Two Days for Turkey

The Amtrak train the day before Thanksgiving is about as crowded as I could ever expect a cattle car to be.  It was filled with angry, restless hordes and smelled about as bad as I could ever expect a cattle car to.  I entered my train car dreaming that I would be lucky enough to get a row by myself.  That one extra seat would mean the difference between a comfortable six hour ride down south or a cramped ride filled with occasional and strained polite conversation. 

I did not get my own row.

Luckily enough the person sitting next to me was quiet enough and didn't try to engage me in too much conversation.  Luckily, I didn't get stuck next to the older, slightly off man with the pony tail sitting behind me who smelled like he had mistaken his feces for his dove soap.  

I some how managed to not breathe in that much for the six hours and arrived safely at my destination.

The next afternoon I had to do it all over again.  

This time, however, I was in "business class."  This is the train equivalent of first class, except without the gourmet meal.   I eagerly accepted the free copy of the Chicago Tribune and my free soda as I settled into my leather (fake leather?) chair.  No strange pony tailed man in his sweatshirt with a wolf and hawk on it.  I just got a 20-something guy sitting across the aisle from me proudly holding his plastic bag full of bargain basement price cigarettes.  He probably had 15 packs.  I stared at that bag for a full 3 minutes trying to figure out what it must have been like for him when he realized he struck his tobacco lottery.  I then realized he was looking at me and probably thinking I was checking him out, so I just looked at him and gave him my best "for shame" head shake and turned back to my computer.  

It was really all I could think to do.  

My whirlwind trip to Kentucky for Thanksgiving was really for one reason.  My mom.  My grandmother died a couple of weeks ago, and I would not allow myself to miss the first Thanksgiving without her.  I had not been home for Thanksgiving in a few years, but this year, I was glad to be there.  My mom held it together for the majority of the day.  The only time she started to tear up was when she noticed all the similar things she was doing that her mom used to do.  The cranberry sauce, the organized cooking schedule, the notes about mashed potatoes...they were the same.  And that was special.  

I just hope that pony tailed smelly guy found someone besides his wolf and hawk to share Thanksgiving with.