Thanksgiving in New England 2005

Our Thanksgiving trip to New Hampshire (a Christmas gift from my five kids and their families) to spend a few days with Larry and Ellen and their daughters, Emma and Anna, begins in October as Amtrak tickets are purchased.

We plan to leave Lynchburg, VA Tuesday, November 22 on the 6AM Crescent but cannot buy tickets back on the following Sunday unless we purchase them to Greensboro, NC. OK, fine! We can just get off at Lynchburg. The plan is to leave Lynchburg at 6, change trains in Washington, DC and catch the 12:05PM train to Boston. Because checked baggage is only delivered to Boston on a night train, we need to check our suitcases a day ahead of time. Sunday night we haul our two bags over to the train station, hoping they are not too heavy. They are filled with heavy coats and birthday gifts and Christmas gifts. Whoah! Now they can sell us return tickets to Lynchburg instead of Greensboro…but we do not have our tickets with us so Jim heads over to the station yet again very early Monday morning to exchange our return tickets.

Tuesday morning dawns early --- like at 4 AM. Hooray!!! The computer shows the train is almost 2 ½ hours late so we enjoy a leisurely breakfast. Then Larry calls at 5 AM to tell us his tale of woe. Yesterday a drain hose slipped out of the standpipe on their washer and flooded their family room downstairs, causing a good bit of damage. A call to the stationmaster gives us the information that the train is expected about 8:15 AM. I toss my boots into one carry-on bag and hope I will not need them.

We leave home at 6:40 in rain and a bone-chilling 42 degrees -- much better than the 22 degrees last Saturday morning! The rain-soaked streets are filled with rain-soaked, umbrella-toting people, waiting for buses. Hope we haven’t forgotten anything -- can’t see how we could have, judging by how heavy these two carry-ons are.

At the station we learn the train is now due at 9:30 -- maybe. The 12:05 PM connecting ride in DC is history. Yahoo! The train is due here at 10 and the agent hopes to get us on the 4 PM connection in DC. This will get us to Boston at midnight. He kindly lets us use his cell phone to leave a message for Larry and Ellen. I dig the cereal bars out of a bag and continue a plastic canvas project as we wait. It looks as though quite a bit of this project will get completed before we get to New Hampshire. We strike up a conversation with a couple from Roanoke, Mr. And Mrs. Mike Thomas. They are on their way to Albany, NY.

The announcement comes over the PA that the train is due in 15 minutes and the station comes alive. People are smiling again!

After a cold wait on the platform, we board 4 ½ hours behind schedule at 10:30. The sun breaks thru dark gray clouds as we rock along, enjoying the late fall scenery. Most of the leaves have fallen and our world just LOOKS like Thanksgiving.

Oh, no! More inventive mobile home arrangements! These folks had a single-wide but butted the end of another single-wide perpendicular to the center of the first one. The original was along a deep ditch so they placed the addition on pillars of cement blocks. Can you just imagine how cold those floors are on a frosty winter night?

Twenty miles north of Lynchburg there is snow on nearby mountains and Jim listens on the scanner as our engineer chats about it on his radio. Smoke curls from chimneys and gardeners have their “greens” protected with little tents. (Our turnip greens are on their own now. I don’t value them as much as I should.) Sunlight sparkles its way down to the base of trees and warms the leaf-rugs beneath them. The last time we rode Amtrak though this area, it was July (2004) and we were burrowing our way through lush green jungles. This time we can see so much more. The historic beauty of Washington, DC looms ahead of us. As usual, my nose prickles and pride stirs deep inside me as we catch glimpses of our Capitol, Washington Monument, and other landmarks that signify our heritage of freedom. Our train arrives at Union Station three minutes too late to catch the 2:05 for Boston. We wait in a line of disgruntled, impatient travelers in a futile try for a complimentary upgrade to one of the Acela Express trains, but must settle for the 4:05 Regional. Jim calls Ellen to tell her we won’t be in Boston until midnight. A repairman is at her house, trying to contain their water damage.

Jim and I are running on fumes. We had been planning to catch lunch at a favorite Chinese restaurant in the food court but McDonald’s is closer so we settle for a sandwich. Then we join the two-block-long queue for Gate H24 to Boston -- disorganized chaos but everybody seems to find a seat. It is 4PM and we have another 8 hours ahead of us. At 4:04 PM we are rolling northward as the sun sinks.

