Notes From Under the House

I love trains.  I love the sound of a train.  I love old travel advertisements that feature trains.  There’s something almost haunting about that beautiful iron beast emerging from the fog or the black smoke curling up into the blue sky and the almost menacing looking cowcatcher.  There’s something romantic about having to travel across country in the old sleeper and taking your meals in the dining car.  I love the image of whistle-stops and desolate railroad cafes; of abandoned boxcars and railroad tracks stretched out like a snake, leading to who knows where. Everyone’s going some place.  Maybe my love for trains is a subconscious thing.  Maybe it’s because I came to California from Texas on a train.  I’m even trying to renovate my Mom’s old steamer trunk she gave me that’s from the fifties.  It’s upright with a hanging compartment on one side and drawers on the other. Today we took a more modern train, the Amtrak, down to San Diego.  We spent the day walking around, took the trolley to Seaport Village and had lunch and played some pool.  It was a good day, not too cool and not too hot.  But now I’m going to make myself a cup of hot cocoa and pull out an old film to watch (maybe Twentieth Century) and try not to think about going back to work tomorrow.