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ON THE TRAIN - I miscalculated Big Time. When I agreed to visit my pal Larry up in New Hampshire and ride the train back to New York with him one of my calculation brain cells must have shut down. Even after the AmTrak Web site told me that we couldn't get reservations on the high speed Acela service they are now testing on the East Coast, I thought the ride wouldn't be that bad. (Acela is touted to be our version of Europe and Japan's "bullet" passenger trains. When the project is completed, it is supposed to convert the nine hour Washington, D.C. to Boston run into a 6 hour run.
Of course this speedy service was slated to begin this spring and now is predicted for this fall. We've all decided not to hold our breaths.)
So, to get us back to our destinations of Friday, I supposed, we booked a train for late Friday afternoon. As night fell and we were rolling through Connecticut, cocktails at the ready, it dawned on me that I would be reaching Baltimore in the wee hours of early Saturday morning. This was definitely NOT The Plan,
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In some ways it is just as well, I suppose, as the interim provided me time to prepare our Saturday rumination... Except that I was lucky enough to be on the train that ran out of all semblances of alcoholic beverages and many popular food items before we even reached New York. Larry and I reasoned that the train would be re-stocked with more food (certain items among my preference had disappeared) and libations in New York City, at least. No such luck...
"They missed my order," said the man behind the counter.
Such is the nature of preparedness and service for a holiday weekend on our nation's flagship passsenger rail service. A long, slow train ride and lousy service, too. I love trains, I take them regularly, but this kind of experience could sour even a railophile to Amtrak.
After my meeting in Massachusetts on Thursday evening, Larry drove down from New Hampshire to ferry be back up to the farm. I was afforded the opportunity to meet his wonderful, wry mother, who is poet. In fact, when I arrived she was attending a reading in Andover, Mass., by the poet laureate of New Hampshire with her friend, Connie. Both women are in their seventies. Though Larry's mother suffered some hearing loss as she aged, she lost none of her dry New England wit. Her memory is still quite good, as well. When I shared with her that my ex- had spent some time in Panama while growing up, she regaled me with tales of her own honeymoon in that country.
I was in New England to attend a meeting with the CEO of my Day Job and my VP boss to define the agenda for my department, get approval on new projects I had explored, and ensure support from the highest level. Larry meanwhile had just accepted a very sweet offer to oversee data modeling for a financial institution in New York City. During my visit, and on the train, Larry and I had much to share and discuss.
We also talked of life, dating, and women, both of us being bachelors now in our forties; we stumbled upon what Larry (who plays bass) considered the ideal name for a band: "Jaded Dogs." (Don't try to steal this one, I have already reserved the rights on Larry's behalf.)
There was much talk, of course, of the American brand of courtship and of women we have known past and present.
There was much lobbying, from Larry, for my return to Manhattan. He thinks I should have never left. He is most likely correct when I consider that I have only met two people since moving to Baltimore nearly a year ago, that I spend hundreds of dollars each month on long distance telelphone calls, and that I know Manhattan after living there only months more than a do B'more after a full year.
I could tell you of scores of places for good food, fun, merchandise of various sorts, music, etc. in just the borough of Manhattan, let alone the whole of New York City. Ask me about Baltimore and I'd be forced to consult the telephone book or the Internet. I have never taken to this city.
Larry shared with me one of his mottos for life: "Plan optimistically, but prepare for unexpected situations. In other words," he smiled, " I expect to meet a beautiful women on this train, but I already know where the emergency exits are."
He worked concertedly over our time together to improve my generally pessimistic outlook. I'm the kind of guy who always expects the worst and prays that I shall be pleasantly surprised by the contrary.
After visiting with Larry and his mother, composing this essay on the slowly rocking train, it came to me that I need to live somewhere that provides a combination of the solitude I need to do my work and a developed social life. Either San Francisco, where my friends either live or live nearby (mostly in the Oakland and Berkeley, though I have few nestled in Santa Rosa and Cloverdale,) or New York City would fit that bill.
I believe many of my health problems have to do with the extreme isolation I have found in Baltimore as much as any other factor.... And as to the level of intellectual discourse.... well....
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