the train is full of mennonites, and staff have been especailly insistant that colorful language will not be tolerated on this trip.
the world outside is snowpatched and winterbrown.
we pass warehouses and unnatural lumps in the landscape ominously surrounded by security fencing, grated drainage pipes emerging from their bases.
the man next to me has just been released from prison. he refers to his "white girls" (flimsy white canvas prison loafers) and is only lightly jacketed despite the biting chill.
the man seated directly in front is alternating phone conversations. one involves highly technical discussion about achieving the perfect tone of yellow in some manufactured cheese product, in the other he speaks to a woman named cheryl, exasperatedly giving myriad explanations why his patience has long since run out. "is it lemon yellow? yes but the syrup solids will crystallize in the storage tanks. 0.05% yellow #4 is enough, any more makes it too yellow. consumers don't know the difference, give them the creamy texture they want and a pleasant color and the return sales numbers will tell. not until i can replicate it in the lab" followed by "you really burned some bridges with that last email cheryl. yes, but we've been through that before haven't we? well, you've just gone too far with me cheryl, i don't know what else to tell you". he speaks so loudly about his chemical cheese products that other people occasionally look his way and meet each other's eyes as if to say "can you believe this guy?".
a baby cries.
the ex-con is having phone conversations too, even louder than the cheese technition, his speech well spiced with curses and slang. when he's done he asks me what i'm reading. i tell him. he says he's nearly finished writing a book entitled "who's the real OG?", an urban story with an overarching theme of God's power. then he begins to relate his hardship story of hometown return, how they tore down the subsidized housing his mother was living in, how his good shoes are located at an apprehensive cousin's place, not knowing where to find old friends. i offer encouragement and we eventually agree that the financial system is messed up and stacked against the common man. i trade him a $20 for the $10 they dispensed at the prison gates. he thanks me and gets back on the phone.
two attendants came through in the midst of their own discussion "i don't want the color of the gauze to be......"
on one side of the train a vast, empty field, on the other a newly built suburb in which all the overlarge houses shared the same extremely limited palette of mid-greys.
thin, gauzy clouds obscured the sun enough you can look straight at it, sort of.
the crying baby has become more emphatic, straining to get the sound out. the mother manages to muffle the wails pretty well holding the baby close and throwing a heavy coat over the two of them. she is also singing lowly, slowly to the child, like a nun in prayer.
on a low hill across a wooded valley lies a ski range lit up garishly in gathering dusk.
returning to my seat to find a woman sitting there, i make a distasteful face before realizing she's beautiful. "oh are you stting there now?" i ask, reaching for my bag beneath the leg rest on which her legs rest. "i just want to get something out of this bag". this is patently untrue, i had returned with the intention of taking a nap.
exiting the bathroom my door crashes an opposite one opening at the same moment, a young man and a young woman exit. he asks her if she feels better and i wonder just what kind of malady she must've been suffering, but her expression and unsteady bearing indicate general nausea. it's either too bad or a cunning ruse.
a small rollercoaster silhouetted against grey skies, a sign reading "pirate's cove just ahead".
i alternate meals. three basic possibilities exist, pumpernickel bread with canned fish and artichoke tapenade, hard boiled eggs on whole wheat slices with tomato tapenade, or banana with almond butter on whole wheat. which is breakfast, lunch, or dinner is a matter of whim, also there are almonds, dates, and chcoolate. i have brought along a bottle of stout and a flask of crown royal.
i have changed seats.
the kid in front of me is humming loudly and doesn't appear to be wearing any headphones in the window reflection.
a helicopter hovers over a vast plain, nowhere near a town.
we pass a wooden ghost town dominated by two stately, crumbling churches.
and a large pile of bright yellow sulphur on the snow, in front of a shiny, new metallic industrial facility.
an obese family passes through the observation car, flesh frequently striking the angled edges of the furniture with force, "oowww!" says the daughter, "be careful, this is a very tricky place to walk", says the mother.
a bald man and a woman are quarelling in the observation car, she's upset that attempts to watch a dvd have failed. "oh that's real fuckin' funny" she repeats agitatedly again and again, before stomping off. less than 20 seconds later she returns, this time repeating "i'm sorry" rather insincerely. kissing noises emenate. the fight re-erupts. "i just wanna watch a tv show that's all i want to do" she says impatiently. the laptop is open on the table in front of them but neither looks at it. minutes later she's leaning into him, sorrowful expression contrasting his, which is stern, confident. he is drawing her closer speaking lowly, steadily, not looking at her. they are having a moment.
quite a few pheasants are clustered in a field in the sideways near sunset light.
all the ground is gold and white, dry grass and snow patches, the sky cloudless, pale blue.
now he's going further, lecturing, his head nodding deeply, his jaw working. she is rigidly upright, stony expression staring ahead listening with obvious displeasure.
6 o'clock dinner reservations are being served.
a woman doesn't realize you have to turn the camera flash off to get decent eveninglight photos from inside, she'll have a lovely series of window-frame images.
every time i switch sides to get a better view of the mountain we turn a corner that renders my move wrong and premature.
the rocky mountains rise up abruptly, a great snow-capped wall terminating the rolling plain, an even higher wall of clouds gathering behind, at many points confusing the distinction between ground and sky.
"i need it by the month!", her voice raspy and vindictive, "fuckin' idiot!" crying now, a man across the aisle recommends the portland rescue mission, which he knows can be counted on to provide emergency housing in times of need.
a train attendant shows me a picture of her new thigh tattoo, featuing a geisha, rising sun, and other japanese motifs. "are you japanese?" i ask her. she says no but says she knows what she likes, no further details forthcoming, looks vietnamese.
a mother is telling her infant son "don't bite me! don't bite me!".
"i aint got no damn relations....." mutters the crying woman.
a man is shouting excitedly about a trainload of windmill blades alongside our train as we slow into the station, says his son saw the same train earlier in the day. his voice is unnecessarily loud, with a distinctly childish cadence. he wants very much for you to share in his excitement but seems oblivious whether or not you do.
a mennonite couple sits in front of me, the man constantly speaking in low measured tones eavesdroppers can't make individual words from.
a kangol hat and gold rimmed glasses wearing black guy resides permanently in the observation car, never appearing to speak with anyone or do anything besides watch what is happening, even when nothing is happening.
i look up from eating to find a woman staring at me. i had been concentrating hard on portioning out the artichoke tapenade, what kind of faces had i been making?
very late last night the unpleasant woman decided to make a few maximum volume cell calls, she was literally shouting in the silence of the train, i sat up turned around peered over the seat, my head scarf-turban wrapped. "think you might be able to bring it down a bit?" i asked, pointing down. she quiets down a little.
swans scattered on black water.
shopping carts and ferns were strewn across the hill.