I learned to love trains when my family lived in Italy in 1969.  But our family of 6 often had our own compartment, so there wasn't much mingling with strangers.  

​We always traveled with books.  ​

But one time our family joined some friends on a train for a day trip to the seaside town of Viareggio.  The 6 kids were in one compartment and the adults in another.  ​

We were headed for a festive pre-lent celebration  which meant some of us were in costume and armed with confetti and  plastic bats for bopping strangers. (With good humor) The kid compartment was pretty wound up and giddy by the time a policeman opened the door. ​Luckily he just wanted a seat. His presence subdued us for a while, but before long he was sharing our candy and allowing us to ask him silly questions with the help of an Italian dictionary.  I don't remember his answers, but I do remember some questions.   "Are you happy?" and "Do you swim in the bathtub?" 
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​​From Michigan to Missouri
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On another winter day 7 years later, my younger brother and I once again traveled by train... and met strangers. This time we departed from the lovely old station in Ann Arbor and headed home to St. Louis, after the Christmas holiday. 

We boarded before dawn to find the train already jammed with holiday travelers  Every seat was taken and the aisles were crowded with luggage.  David and I sat on our suitcases in the unheated space between train cars, until we realized there was a dining car with actual seats and tables!  Not only was the snack bar area warm, but it was alive with the good spirits of travelers who all seemed to have upbeat attitudes about this ridiculous overcrowding.   
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David and I were invited to squeeze into a booth with others and before long everyone was talking together.  We sat beside some children playing "Battleship" and a sweet older woman who was eating her sack lunch.  The children let us play their game when they were finished and the dear woman insisted we let her give us each a dollar.  She had overheard us worrying over having only $10.00, since it looked like weather was going to cause a huge delay in Chicago.  Dave and I ended up sharing a tangerine and candy bars with a painter from California and we discussed alligators, pollution and poodles with a man from Iowa.  By the time we reached Chicago I remember feeling bonded to these travelers. I hated saying good bye.
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The storms didn't end up delaying our departure from Chicago.  Dave and I boarded Amtrak and actually found two seats together.  However there was no heat in our car and the temperature was in the teens. But at least we had seats for the last half of our 12 hour journey.  

This is not a photo of the scary house, where the woman lived. This lovely building is actually a dorm, in St. Louis, Missouri. In the summer of 1977. I had a summer job as a recreational worker, with teens. This is where the girls lived, at Epworth Home for Girls.  ​

The fact that no one was coming to the door when we rang, made us begin to feel uneasy.  Something didn't feel right, but we certainly didn't expect anything as bad as what greeted us when Mrs. Van Bray finally opened the door!   

It wasn't easy following Mrs. V into the house because you couldn't even see the floor.  The shades were pulled, so the dim living room appeared to be inhabited by eerie, looming creatures.  

I obviously didn't understand the mental illness she also suffered from.  The only things she allowed us to pitch were some moldy half eaten Big Macs, but not the Styrofoam boxes holding them.  We spent 2 hours climbing over and squeezing around heaps, while we "organized" and restacked and sorted through Mrs. V's clothing, cans, TV Guides, jar lids, dishes, clothespins, knickknacks and trash.  It was very clear that we would make no noticeable dent in 3 hours.

Getting Worse
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​Mrs. V began to grow agitated, telling the girls to work faster.  "This house needs to be clean by the time my husband gets home!" I gently explained that we couldn't possibly finish, but we would do what we could. I continued encouraging the girls with whispers and gestures until Mrs. V began to cry.  I was ready to give up.  The girls and I were queasy from being in this filthy mess and we seemed to be causing Mrs. V more frustration than relief.  I asked to use the phone and called my supervisor at Epworth.   I gently explained the situation and asked for her to speak with Mrs. V.  Mrs. V ranted for a minute before slamming the phone down. 

I think I would have handled things differently now.  I'm sad to say, we probably wouldn't have even gone in your home.  It would have been clear you needed a different kind of help, than ours.  But I would have sent you some flowers.  I wish you could have known that we really did care about you.

However my opinion of museum  guards changed last year when I had a relaxed visit to the lovely Menil Museum.

An Exhibit of Nigerian Statues
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​I was impressed by the expressions and poses I saw in a collection of Nigerian statues.  I found myself making the same expressions as I studied the poses, through the glass. Who were the people, who inspired these statues? 

But my favorite guard at the Menil was working in a separate building.  There were no other visitors in the quiet space, but my friend and I could hear the somewhat shy guard talking softly. 

