a problem, as always you are welcome to a full refund of all of the money you paid for reading this blog post.

Total travel mileage upon arrival in Chicago will be 1800.  But that's in the next post..

A little philosophy..

"No matter what the truth is
Hold on to what is yours"

                            Yes, "Hold On", 90125

"Is it possible to know the truth without challenging it first?"

That's my therapy question for the week.  I write a "paper" and drop it on my therapist and we chat about it.  I guess I wasn't expecting a deep philosophical question, but I'm game.

First, what's true?  I think many people go through life not actually knowing the truth.  The simple minded who are swayed by political marketing and propaganda spend quite a bit of time thinking they know what the truth is.  But in reality those machines they believe in are actually working against them.  Managing the economy in a way that the poor remain poor, overseeing the justice system so the criminal remain criminal, fund our school systems so the children are molded to become those who follow the propaganda.  While that's all a bit of an exaggeration, it's not too far from the truth.  And there's the truth again.  We don't even really know when the truth isn't the truth.

Thinking smaller, at the personal level, can we know the truth?  Is my spouse faithful?  Is my employer working to grow my career or just get the most for the least out of me?  The people who sells us things do it so well we may believe in something that's absolutely untruthful in the hope of getting a good deal.  Or even just believing them to get by, live in a house, drive a car, use their products - often because there is no alternative.

Sometimes we believe in things we know are untruthful.  It could be for our own personal benefit, or because believing it will allow us something like a purchase of a home at a price only one company can offer you.  Or needed a car badly enough that you buy something used from someone questionable.  But these are things we need badly enough that we overlook the untruths that accompany them.

The exceptions are those things we can prove.  We can see honestly.  We can understand well enough to believe.  Gravity exists.  Nobody lives forever.  Fire burns.  You are going to get pop up ads on web sites.  Children rarely grow up to be us or the people we imagined we wanted them to be when they were born.  Snow is cold.  When toast falls it lands on the buttered side.  Of course you have to believe in science to believe these things, but even the doubters are pretty much in agreement on gravity and pop-up ads.

In short, knowing the truth comes at us in a few different ways, and can be very difficult.  Things we know are true, things we actually believe are true (but aren't) and things that we know are untrue but we believe in order to live our lives like we want to.  I suppose there are also things we know to be untrue that we don't believe, and in some cases act against.  Fight for the truth past the untruths.  This can be done simply by voting, or more difficultly by pursuing the untruthful and working to bring them down or expose their lies.

So is it possible to know the truth?  I would say for the most part, no.  In few cases can we break something down, research it, understand it well enough to truly know the truth.  That's the tricky part, isn't it?  Those people who believe in politicians who are actually working against them don't and in many cases simply can't know the truth.  Honestly faith is more substantial than belief.  At least with faith you have a confidence that brings you happiness, real or imagined.  And that brings us back to either being ignorant or believing in something blindly.  Not the truth.

I will say that in our closest relationships, our faith is most often correct and associated with the truth.  I know my spouse is faithful.  Many companies are at least transparent enough that you don't imagine they're in business for you, but for themselves.  So you don't imagine they are fully trustworthy.  And are okay with that relationship.  Even in our relationships with ourselves, I think there are many truths that we acknowledge, even if they're not pleasant.  Sure, we ignore enough of them and fool ourselves well enough that we don't see the truth.  My hair isn't thinning.  From this angle I don't look overweight.  Drinking too much is fine, there's no problem there.  

Clearly the truth is complicated.  And often up for debate depending on who's side you're on.

So can we truly challenge it?  And what does it mean to challenge something?

In the case of science, challenging could mean study, research, and experimentation.  In relationships it could come from communication and experience.  In the case of a purchase, it could be reading reviews or test driving something.  Not guaranteed to always reveal a charlatan, but often generates enough confidence for us to believe in that truth.  I really wanted to put believe and truth in quotation marks there, but then I'd have to go back and do it to about a third of all the words I've written so far.

In our hearts, especially when it comes to challenging the truth in ourselves, it takes a special kind of honesty and humility to confront our own truths.  It's difficult to face some of the truths we have inside ourselves when we don't want them to be true.  In those cases it's possible you can't even challenge those truths.  Either from personal unwillingness, or personal disregard.  And the latter could be something we're not even aware we are doing.

For everything in-between we may not be able to challenge those truths.  We don't have access to the group producing them, or we aren't educated enough to understand an issue well enough to challenge it.  Often we don't think we can challenge something because it has such popularity, power, or a long history.  I can't challenge whether or not a college degree is required because I've been raised to believe it is essential.  I personally didn't find out the truth that you can live a happy and successful like without one until I dropped out of college.  Granted, it made life more difficult and less predictable.  We usually find ways to live our lives as well as we can, regardless of the advantages we don't have - or do have.

But to ask if you have to challenge the truth before you can know the truth?  I don't think that's the case.  I've never tried to defeat gravity, and yet I fully believe in it when I fall down.  Once a month I could ask my spouse if they're being unfaithful in order to know that truth.  But in that case the challenge is going to likely cause a problem in our relationship.  That comes from trust and respect.

It might come to faith and truth.  I can't challenge the true political motives of someone I am voting for.  I can research and get opinions, but there is always a layer underneath the public face.  So I need to have faith in the truths my politician of choice shares.  For the most part.  You can always have a lack of confidence in some of the things someone says, yet still believe in the overall picture.  I didn't believe the person I voted for in the last election had all of my best interests at heart.  But I did believe they we working from a position of good intention, or at least the intentions I wanted or thought were good.

So I will say you can know the truth without challenging it.  But you have to understand that knowing is actually more of a belief than a concrete truth.  End of philosophy paper.

But now to speak from a therapeutic angle.  

I think knowing your own truths is important.  I also think you often don't realize your own misguided truths or lies.  It takes someone else to point them out or raise the question of their existence.  A wife telling you it might be time to hit the gym more often.  A therapist probing your relationship with your mother and how that may have shaped some of your beliefs.  Or even a mirror showing you the gray in your hair and the wrinkles by your eyes.  

When it comes to challenging those truths, that's a completely different ballgame.  As I said earlier it requires understanding parts of yourself that you don't know about or don't want to believe are true.  So someone usually has to help you understand things that may be issues or problems, coax the specific belief out of you.  They need to hold it up and show you and make you understand that this is something that is real or true.  And hopefully they will then proceed to help you deal with that truth, understand it more fully and see how it's affecting other parts of your life or personality.

Honestly I think that's why I believe everyone should see a therapist.  You don't have to be broken to need a bit of fixing.  Nobody is so perfect that they couldn't use some introspection with the help of a professional who can see things and help repair or adjust to them.

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.