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WE BUTTED IN LINE. I'll just say it quickly, before you quite recall the continuing story of Nitabee and me at the ticket counter in the Philadelphia train station, and the snaking line of people, and the three minutes or so to make a decision about fetching the fetching pitcher that I'd left at our previous stop...but, geez, we're in a hurry, I can't re-tell it all! We must have looked like damsels in distress, the gentleman at the front of the queue waived his place and waved us to the counter. And before you know it, my sister and I had another hour and a half to spend together. We got a cab, got the pitcher (minutes before the shop closed), got back to the station, and, after taking our time and studying the whole impressive array of food available there, we had ice cream. After which we said thank-you, thank-you and goodbye, goodbye and hey, we could do this again in cooler weather. She boarded her train and headed east. Soon after, I got on mine and headed west.




And then-- twenty minutes into the western journey a flurry of announcements informed the passengers there was trouble ahead--a severe storm had brought a tree down onto electric lines over the track. The delay could be a half-hour--or it could be hours, they said. No one knew. Friendly Guy across the aisle shrugged his shoulders and gave me a commiserating smile. The conductor strode purposefully through the car. The passengers resigned themselves and settled in (speaking for myself, at least, and, from all appearances, Friendly Guy.)

It's for just such events as this that I rip the NY Times crossword puzzle from the Sunday paper each week. (How forward-thinking, wouldn't you say?) And then there's that other item with which I am able to entertain myself: I took lots and lots of photos--shots of Friendly Guy (sorry I can't show you his smile--I was always discreet), the conductor each time he made an appearance, my puzzle, my feet (getting a little desperate for subject matter, it's true). When I went and stood in the cell between the train cars in order to warm up (the engine may have been turned off, but the cold-air production continued in force), I took pictures of every knob, door, sign and other accouterment. (I'm thinking of publishing an illustrated book "My Time Between the Cars Between the Rails").




Eventually the crossword puzzle got a little old. After all, I was expected to figure out how the answer to *Social reformer Margaret Fuller, to Buckminster Fuller (it just had to be "great-aunt") could fit into seven spaces! Good grief. Enough brain-wracking for one sitting!

Furthermore, fresh subject matter for the camera had dwindled to zilch, Friendly Guy went to sleep, and...yawn, it was about time for this saga to end.







Which it abruptly did...an hour and a half later.
And now this telling of it, too!

*the end*
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