I’m reading Waiting on a Train by James McCommons. It’s about trains. Mostly about Amtrak trains. About why we should have more passenger trains like they use in other countries. Apparently Americans are too independent to enjoy trains. Trains are expensive: the building of rail and the sets. Did you know we have hundreds of old trains tucked in storage that could and should be refurbished for use?
It’s almost time for the winter reading program set up by Daughter’s of Promise. I haven’t signed up for this yet this year. I tell myself that I need new books. Maybe I should take time to go to the Hayward library more often. I am a little stuck about it. I’m a lazy reader, maybe. I don’t have time or brain space for light and trashy or complicated old classics. Alcott, yes. Dickens, maybe not. I read A Tale of Two Cities once or twice and felt accomplished. Maybe I ought to try Great Expectations. I feel resistant to working that hard, although I want to learn something and grow up a little.
The train book is easy. It’s not riveting. I can lay it down anytime I need to. It doesn’t matter if I don’t absorb every word, because it’s mostly a journal of someone’s research and opinion. It’s nicely boring. There are bits of history and politics. And plenty of American human interest. It makes sense to me because I’ve ridden on Amtrak several times across the Midwest and into the Rockies and back. I might not finish it this time through. But it’s a lot better than scrolling. And I can go to sleep at night expecting the five or six hours of sleep to be sufficient to sort it for me.
Yes, I’m a half hearted reader, I suppose. Just give me an old children’s story like Understood Betsy and I’m content. The high calling of Brighter Winter intimidates me. It’s not their fault, it’s mine. I’d rather sit at the piano and learn a new song. Or to sit in silence and watch my little nuthatches squabbling. Will I get better again? Or have I lost it for good? Is this space of needing slower and less ok?
Stone House Scribblings 