The tracks pass some pretty sad housing areas. A maze of overhead catenaries loom all around us. This train is MOOOOVING! Granted, it stops for more passengers every 20 or so miles but it rolls in between stations. Just as daylight is slipping away, we spot the upper part of beautiful Chesapeake Bay. Tonight all we can see is the glimmer of water, but, when I close my eyes, I can still picture the sailboat-magic of this place on our July 2004 trip past here. (See “On The Rails Again” at my website.)

As we pass through Baltimore, we think of wonderful Donna Cornelius. She is in Baltimore, visiting her daughter, Maria. They surprised us with a visit last Sunday. Such a special lady!

Soon our train stops at Philadelphia and we remember the day we caught the “Three Rivers” west to Chicago from this station. But, tonight we stay on this train and are blazing new territory. Next stop, New Jersey! This coach is packed. I wonder how many are traveling for Thanksgiving and how many are simply commuting home.

We are now 8 hours from home but a world away. New Jersey and New York are only street lights in the darkness. Ah, but after Penn Station, New York City is a wonderland of lights. I think we have spotted the Empire State Building. We see a sign proclaiming, “Welcome to the Bronx”. This may sound funny to you, but, to a country bumpkin like me, this is definitely BIG STUFF!

My plastic canvas project keeps me busy as we whiz along in a darkened world.. Finally, our train arrives in Boston a few minutes after midnight. As we walk toward the station, I see a familiar face. Larry is waiting for us with hugs and handshakes. I don’t want to let go of him!

Brr! It is 38 degrees and a sharp wind off the harbor is whistling around these Boston buildings. Our first job is to reclaim the two suitcases which were checked Sunday night. Remember, they are filled with heavy coats and Christmas and birthday gifts. An attendant informs us that the baggage claim department is locked up until morning. Jim and Larry realize that I am about to come completely unglued so they take over and find a friendly, well-dressed man of authority who has the magic key and restores my trust in Boston.

Our luggage fills Larry’s trunk and part of the back seat and we appreciate the heater as we head northward toward Bedford, New Hampshire.

Larry’s home is pretty much chaos with Service Master’s huge fans roaring upstairs and down to dry out the water damage from the washer hose disaster. The family room drywall ceiling is gone to the floor joists above us. The washer and dryer are on the second floor so water ran between the walls and through floors clear to the basement. A good many ceiling tiles are gone from one basement room and fans are roaring down there too. Numerous Oriental rugs have been sent away for professional drying and the couch and chair will probably have to be replaced. White drywall dust floats over everything. We learn that a lightning strike this afternoon destroyed their internet service and a power outage earlier tonight had them in the dark several hours. Our four-hour-late arrival just added more snap to their whole day.

We hit the pillow at 1:30 AM after 630 rail miles plus another hour by car to Bedford. We have been up since 3:45 AM and have been in 10 states today. This bed (Actually, the bed is part of a suite my parents purchased in 1941.) feels awfully good -- but, honestly, at this point, even sleeping on a sidewalk would be OK!

Morning dawns gray. We hear voices in the hallway asking, “Where is Gramma?” Emma catches her bus for school, Anna has today off from classes, and Ellen heads for Emma’s school with the ingredients for three kinds of bread so the kids can “help” prepare their Thanksgiving luncheon. Larry is busy with a conference call as Service Master arrives for a continuation of their cleanup job. The hardwood floor in the family room is buckling and the upstairs bathroom floor will need replacing. The plastic dryer vent hose is threaded though the floor joists and is full of water-soaked lint. Larry pokes a hole in it and water gushes out. The washer hose is doing just fine, thank you. It is back in the standpipe.

Anna and I sit on the couch, discussing school and rocks and friends and China. We try to decide if the white things drifting down outside are snow flakes or the feathers of a very old bird whose feathers have turned white with age. Snow flakes are the final decision but we have a great conversation about older ladies’ gray hair and Anna tells me about her Grandma Ruf’s pretty white hair.

A bit after noon Larry, Anna, Jim, and I leave for Boston as snow flakes gently flutter around us. Many of the trucks we meet sport snow blades. A good many places - including Wendy’s fast food joint - have tall markers along their driveways and parking lots in anticipation of heavy snow removal situations. New Hampshire is called the Granite State. Big rocks are all over the place -- Oh, I drool at the opportunity for more rock souvenirs! This whole landscape is one big forest with spots notched out for houses, towns, and roads. A stop at Mickey D’s fills our tummies. The drivers certainly are aggressive in New Hampshire. Larry is wheeling this BMW down the interstate at 75 to 85 miles an hour, right with the traffic flow as cars whip in and out of the lane ahead of us. Oh, my! There is no sales tax in this state but a license for a new car can cost a thousand dollars. We pass cars from Vermont and Massachusetts with snow on their roofs and they scatter white chunks as they tool along.

