The art of train-riding

When I was a little kid, my entire comprehension of trains consisted of a mental picture of a well-dressed man hanging down for one last kiss from his girlfriend as the train puffs slowly out of the station. Or that one scene in Young Frankenstein where Fredrick Fronkenstein and his frigid fiancee are taking their goodbyes, and, due to her overly be-frocked and be-lipsticked self, they shake elbows as he boards the train.

This was the extent of my train awareness (with the exception of one train ride when I was ten, but I spent most of that so afflicted with motion sickness, that I don't like to remember it), until I rode the train as an adult for the first time when I was twenty.

Now, due to my lack of drivable vehicles, if ever I wish to visit the family, I must needs take the train. It is much cheaper than driving, or flying. Also, it takes me ten hours to make a six-hour trip. So, add that into my drive up from Mexico (made needlessly long by the ridiculous border wait) and it takes me from 5am to 11pm to get where I am going. And that is on a good day.

Train riding is one of those things that I enjoy simply because it is what it is. There isn't a whole lot of romance in the conductors rushing you up the stairs whilst you are trying not to drop your luggage on the tracks; nor in the potentiality that you will have to share your space with an unknown occupant. However, my favorite part of train riding is gazing out the window at the coastline breezing by. If I pay close attention I can spot things that I think maybe nobody else saw, and, looking down from my perch, I can see things in a way that I don't normally get to see them. Like the tops of people's heads. Or the oil rigs in the ocean. My especial favorite is the tops of buildings. Who really thinks about those? But some people do. I do.

I'm going home tomorrow for my mom and my brother's birthday. I haven't gotten them anything yet. What do you get for people who have money to buy things that they want? Especially when I'm much more poor than they are. This is where sentimental gifts are useful. Too bad I'm not very sentimental. Then again, I don't think my mom and my brother are either. I come from a very practical family.

Also, I have been wanting to use the word miasma in a sentence for a long time. But I haven't been able to manage it:

mi⋅as⋅ma

1.	noxious exhalations from putrescent organic matter; poisonous effluvia or germs polluting the atmosphere.

2.	a dangerous, foreboding, or deathlike influence or atmosphere.

See why?

Tuesdays in Toyland

I have often said that teaching is to me what eternal damnation is to mankind: An event to be avoided at all costs.

How is it then that I find myself enmeshed once again in the academics of teenagers? I'll tell you what it is. I'm a sucker. And not in the bad 'lets fleece her for all she's got' sucker way. Just the 'I like people and making their lives easier' sucker way. Some people call it a hero complex. That's probably what it is.

As it is, I am writing 'tween classes, whilst the adorable little monsters (with whom I spend regular time, since the social pool down here is quite small and we all end up going to everything together) plan and plot ways to ditch (which I don't mind, not really) or make my time otherwise miserable.

I had somebody 'talk vehemently' at me yesterday because I happened to mention "Dia de la mujer" which is Women's Day (which, incidentally, we never celebrate in the States, and I think we should). Said individual was male, and told me that I had no right to expect special things, because I wasn't a mom. I reminded said male of the harrowing experience I like to call La Paloma, and the crazy children that came along with it. He wouldn't relent, but we both knew I had made a good point. In my heart of hearts I carried the day, and bore no ill-will toward opinionated individuals. Also, I think he was messing with me.

So to return to my first paragraph. A little perspective never hurt anyone, and, thinking back upon the 'LP crucible', I think I can handle a group of teenagers.


I just finished reading Dune. I have two brothers who were raised on Isaac Asimov and other sci-fi writers, and, being the only girl, I fought my entire childhood against their collection of books and sci-fi parapheneila. Okay, that's not entirely true. I could tell you the entire history of Star Wars, the motives and thoughts of the characters. I am a Star Wars nerd. But I fought against Dune. Until last week. I opened it, and then I couldn't stop reading it. And now I'm hooked, and I blame my brothers, even though they are hundreds of miles away. Because I want more. Except I'm told that the post-Dune books are mediocre at best, and I don't know if I can in good conscience spend my life reading 800 pages of mediocre.

(I'm writing this whilst the kidlets are working on grammar. I'm half hoping they don't notice, but I think they do.)

I'm globosing after class. For those of you who do not live in Mexico, this is the wonderful weekly occurrance in which vendors come out of the woodwork to sell their wares (new and otherwise) and produce (which is cheap and delightful). There is a wonderful beverage that I love to get, and which I can only find on globos days, which is essentially limeade. But you don't understand. These guys have a special touch. Their lime-water is magical and refreshingly delicious. I look forward to it every week. Other places sell it, but I think there's something about the dust and the Mexican ranchero music and the smells of carne asada and churros wafting through the air that make this particular cup of limeade special.

I just gave David detention. He is the one who does all the brotherly things that my real brothers are too far away to do. Like change my flat tires, or lift heavy garafones of water, or give me hugs. He also throws things at me. Which gets him detention. Sorry David.