Guillermo said he fed the squirrel every day.  

He dropped a peanut outside the door and watched the little guy race over to fetch his treat before a greedy bird could steal it!
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Thanks, Guillermo!
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​You reminded me that museum guards can be kind human beings! 

 I think that little squirrel thanks you, too!
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We promised we be back in the winter to visit.

​Winter

Thanks, Kenny. 
You didn't run us off with a shot gun or hide inside to keep us wondering.  You shared a little of yourself and we respected you for that.  Maybe you really were content living that life, but I selfishly hope your life got a little better. 
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A recent stranger write up, reminded me about enjoying my kids at the airport. That reminded me of another memory involving my kids and an airplane.   I have always enj0yed my kids, even on trips.  

Then I reached for my purse and offered him a tissue.  He made full eye contact as he thanked me and I could suddenly see his eyes were watery.  "I'm sorry."  The cowboy apologized. "I'm sort of in a state.  I'm heading to my grandmother's funeral."   The moment he uttered those words, the image I had of this big, tough guy just melted.

My book stayed closed on my lap for the rest of the flight, while my new friend told me stories about his grandmother.  I don't remember the details, I just remember how touched I was to witness this change in character.  He hadn't changed, but my view of him had.

Thanks, Cowboy Friend. 
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You taught me a lesson about first impressions.  I saw your boots and hat and expected you to be an armrest hog at the very least.  You became a person I never expected.  You were kind and thoughtful and best of all you didn't try to hide your vulnerability.  When my grandmother died a few years later, I thought of you.  You must have been a wonderful grandson!
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And Art Hill was the place to go, to enjoy a little snow excitement. 

I held the dripping, crying child and looked for a parent.  At the very top of the hill, I could see 2 unaware figures, gesturing as if in conversation.  I began the  journey up, stumbling and huffing and puffing.  The little boy clung to me, sobbing and shivering the whole way up.  By the time I reached the top, the mother  spotted us and had began to yell.  She was furious with her child who had stupidly aimed his saucer towards the water. And where was his other boot?!  In the lagoon?! She sputtered and fumed and never said thank you.   I headed back down to get my skis and poles and headed for my car...shaken.

Thank you, Little Boy. 
Your close call, made me a more cautious parent in later years. And your mother taught me some lessons, too. 

I wish I could go back and redo that "rescue".   I would have learned your name and I wouldn't have handed you over to your mother until she proved that her anger was just a reaction...of panic and guilt.  Sadly I'm pretty certain that you mom was a lot worse than that.  I wish I had just taken you home with me!
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The food was surprisingly delicious, but the atmosphere was surprisingly uncomfortable. It felt like we 4 were on some kind of a dreaded blind date.  It was as if our group didn't know how to converse when we weren't sitting on sun baked rocks, lulled by the sound of the water. 

​​Distracted with Dessert

Luckily we had invited some other friends to join us for our grand finale of Baked Alaska.  The picture to the left is what it should have looked like.  Ours was a melted disaster. ​

He figured he would pretty much live the life of a hermit  and concentrate on trying to change himself instead of the world.  I suddenly realized how very sad and lonely this man was. I thought he had just been quiet and thoughtful.  

Thank you, Richard

I was relieved when your red house on wheels pulled away from my curb.  Your sadness scared me and I suddenly began to worry about what could happen when you invite an unhappy stranger into your home.  So thanks for NOT being all those things that we read about in newspapers.  Thank you for not overstaying your welcome or doing worse. But mostly thanks for sharing a little bit of your sadness.  At 19, I was concerned with little more than my college world.  It was good for me to stop and really think about the life of another. 

I hope you're still alive somewhere.  I like to picture you sharing your life with another person, maybe in a real house.  But those are my wishes. Mostly I just hope you found happiness.
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I met Tom just after he returned from 2 days at sea on the Top Tuna!  He and his crew reminded me of weary horses who suddenly have the ability to gallop when they catch sight of the stable.  

I was with my husband tackling a plate of raw oysters  at a quirky seafood joint, when we noticed the boat pull up beside a nearby dock.  

He shook his head and chuckled at the idea of shark fin soup.  "Yeah, they can't have a wedding banquet without their shark fin soup!"  He seemed pretty amused.  "They think there's some kind of aphrodisiac in that shark fin!"  

​Working Faster

​Tom heaved the gutted sharks into a rolling bin..