We spent the night with some dear friends up at their home on the western end of Flagstaff this Labor Day weekend. Nice house, modern; not a 'cabin' one would think of for the woods. It had everything you wanted in a weekend respite.
The four of us walked around the downtown area, the two men following the women in front of us. I could feel my blood pressure drop, kicking my brain into neutral and allowing the coolish air to remind me that living in a convection oven most of the year was an anomaly and most places, just a few hours away, were not like that.
Then, I heard it. The train.
Every day, several times a day, trains pass through downtown Flagstaff on their way back and forth across the nation. And I mean BIG trains, lots of cars, carrying Aunt Millie's refrigerator and your sister-in-law's new car. They blew through town like they were on their way to a chrysanthemum convention in Long Beach.
It was funny, I love that sound-the sound of that huge piece of machinery running through town. You never heard a whistle; you didn't need to. The rumbling of it was enough to tell anyone to get the hell out of the way. Where ever you were in Flagstaff, you could tell a train was coming. Eventually, you stop hearing it. Oh, but at night, I found that was the sweetest time.
Just before I started my coma cycle, I got into bed with my book. This is my favorite time of day. Cool sheets, comfortable pillow, a book with a nice story, ahhhhh, I'm there now! But at this home, you could open the windows. Now, for those of you getting this who do not live in Phoenix, let me explain something. You don't open your windows in Phoenix in the summer time which, of course, goes from March to October. You definitely don't open them in July or August or the shoulder weeks on either side. You will wake up dead from dehydration. Someone will come into your room in the morning and there you are, looking like a dried piece of apple. So, opening the windows and letting fresh, cool, mountain air in was like the foyer to heaven. That, and my bookie time, I was two steps away from Nirvana.
After about three minutes of solid reading, my eyes crossed and I turned out the light, getting into my PSP (Perfect Sleeping Position-years of research have helped me find and patent this).
In about two minutes I was on my way to Never Never Land. Then I heard it.
The 10:05 from Muncey to LA was passing through town.
It started off a subtle rumble and it grew. I found myself loving it. Like thunder, I love the sounds outside. Wind, rain, thunder, locomotives, all of it massaged my brain. I pictured, oh so briefly, the engineer in the front engine looking out the window into the darkness that made up the woodlands of northern Arizona. He would be making sure that all the lights were green, showing he was clear ahead, knowing that if anything was in the way, there was absolutely nothing he could do to stop it. So, he opened the throttle a little more, once he cleared the heart of the town. Five hours later, I awoke to the edge of consciousness to hear another train, then drifted off again, a smile on my face.
Funny how things affect us. Some people would no more be able to sleep than I could stay awake to that sound. I think today, I'm going shopping. Need to price one of those train sets that circled the base of my Christmas tree when I was a kid. Maybe an engineer's hat as well.
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