En Route to my Final Destination

"What are you doing tonight?" one of my co-workers asked me as our shift wound down.
"I'm going to Yonkers for train photos," I replied, "So if I'm not in on Monday I'm either arrested or dead."

I thought I was joking.

Here's the thing: there's at least a small supernatural aura or something connected to my family. My Mom has had two or three premonitions come true, I'm pretty certain I had a brief subliminal conversation with my then wife's dead uncle (who passed 20 years before she was born), and there's been other instances in which I've hated to have been right. Little did I know at 3pm how close I'd be to both of those terrible outcomes.

Things were going well, my friend offered to drive (in contrast to our scrapped attempt the previous week) and we indeed recorded the images we set out to photograph. Even we he'd forgotten his portable one-way radio on the station platform in Ardsley it was still where he'd left it upon our return 30 minutes later. That's where our story begins.

Now, I've only been working in public safety for one month and I'm not even on the street. I'm inside at a desk, but hearing about questionable people, and having lived in a larger city for eleven months I recognized this individual was of questionable stature, and he was milling about the entryway to the station platform. As I approached he kept his hand in front of my face and began verbalizing something. I immediately disarmed the situation with a stern "No" and avoided eye contact, mounted the steps and retrieved my friend's electronic device in the time it took said friend to round his compact car and say "how are you," to the questionable character. Since one of the trains we wanted to photograph was approaching we stayed at Ardsley -- a hamlet of Irvington.

Low and behold, an Irvington patrol officer pulls into the train station parking lot. We're driving an out of state vehicle and parked in a permit required resident's only parking lot. Uh oh.

BUT, the questionable male milling about is the policeman's top priority as he's likely been troubling the previous commuters passing through. My friend and I can overhear the conversation between unwanted and officer and the unwanted gives the officer a story about waiting for the next train to head home -- which he's lied about twice up to that point - and the unwanted comes on the platform to join us, followed not long after by the officer.

Well, you had to be there to get the full understanding, but my friend engaged the officer about why we were there ourselves and though he could have done without it, the officer got a brief working knowledge about the local freight operations!! Okay, so said our goodnights after the freight train passed and using some judicial editing and leaving out the stuff that happens next for a future blog entry, we're on our way home after a long but fun (and briefly dicey) night of train photography.

Since my friend was driving, and neither highway nor parkway home are the most user friendly I suggested since he was driving he should go with his gut as per which road we should travel.

This was one of those "if only I'd" moments. "If only we'd left for home earlier than we did" or "If only we'd taken 95 instead of 15"...

There wouldn't have been an airborne car headed right at us at 2:15 in the morning.

I was in the midst of explaining how major freight railroading would never return to Connecticut when my friend yelped as a car came flying through the air from the southbound lanes, clipped the center median guardrail and gave my friend's car a glancing blow as we swerved across two lanes to avoid it. THANKFULLY my friend did a great job of keeping the compact under control, but what a scary thing to see!!

And what a way to be reminded of one's mortality. These close calls are becoming more frequent I'm afraid. February 2009 I was the passenger in a vehicle which did a 720 degree spin (That's nearly two full rotations) on the way down a hill slicked with black ice. It took me eleven months to not get shivers driving through there. July 3, 2010, a condo fire destroyed the building immediately next to mine in the complex, I still sometimes have trouble falling asleep in the dark seven weeks later. At the quarry four days before my last day there a loader operator chose to get too close to my truck and miraculously didn't hit it, but had my co-worker put his arm out of the window, or had he gotten out of the truck he would have been clobbered. Now this incident.

I've watched the first two Final Destination movies, and though I know it's Hollywood fiction, there's definitely an element of truth in it. I've believed from a long time before those films that a person dies when it's their time -- and I have also wondered about when it was MY time to go. Sometimes scared of it, sometimes able to accept it but ultimately, that's one of life's and God's biggest mysteries and until the end; after I'm deceased and in the coffin, I don't think I want to know when my last breath is. Honestly, I don't even want to think about it, ignorance is bliss, but that too is an irresponsible way to go about life.

It always seems too that the bad things always compound on top of each other (not just always come in threes -- but that can apply too) and I tend to feel that evil is just a centimeter away when I'm overly stressed by life's responsibilities which makes getting back up on then proverbial horse which threw me that much more difficult and I just want to hide, which begins to bring about agoraphobia. I'm not sure how much more my poor heart can take.