Today we are able to see the things darkness hid from us last night. A George Winston CD is softly playing as we hurtle across the miles. A bank sign proclaims the temperature to be 32 degrees.

Boston has built its main roads in a series of underground tunnels. We enter as a sign flashes warnings of heavy traffic ahead. Remember my comment about aggressive drivers? Brakes are squealing all around us as Larry hits the brakes for a stopped car ahead of us and a red truck barely skids past our rear bumper. It’s gonna take more than George Winston’s music to keep this gramma calm.

We emerge from the tunnel and see boats and the Atlantic Ocean beside us at the wharfs. My goal has been to see both the Pacific and the Atlantic Oceans. I was treated to a view of the Pacific on the Olympic Peninsula about ten years ago on a trip to visit Randy and Monica when they lived in Everett, Washington, and now I can finally add the Atlantic to my memory bank. This gramma is very impressed! Steel and glass skyscrapers mingle with historic brick buildings. Larry drives down narrow streets, then pulls into a multi-tiered parking garage.

The wind is biting cold as it gusts off the Atlantic Ocean, making us appreciate our warm coats. Tame sea gulls wait for hand-outs and ALMOST let me touch them. We walk part of the Freedom Trail. Oh, such narrow streets! Those zigzagging narrow streets become filled with horses and buggies and colonists in my whirling mind. Close your eyes with me for just a moment and picture Paul Revere and his pals discussing politics, then watch as they dump tea in protest. We Twenty-First Century citizens take for granted the many freedoms that we enjoy today. The goose bumps rise as we actually walk into Paul’s 300 year old house. Paul had 16 children - not sure how they all fit in that tiny home. The North Church is closed today but we drive within a block of it on our city-tour bus. Our driver points out more historical places than I can remember. Throngs of happy skaters are gliding over the carefully manicured, refrigerated surface of Frog Pond in downtown Boston. Since 1997 this rink has been open from November to mid-March on the Boston Common. Our tour is over about the time the sun is ready to set. That wind off the ocean isn’t getting any warmer and we gingerly step over ice on the sidewalks.

Our next stop is the New England Aquarium and I am absolutely enthralled by all those penguins, seals, turtles, and scads of fish. A penguin emits a surprisingly loud voice for as small as he is. One tank holds sea dragons and it is hard to even tell they are fish until they swim away. They look like weeds to me at first. We follow the spiral ramp around the humongous four-story tall, 200,000 gallon fish bowl. Myrtle the Turtle is Anna’s favorite. Too soon the announcement is given that the aquarium is closing in fifteen minutes. I’m not nearly done with that place.

All that remains of the sunset peeks out of a dark bank of clouds as we join a kazillion other vehicles for our 5 PM trip out of Boston. Now I can pick out places that we passed on our tour bus. Old Iron Sides stands sentry in the harbor and we cross the Charles River on the beautiful Zakim Bridge. This bridge is 10 lanes wide and is a cable-stay structure, illuminated by white and blue lights. It took 6 years to build at a cost of 105 million dollars, soaring high above Interstate 95 and looking other-worldly in the Boston night sky. Oh, such a wonderful day!

Traffic flow picks up the pace to 70 MPH as we get farther from downtown. We are 30 miles from Manchester, New Hampshire, and four lanes of traffic are still packed, going each direction. A sea of red tail lights stretches ahead of us. This makes Wards Road on a Friday evening in Lynchburg look like a cake walk. Eventually the lanes get less in number but the number of cars does not. Larry pops in a Christmas CD and we roll northward. A fender-bender creates a three-mile-long back up. Once past that, traffic cooks again.

Daughter-in-law Ellen is an excellent cook and she proves her reputation with a wonderful dinner of beautifully seasoned tenderloin, tender-crisp green beans and my favorite fennel/goat cheese potato dish. I’ve been bragging on those potatoes for as long as Jim has known me and he finally has the opportunity to taste them. Ah, he really likes them, too.

Jim dozes on the couch tonight as Ellen begins preparing her special dishes for tomorrow. Being a typical mother-in-law, I sit on a stool by the counter and watch her work. She and I agree that there is no way a new recipe for pie crust that she downloaded off the internet will work ---- but it does. Larry is on the phone to the internet service, trying to work the bugs out of his lightning-damaged equipment.

