This train passed us on our walk. Forgive me if the graffiti offends. I’m not even sure what it says.

Whenever my kids and I are out for a walk around the cemetery loop, and we are on the part which parallels the railroad tracks, sometimes we are lucky enough to have a train go by. Always when this happens, if the train is close, I stop my walking and stand by the tracks and listen as the train slowly chug chug chugs up the hill. I wait, and I wait, and then I wave to the engineer, like I’ve seven-years-old again. Sometimes he sees me. Sometimes he doesn’t. I’m always crazy happy if he waves.

My mom sometimes told a story about how I used to scream and fuss when I was little, not much older than a toddler, when we were out in the car and a train would pass by.  Apparently, I cried because I desperately wanted to go for a ride. Once when I was in the back seat with my sweet grandpa, he saw a train coming before I did (much to the relief of all the adults in the car), and he did his best to distract me before I even noticed it.  I think I actually might remember this. Or maybe I just heard the story so many times that I created the memory?

“Look, Robin! Look over there!” he said, and I turned and looked out his window as the train passed by on the other side.

These days, I pause and watch as the train rumbles by.  That’s one good thing about being a grown up, I guess. No one to distract you, to make you look the other way. My kids and I were out on a walk today, and a train went by, and I stopped in the sun and waved, and the engineer had his window open, and he waved back.