I've Got More Facets Than A Gemstone

C'est vrai. It's true. After all I'm a writing, photographing, musical, train guy with a yearn for adventuring once again. Usually my wanderlust will come about when the stresses of life begin to oppress me. Tonight, it seems more akin to the old saying "idle hands make the devil's work".

Life is good overall, which is something I haven't felt for at least five years. Three weeks at my new employment have me feeling settled in and the more I develop my work abilities (I'm developing a new set of skills at an entirely new career than railroading) the more confident I am that I will in fact succeed, of course there's a long way to go still, but my new employers already knew such and in fact have been pleased with how I skewed the bell curve.

Back to my original thought though. After four somewhat grueling days on duty I have a pair of days off. The first I basically wasted by taking it easy despite having home chores in desperate need of getting done, but the tingle to experience re-ignited today, and with such personal freedom at my disposal, and so many places to visit and things to be experienced I just can't decide where to go. But, as Whisperin' Bill Anderson sang "I get the fever"

Poor Substitute for a Small Bird's Vocalizing

As a comic reader and fan-fiction writer, I naturally looked up one of my favorite scribes, Marjorie Liu, and discovered her blog and Twitter. This weekend (second to last in July 2010 should you be reading this years into the future from tonight) is the great big San Diego Comic Con -- of course, Ms. Liu is participating. So I followed a link from one of her tweets and discovered Stan "the man" Lee's Twitter.

But the only thing that crosses my mind is "Stan Lee is the Hugh Heffner of comics". Granted, my brain is super-fried after it's first week on the new job (there's an incredible amount of information to learn in conjunction with my new career and it's overwhelming at times. I've been almost vegetative upon finally trudging through the door well after dinner each night so that needs to be taken into consideration).
seriously, though. They both smile non-stop, with a genuinely big and sincere smile -- because they love what they do and it shows. Both are of the same generation, that awesome one mine can't even comprehend how to come close. And they're both insanely successful publishers (I won't go into the perks train of thought). Just sayin' -- even if I DID take an awfully long round about way to say one sentence!!!

My Last Train

It's official. With bittersweet feelings I swing off of the stirrup as the locomotive engineer eases the line of hopper cars to a smooth and gentle stop. My cooler swings from my hand much as the traditional conductor's lantern would as I trudge across the wide driveway to the time-clock. Upon climbing the stairs to the locker room, I hang up my hard hat and reflective safety vest for the very last time.

After ten and a half seasons of being a brakeman, I'm no longer a railroader. I've worked my last train. This crazy world we call home has forced my hand and necessitated a radical change of careers. It's for the best and it will benefit not just myself but many others as well. However I'd be lying if I said I wasn't sad to be walking away. Railroading is in my blood. I've said before the iron in my bloodstream is of the iron horse. Leaving railroading is like leaving a piece of myself behind.

There's a lot to look forward to in this new career also. For one, it's indoors. No more being pelted by rain, sliding around in the mud, or the cold, or as of late: the extreme Summertime heat and humidity. My eating habits will improve instead of forcing down a lackluster hard roll because I don't have time to eat. No more renegade particulate matter finding its way into my eyes, ears, nose, or mouth regardless of personal protective gear. There's other drawbacks I will no longer need to deal with also.

Perhaps some day in the far future I'll be swinging aboard that great fast freight, or the crack passenger limited for that glimmering ride along steel rails into the sunset.

A Lobster I Can Fight, A Fire I Cannot

"Get out of the building! There's a fire next door!" Greeted me upon answering the earth shattering pounding at my door at O Dark Thirty this morning.

"I've got to put something on," I sheepishly pleaded in my underwear and socks, with my ragged work shirt in my hand -- as it was the first scrap of clothing I grabbed jumping out of bed to answer said pounding -- though it never made it on my body.

The heavy knock upon the door in the middle of the night is never a good sign, and when one's eyes open and the walls are reflected emergency vehicle rotating lights parked right outside of one's window -- there's only so much time to discern what NEEDS to get done.

And so I grabbed the work shirt and flicked the hall light switch. When that failed to light, I flipped the stairway light and realized the electricity was cut for the first responders. Dash down the stairs to the first sentence of this entry.

"Okay but make it quick," the fireman allowed and made sure I was exiting the building before moving to the next unit.

"Fire next door" to me means the adjoining condo in my building. Fortunately for me, that wasn't the case. It was in fact, the neighboring building. Next concern, make sure the people I know from that building have made it out. They have.

Next concern, how will my own building fare in this disaster? Again fortunately the wind is carrying embers away from the buildings and over the parking lot. How big is the blaze? Sadly, when I looked, my suspicions were concerned and it's burning inside of two units. Then the roof collapses. Hope is beginning to flee.