Thursday, November 24. Happy Thanksgiving! It is snowing! It is snowing a lot!!! Emma and Anna bundle up and dig out their sleds. This gramma follows. Oh, I am SO glad I packed my boots at the last minute. Behind the house is a steep hill, just made for sleds and little kids. I give the girls hardy pushes and they shriek their way through the 4 inch snowfall. The urge to go down the hill on one of those sled myself is so strong but the possibility of riding the train 12 hours home with a cast quickly overcomes the urge. But it is SO tempting! Such memories this trip is building! Hot chocolate and a warm blaze in the fireplace thaws us out.

Not long ago my friend, Heather, found a bottle of bluing in a local grocery store. This is the key part to a science project for the girls and me. We begin the process of making coal flowers or crystals, using bluing, ammonia, and salt on a piece of coal, a small rock, and a piece of sponge. It doesn’t exactly do a lot but, according to the directions, we must give it time.

Emma’s birthday will be December 7 so she is given her gift from us -- lots of art supplies. There is also a bag of assorted “stuff” for Emma and Anna’s Christmas gifts. The house is awash with stickers, colored pencils, jigsaw puzzles, puppets, fancy hole punches, and Silly Putty. Of all the loot, the Silly Putty is the biggest hit and the girls store it in the plastic canvas treasure boxes which I made for them.

Ellen spends most of her day preparing incredible dishes for our Thanksgiving feast. Later, we linger around the table, just enjoying each other and watching the girls’ antics. A five-year-old and an “almost” eight-year-old can keep a house lively with songs and dances. Emma pumps me for revelations of her dad’s childhood misdemeanors with her requests for “stories”. At bedtime the coal crystal project is still a disappointment - just a little dinky ring of white fuzz along the edge of the coal.

Friday, November 25. The sun is up and shining. And so are Emma and Anna. The girls entertain us with their hand-written stories. Larry is up early, still trying to get his internet service humming after the lightning damage Monday afternoon. He tears apart the water-sogged dryer vent and Jim mans the vacuum sweeper. Huge fans and dehumidifiers continue their constant roar. Drywall particles are still settling over the furniture. Ellen takes a boatload of laundry to town - no idea when that washer and dryer will be functioning again.

Oh, my! The coal flowers have grown overnight. There aren’t a great many crystals on the coal but the dish is ringed inside with white growth. We need to add more chemicals on that coal today. Maybe the experiment isn’t an abysmal flop after all.

The girls head back out to their sledding hill. Emma is perfecting her snow surfing skills and makes repeated trips downhill, standing upright on her sled. Anna’s attempts at the same thing end in a whoosh of snow and giggles as she sprawls in a heap. These kids have traveled all over the world and have lived in China, but, they are still normal little kids, playing with joyful abandon in the fresh snow.

Once back inside, the girls and Jim are on the floor, doing card tricks. The guy from Service Master says the floors and walls are still wet so the fans roar on. Larry is installing a new all-metal rigid dryer vent pipe.

At 2 PM we leave for Maine. Unbelievable!! The sign along the road says, “Drive with courtesy. That’s the New Hampshire way.” Ellen and the girls are in the lead car and we follow at the usual 75 to 80 MPH as cars are whizzing past us. Forests, rocks, and swamps flash beside us on Interstate 101. I spot a sign along the way warning, “Caution -- Watch for Moose”. There are very few brick houses -- nearly all have wooden siding. Interesting to me is the fact that EVERYBODY in New Hampshire has the same area code number. By the time we get to Interstate 95, there is no snow. Four lanes of traffic each direction are nearly bumper-to-bumper. The “Smokies” have two paying customers stopped and traffic slows to 75. We cross the high green bridge over the Piscataqua River and emerge in Maine. A turn off the Interstate feeds us onto US Highway One toward Ogunquit. The businesses along here all sport maritime themes. Tourist trap antique shops abound and I worry that the coast of Maine will be nothing but commercial establishments.

