Working in New York City and living in the Upper Delaware River Valley has its own set of challenges. We commuters usually have a routine that helps us get out of the door in the morning—at least I do. Although we can predict and plan for certain things, many things are out of our hands.
View from the Train
I can see my breath in the crisp air, trying to blow smoke circles to no avail. With the collar of my winter coat folded up, protecting me from the wind that is blowing this morning, I’m marching in place to warm my toes. The morning sky is not yet visible as we wait for the 4:45 a.m. train here at the Port Jervis Station.
We are as dark as the night. We move slowly through this winter chill. We were warned that going north would be cold, but our bones never expected this. Even as we huddle together, arms crossed, wrapped in hope, we shiver—not as much from the bitter cold, but from what lies ahead of us on the railroad.
… so good, as the saying goes. The year has been good to us commuters, trains have heat, snow hasn’t caused any real major delays and the commutes have been relatively uneventful. The rest of the year will be another story. Amtrak is doing a major repair of the tunnels leading into Penn Station.
My neighbor Joe recently posted a photo of himself in his Lawnsmith shirt, wearing a red bandana and his train engineer’s hat, admiring a display of Lionel trains running under his Christmas tree.
When cooking in the kitchen at this time of the year, everything sounds and tastes better if you say it with a French accent.
My truck was at the mechanic, which was about a mile from the train station, not a bad walk at all. It was pouring, and I had foolishly turned down a ride from a friend on the train, thinking my rain jacket and hat would be enough. Man, was I wrong. As I stepped from the train, the heavens opened and I made a mad dash for the shelter.
I recently met some old grammar school friends in Jim Thorpe, PA for a tour of the town and a possible rail trip along the scenic Lehigh Gorge. Our friend “Pocono Bob” lives there, and warned us the town may be busy. Busy was not the word for it; the town was packed.
As I was walking up from the train in Penn Station, I was greeted by conductor Mike from one of my evening trains.
Oh what a sight, oh what a thrill, the shouts of joy, the jubilation of the moment, the beauty of the bride!