Waiting... On an August Peach Morning

This morning, I waited for the 7:30 southbound leaning against the post of the wind-shield on the train station platform. The 7:26 northbound pulled in the four minutes ahead. I stand at the north end of the platform near where the second car from the end, the quiet car, stops for loading. In the morning, the only one who gets off is the conductor shepherding the passengers and giving a very old-school all-a-boarded wave to the engineer up front.) Most mornings, today with no exception, the timing is frequently German precision with the north bound pulling in, loading and pulling out, as the train into the city pulls in, allowing any stragglers held up by north bound to cross the tracks from the parking lot and board for the commute.

 

The sun on these August mornings has a soft peach quality to them. Leaning against the post, I soak in the sun, aware that this is the only time I have to soak it in for the day. It feels medicinal to me, like topping off the tank with vitamin D. And, in the twelve minutes I’m there, my cheeks get flushed, a drip of sweat eases into my undies. I stand, my eyes closed, trying to remember this for November, December…

Metra trains are HUGE. As the northbound slows to a stop, I welcome the shade it throws across the tracks. Except today, the engine stops and the sun allowed by the crack, maybe eighteen inches between the engine and the front car, leaves a perfect alignment between the sun and me. I smile, thinking, this will help me remember… the elusive welcomed shade.  

With clockwork, that train pulled out, ours pulled in and my peach morning meditation ended. I remind myself that I am not waiting for winter.

 

You can find 75 other photos of the scene from the Deerfield Train Station platform at Instagram.com/Innovasia.

https://www.instagram.com/innovasia_/?hl=en

Chicago Commutes and the Kitty Cat Ninja Mask

Riding toward work yesterday morning, I was chilled watching the crews using leaf blowers on the tracks presumably to move the freshly fallen snow. Train engines are equipped with snowplows here in Chicago, but that must not be enough. Along with the manual labor, the Metra keeps fires burning along their tracks too.  On a late train one night, I was alarmed the first time I saw them. I thought for sure homeless had taken over the train yards to burn the wood ties to keep warm. A conductor explained that buried along the rails are giant gas burners to keep tracks from accumulating ice particularly at the switches.

Last night on the way home, our train came to a stop where the conductor announced that the train ahead of us had hit a car. We had to wait till the track was cleared. Twenty minutes later they announced, “We were on the move so quickly because there were no fatalities.” I imagine that a driver thought they could get around the gates in time but the ice prevented the car wheels from gaining traction. No matter the mode, winter commuting is a bit of a trick.

Everybody has their own technique for dealing with winter comfort. Layering is the key to outdoor conditions and to deal with uneven temperatures indoors. Desk chairs are draped with fleece jackets or scarves that work like wrapping blankets.  It's not unusual for Monday mornings to see people still in their coats an hour after getting to work as the building heating system struggles to reach designated temps. And, where there are thermostats there are battles. I really see few judicious attempts at raising or lowering by a degree or two. It seems that people use the dial like an on or off switch and swing it to the hottest or the coldest, so comfort is fleeting.

I've lived here long enough to be ready to walk in the cold. My coat resembles a sleeping bag with feet sticking out. I wrap myself in a scarf and pull on a hat and gloves too. My route to and from the train station zigzags through streets. I felt pretty toasty yesterday, until I rounded one corner where my breath dissolved... maybe froze before it could be inhaled. Like moving from oven to freezer, I turned north, walking for a block into a wind corridor that rivaled an astronaut's space training exercise. Patches of ice made for treacherous footing. I hugged the wall of one building to get protection from the wind. Passing a door, a man in a Nanook-hood, his face safe within at least four inches of fur and fabric, blindly barreled into me. The temperature isn't the only danger.

Another man passed me wearing a white ninja ski mask with graphics that covered his everything I could see under a baseball hat. His unique vibe made me forget the cold for a few steps... till I had to turn north again.

I found an image of the mask. It’ll keep my mind off the cold again today. At least today, I am working from home.

Time Shifting: A Choice Learned from Reading Outlander

A few months ago a friend suggested that I read Outlander. I downloaded it on my phone to read on my hour commute to and from work. The first day, the first chapters, I arrived at work, without having read my emails that had come in overnight... nor Twitter or browsed through my Pinterest boards. The story absorbed every minute of my trip. Once I settled into my seat on the way home, I heard nothing until the conductor announced that we were pulling into the station. Again, I didn't catch up on FaceBook or any other of my social media sites.

Reading from a phone is a constant swipe swipe swipe. I stopped at the library across from the train station to pick up a hardcover copy for reading at home. OMG. It weighed a ton! I took it home anyway.  Once home, I didn't watch tv. I made the minimalist of meals, cutting up finger food... a carrot, an apple and found some almonds, raisins and pumpkin seeds. Before Paleo, I probably would have made a bowl of popcorn. The reading experience with the book was far better than the device, but I didn't want to lug the tombe. I looked at emails, Twitter and Facebook for a few minute after I brushed my teeth. I didnt look at work emails. Back and forth on the train I read the story from my phone and at home, from the book. 

The challenge in this process became finding my place on either when I made the switch. Page numbers are not the same when there are many print versions of a print book. I never figured out an algorithm to easily determine where I was in the other reader. I became good at finding a particularly notable word in a first line of a paragraph. It had been awhile since I’d tackled a big, fat book. I'd forgotten how delicious it feels to be completely enrapt in a story… in a hard-back book especially.

I forgot the fragrance  of the paper, the color of the page with light behind me and the infrequent turn of a page... a languished swipe rather than a quick scratch. I loved it, like a reunion with an old friend. I felt more connected, mindful and less connected to stimuli. 

Once I finished Outlander I wanted to continue that experience, like opening a new bag of potato chips, but the library was out of the second in the series. I had to wait. Time slipped and my interest began to wain. Two weeks later I received notice that the book waited for me. I walked to the library to borrow it after dinner that evening.

The librarian retrieved the book from the shelf, snapped the rubber band off the book holding a paper with my last name on it and handed it to me. It felt like a brick.  I leafed through it. I knew I'd love it. The weight represented a commitment to dinners without as much chop and prep, to more nodding in conversations about world and internet happenings, to a messy house and less sleep. I couldn't bring it home. 

Train reading has its own time continuum. The hour commute home can be so much longer than the trip to work.  Reading an absorbing book is a savior, but I realized I didn’t want the book to devour my life either.  I don’t know how to read for short stints. If I was an alcoholic, I couldn't be a social drinker. I know how to let a book take over my life, to keep me up till my eye lids won’t stay open. I used to love that. I still like the idea of it.  In the meantime, I will read it on the train. I downloaded it and I am going to see if I can allow my self to read a book over a couple weeks. It will assist me to drown out the one sided phone calls, the drunk lawyers and the ding of Scrabble games played by someone else on the train. It will be another way to engage me.

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Wondering about the photos? Since January,  I take them every Monday morning just prior to the 7:35 at the Deerfield station.