An hour and ten minutes from Larry and Ellen’s home we are at the edge of the Atlantic Ocean. It is more beautiful than I ever imagined! Calendars do not do the Maine seacoast justice. Waves are spraying over the rugged rock-strewn coastline and gulls are having a convention about a block offshore. There is a walk path that stretches for miles along the edge of the water. The wind off the ocean bites our noses and compromises our heavy coats. (A couple of years ago my pal, Edna Meyer, fashioned a warm, wooly maroon scarf for me and that thing is plenty welcome today! I bet she never dreamed her scarf would travel to Maine.) Every little ways there are benches so you can sit down and drink in the view. Those benches would be much more comfortable in the summertime but I sit on them anyway. The path is high above the water with a jumble of rugged rocks tumbling toward the water’s edge. People are climbing among the rocks. Larry takes Emma and Anna down one place and they return with a piece of driftwood and some seashells. Don’t you just know my pockets will be full by the time we return to the parking lot. Some nut is surfing the waves at a distant beach. I doubt that his wetsuit is enough to ward off the chill. Rainwater ice clings to the rocks and we carefully pick our way across frozen puddles. The girls scramble up a wind-gnarled tree; it is a favorite playground from their previous visits. Mostly, all you hear are the gulls and the crashing of waves. It is so very peaceful.

A restaurant beside the parking lot is a good place to warm up and have dinner. Darkness veils the ocean as we eat our meal but a spotlight on the roof highlights waves as they roar toward shore. The restaurant manager looks the part of a weathered old lobster boat captain. Opportunity knocks and I ask him about his past. He tells me he has been in the restaurant business all of his life. So much for the sea captain theory!

Too soon it is time to leave -- but I can’t go just yet. I stand in the parking lot, looking out at the spotlighted waves coming toward me. My mind’s eye sees the Pilgrims and Columbus struggling ashore and lobster boats chugging along with their heavy catches. What? Columbus and the Pilgrims coming ashore at the same time -- in Ogunquit, Maine? Hey, this is MY fantasy. Please humor me!

I stand in awe of that ocean. No matter what changes in our lives, the sea is constant. The waves keep rolling in and life continues. This soothes me and emotion washes over me. I am so blessed with a good family, a comfortable life, and a very special husband. Chances are I will never see this spot again and I want to engrave it in my mind so I can mentally retrieve this sight years from now as needed. Jim gently takes my arm and leads me to the car. He understands.

Saturday, November 26. We laze in bed much later than usual. Maybe all that cold ocean air sapped us. Can’t you just visualize our energy still floating over the ocean this morning? We hear the girls downstairs already so we best get a move on. We can sleep at home.

Ellen, the girls, and I head out for the skating rink for the girls’ lessons. Those two do a fine job of standing up, even skating backward on the ice. One little fellow is barely tall enough to see over his shoe tops but he keeps up with the older kids. (When I was in 7^th grade at the then-new German Valley Grade School, we had a skating rink and spent our recesses out in the fresh air. I borrowed a pair of skates from Don Cornelius. Kleenex, stuffed in the toes, kept them from slipping off and I loved skating, but I certainly never achieved the skills these two girls already possess.) Larry and Jim hook the trailer behind the navy blue car and haul away trash, then meet us at the rink for the jaunt to the Christmas tree farm near Concord, New Hampshire. Along the way we see quite a few very old houses which are attached to barns. Winters get serious here and many years ago the locals solved the problem of getting through the deep snow to tend their livestock. They never had to go outdoors.

The tree farm is a friendly, fun place and we are loaned a saw and a sled to make the hauling easier. The girls and Ellen check out about 50 trees before settling for the “perfect” one. It is definitely a photo opportunity. Jim and I go inside and warm up by a wood stove. A member of the farm owner’s family shares that she lives in Manhattan and is at the farm this week to help out. Her daughter will be attending UVA at Charlottesville, VA soon. There are several New Hampshire commemorative pewter tree ornaments for sale. Of course, we bought them!

Two cookies and a cup of hot chocolate later we are on our way with the freshly-cut tree securely strapped in the trailer. Ellen takes me on a detour to see the Capitol Building in Concord, then we drive through increasing snow toward Bedford. I find it interesting to see that the largest building in an Interstate rest area is the state’s liquor store -- and it is prominently advertised miles ahead of time.

Once home the project is to get the tree set up and decorated. Two little girls are massively excited. We watch as they and their daddy sort through the ornament treasures and talk about special ones. They have a look of innocent joy. My mind free-wheels again, this time to a scene of five little blondes, so many years ago, putting ornaments and “blinky lights” on the huge green tree on Florence Road. Years have gone by since then and those little blondes are all grown now, with families of their own, but the magic of decorating a tree still lingers in my Larry’s eyes.

Soon the tree glitters -- but Daddy still has plans - and some extra strings of lights. When he is finished, those extra lights are strung between the floor joists of the destroyed family room ceiling. Ever hear of making lemonade out of lemons? Only my kid would think of stringing Christmas lights over a wrecked ceiling.

