Tell Me a Story

     After singing in the car, my second favorite way to amuse the children when we're on a long drive is to play the "tell me a story" game.  I'll point at a pedestrian, construction site, car, etc., and ask them to tell me the story behind the scene.

     We start off with the usual or easy ones ... They're in a trip ... She's going to a meeting ... It's a new strip mall.  Once those are out of the way, they can imagine the hidden story better.  Like ... They're running from the law, taking as much as could fit in the station wagon ... She's a spy on her way to meet her contact ... It's an unsuspecting grocery store on the outside to mask the hell mouth underneath (that one's mine).

     It's more interesting to play on the subway.  So ...

Tell me a story ...

Hat & Gloves

     It was 19 degrees when I left the house, with a wind chill of 5 degrees.  I am dressed completely appropriately for the weather - good coat, scarf, hat, gloves ... And I will admit, long johns.  I don't feel it necessary to be cold, if I don't have to be cold.  Many of my fellow passengers are dressed the same.  But some aren't.

     Rather than believe it's all due to vanity, those men & women that refuse to mess up their hair, it's probably financial.  For that reason, I'm quite sad.  I've seen mothers shuffling bundled children on and off the train this morning, but their own coats leave much to be desired.  It makes me want to take them aside and ask if they need help.  But how would I interpret that move if the shoe was on the other foot?  Better to find less overt and more appropriate moments in which to act. 

     I've always been a big proponent of wearing a hat & gloves ... Many people over the years at work have heard me go on and on.  Everyone assumes it's because of my children, my desire to nurture and mother the world.  Actually, if you deal with uncertainty as a child; from hunger, or housing, or transportation, or potential parental abandonment or death ... You tend to worry, to prepare just in case.  Keep those gloves or an extra hat in the car.  What if your car breaks down and you have to walk.  Keep several days worth of food (or more) in the house.  What if there's an emergency or your neighbor needs help. 
     When I was little, our family cars would often break down, leaving us stranded.  I can remember my mother deciding whether to take us with her when she ran an errand.  She would have to mentally decide ... bring us and have help carrying the groceries, or leave us and know we were safe.  So much goes through my head even now as the temperature drops.

     So please, for me, please ... Put a hat on.  Love ... Heather

Both Sides

     Lest ye think I am ignoring both sides of this issue:

     There are plenty of women out there that take up more than one seat, too.  (For some, it's not just about the purse.  But I digress.). I would have taken a forward facing photo, but I know with 100% certainty that this woman could kick my ass ... And not just because I'm still sick.  She could kick it all day, every day.  I've made it a point in my life to avoid outright conflict for several reasons, from my own desire to not go to jail, to not wanting to end up in the hospital.  My track record shows that I've been a good judge of my situation and any potential participants.  I'm going to keep my pristine record.

Recent Pictures

The Flying V in all its glory.

Nosey Nellie

This is a Nosey Nellie:

     The whole ride, he vacillated between the smart phone on one side and the book on the other.  He made no attempt to be discreet about it either.

     When I was a little girl, my mother told me it was rude to read/watch over other peoples shoulders.  Keep your eyes front and forward.  To this day, if I catch my gaze wandering the guilt switch my mother implanted at birth triggers, and I immediately correct my error.  Front and forward.

Overheard

     I overheard a conversation on the way home that I found both interesting and sad.  This college-aged looking couple, male and female, we're discussing their lives, stress and a mutual friend.  During the discussion, the female mentioned that the mutual friend seemed depressed all the time.  She had talked to this person about trying to find happier things to focus on.  Then she mentioned that she didn't want to use the word "depressed" for fear that the friend would both feel stigmatized by the word, and actually become really depressed.  As though her voicing the word would give the notion power.  I was amazed by this thought process.

     Then the male mentioned that his cousin was sounding depressed during a recent phone call.  He said he wasn't really sure even though the cousin had told him he didn't want to live anymore.  The female sort of gasped, and the male told her it was probably a ploy by the cousin for attention.  And with that, they continued on another topic, as I got off the train.

     The whole conversation made me sad.  Mental health issues are prevalent and shouldn't be trifled with or poo-poo'd away.  Very rarely will someone come right out and ask for help, as in the above example.  I had sadness for the cousin who needs help, for the male who may lose someone he cares for, and for the female who felt as though she shouldn't or couldn't voice her concerns.

     

     

Throwdown

     There was almost a middle aged woman throw down on my morning train.  Picture this:

     Snooty woman, all matching black ensemble with a hat that's got fur around the edge.  She's seated.  Another woman gets on, dressed regularly with a large bag that says "St. Marten, the friendly island." She's got really long hair, down almost to the small of her back.  She stands in front of snooty, and her hair (as I've mentioned before with my own hair) flys out towards Snooty.  Snooty pushes it aside and says something like "your hair."  St. Marten takes this as a compliment, smiles and thinks they're about to engage in a pleasant conversation.

     Snooty: your hair. It's in my face. 

     St. M.: what ... Oh, uh sorry.

     Snooty: be careful.

     St. M.: excuse me?

     Snooty: I'm allergic.  I'm sure we don't want me to start sneezing on here.

     St. M.: whatever.

     Snooty: I said, I'm allergic.

     St. Marten turns away. The train comes to Snooty's stop. St. Marten refuses to step to the side to allow her to get off.  This causes Snooty to have to inconvenience herself with an additional step.  As he leaves, St. Marten takes her seat and smiles.