The water lines become active and a ladder truck from the next town over arrives to assist the one on scene. Whatever the flames didn't get the water has. The eaves begin sagging and the crowd of evacuees is pushed back further from the blaze.

The conflagration is angry but the firefighters are aggressive and they beat the fire down until it's only spotty smoldering. A safety check to make sure the residences closest to the fire are habitable and everyone in the neighboring buildings are allowed to go back inside. There's no official preliminary cause yet and following the building inspector's examination, the structure may need to be razed.

What a way to start the morning. My own adrenaline finally abated seven hours later while at work (which I called in late for because I was blocked in by fire apparatus). The blaze was lead story on many broadcast stations, including the morning radio show I listen to on the local rock radio station. This rock station occasionally plays a sounder about a renegade crustacean which goes "Everybody get out of here there's a lobster loose" etc. etc. (it's a soundbite from somewhere).

Well, I can fight a lobster if I had to save my home, but if I had to fight a fire, the flames would win.

In Another Life

In another life I could have been a sailor.
Throwing off the ropes holding ship to dock.
Sailing the high seas to God knows where
Feeling the wind blow my hair wildly about my face
The salt air filling my nose like the comforting scent of hot biscuits
Hard work bulking my body and soul.

In another life I could have been a cook
At a roadside diner, Italian restaurant, hotel kitchen, fast food joint
Flinging meat, dunking products in the fryer, sloshing drinks
Stains on the apron, smells that never come out
Creating fine blends of tastes to please the pallette
From a multitude of ingredients


In another life I could have been a doctor.
Bringing to life little babies
Girls and boys new to the world
Postponing the loss of loved ones
Through medicines and life support
My vast and specialized knowledge doing the work of miracles.


In another life I could have been a long distance trucker.
Hauling goods ‘cross country.
Living the glamorous life like a gypsy
Hitting all of the hot spots for pleasure
Seeing the great USA every day
Beauty and savage hand in hand.


In another life I could have been an entertainer
Not just an actor in motion pictures
But a singer, dancer, narrator, mime
Multifaceted crowd engager
Reinventing myself to stay in the public’s thoughts
Through good or bad press


In another life I could have been a lumberjack!

Why Does it Always Have to be Spiders??!!

If I may steal from Indiana Jones and make it my own (his phobia is snakes). As written in the previous entry, the quarry where I work sees its share of nature in its wild element. I mentioned Jurassic sized bugs (how's that for an argument about Steven Spielberg's influence upon society? -- I digress) well, now it's time to relate a tale starring a much smaller sized insect. In fact, many dozens of smaller sized insects; allow me to explain:

Every morning my responsibility is to trudge along the railroad track leading out of the facility and open the property gate which stretches across the rail entrance. One early June morning I notice a very pregnant black furry looking spider hiding in the space between the upright bracket and the hinge bracket. Plenty of room for her to nestle into and go for two rides daily without getting smooshed. I dislike 98% of spider types but since this one appears to be leaving me alone, and since I'm trying to better myself as a person, I leave her alone too. I even tell her if she leaves me alone I'll return the favor.

Each morning I'm very careful to not get my hands anywhere near her, and her silken web is a visual reminder to keep my eyes open and pay extra attention. (Like that neon lime green reflective safety vest I wear on the job). A couple of weeks go by and all is well. One recent afternoon, closing up shop I notice she's changed her stance, her big bladder is gone and dozens of little tiny pollen sized black furry spiders are scurrying everywhere. I felt almost like a proud uncle...ALMOST. Well, I might have said "congratulations" I don't recall as I had other things on my mind that afternoon and my brain wasn't interpreting much at that time other than the important stuff -- which didn't include a brood of spiders running amok.

The next morning I swung open the gate, noticing the new momma spider wasn't where she normally was, but my hand had already grabbed for the pin which keeps the gate form swinging back shut. The brain told the hand to pull back and when it did I saw the momma spider drop from my glove to the ground and disappear.

"okay, don't panic" went through my thoughts, "she realized she messed up too, no harm no foul right?" and then I thought "Why'd you have to go and do that Charlotte?" in honor of the well known star of book and movie. I shook my head and carried on with my day, knowing I'd never see her again, having disappeared in the grass and weeds. But around lunchtime a new thought came to me. I was mulling over how respectful I was to her and how she unnerved me and it made me realize...what if she were saying thank you for my respect with a ladylike handshake before moving away to raise her clan?