We finish the evening with after-dinner dessert of homemade vanilla ice cream and a decadent chocolate cake, eating by candle light in front of a blazing fireplace, a decorated tree beside us, and Christmas music drifting over us. (Some of the drywall from the fallen ceiling is still drifting over us, too.) I feel the peace and love in this home.

Sunday, November 27. We are awake before the alarm goes off and soon hear little voices downstairs. They already have the tree lights running and are happily rearranging the ornaments. Hugs mingle with Gramma’s tears as the luggage is loaded in Larry’s car and we roll out for Boston. A huge fiery sun sneaks over the horizon and a hot air balloon floats in the distance. Traffic is light and only a few cars are beside us in the infamous Boston tunnel.

Boston’s South Street Station is a mammoth brownish-red stone building. Parking is good this early morning and we stop in front of the main door. The computers are down in the baggage check area but the attendants are most helpful after we assure them that luggage can be checked to Lynchburg. We wave goodbye to Larry, then go into the main concourse. Soon a friendly Redcap gets us settled in what he deems “The best car” ahead of the crowd. One set of seats has plenty of legroom and we are comfortably ready for our 8 hour ride to DC on Amtrak 99.

8:40 AM, exactly on time, this train is on the move. The track leads us under numerous highways. Somebody has an American flag flying on a tenement balcony. Our coach is not a bit crowded -- so far. Each stop adds more college students with their laptops and I-Pods. The coach is getting noticeably noisier.

Rohde Island Sound is filled with moored sailboats. Swamps and rain puddles are frozen today. Once in Connecticut, we have a wonderful view of lighthouse-dotted ocean inlets and fleets of sailboats. It looks as though the city of Mystic has more boats than houses! New London doesn’t have very many visible sailboats but has BIG boats and ferries -- also a 3-mast ship in its harbor. Sunlight glistens on the ocean and the waves dance against the rocks.. Water, boats, bridges, and marshes are everywhere. Trawlers are specks on the horizon, far beyond the lighthouses. A parasailer is doing his thing somewhere in Connecticut this morning -- no idea exactly where we are but I bet he knows his exact location.

Traces of the New York, New Haven, and Hartford Railroad catenary remain along with a gigantic coaling tower near New Haven. Jim spots a teddy bear attached to a catenary tower. We decide Lynchburg has better housing than some of the places we see. Delaware Bay is so pretty at Wilmington but we miss seeing the Kalmar Nyckel. What we do see is a constant line of industry from Boston to DC with very few breaks.

Just north of Baltimore we view the upper part of Chesapeake Bay in daylight. Even though sunshine is blotted out by thick clouds, the water still sparkles. Oh, such a beautiful sight! I love seeing the mountains but this water is equally gorgeous….maybe I could call it liquid mountains.

North of DC we coast to a stop. Our train hit debris on the track and they are inspecting everything. Jim hears on the scanner that some low-life put a big piece of wood on the track, which knocked loose a hose. At last we are on the move again. We are a half hour late arriving in DC.

Washington’s Union Station is alive with Christmas lights and throngs of weary travelers. We arrive there just as the rush hour is beginning and long columns of humanity jostle for position by commuter train gates. Policemen have a birds’ eye view of everything from their Human Transporters (personal scooters). Those boys can cover a lot of ground in a hurry and stand heads-above the crowd.

Exactly 6:30 PM the Crescent pulls out of Union Station for New Orleans and many stops between. We are in Coach 25059 and it is full -- mostly older folks and young moms with lots of little kids -- and many of those kids are not happy. They do not hesitate to express their dissatisfaction. We ride through the Virginia rain-streaked darkness and thrill at Christmas light displays in many small towns as I continue to work on my plastic canvas project.

The call for Lynchburg is right on time and we are happy to see our friend, Garland, on the job at Kemper Street Station. Jim goes to get our car and finds a dead battery. A friendly cab driver gives him help, then we drive through rain toward Heath Avenue. We have traveled 1260 miles on Amtrak and many more by car on side trips with Larry and Ellen. We’ve been in eleven states but home still looks awfully good. It is our corner of the world and is filled with love.

Thank you, Larry and Ellen, Lori and Jeff, Cindy and Freddie, Sandi and Mark, Randy and Monica, and all of the grandkids for a spectacular Christmas gift/trip. These memories will last forever. Merry Christmas!!!!!!!