Travel Tip

I discovered two seats on the MARC train that if you're lucky enough to sit in them, you can plug in your laptop and work without exhausting your battery.  Note, however, I won't disclose the location of these prized seats, mostly because I want to save them for myself.  If you look closely though, you might be able to find them and then we'll just have to share.

Shoeless Joe

My hubby had a brilliant idea.  He suggested that I keep a few pairs of shoes at the office so I wouldn't have to lug them back and forth on my daily commute.  At first, the idea sent me into a panic.  After all, say I needed the perfect pair of pumps one weekend and I discovered the exact ones I wanted to wear were holed up in a filing cabinet in my office.  How does one recover from such a shoe crisis?  But as I thought about the idea, I began to warm up to it.

I started slowly.  The first pair of shoes I left at work was a basic black pump.  I had two pair that were very similar so it was an easy choice to keep one at the office.  Then came the navy pumps.  I don't ever recall wearing them outside of work so they too have found a place in the file cabinet.  Most recently, I've added  my brown boots to my office collection.  This was a bold move.  I don't have a good substitute for them at home but I really hated toting them back and forth on the train because they take up so much room in my bag.  And wearing them instead of my sneakers as I run to catch the train really isn't an option either because of their three inch heels.  (Running in heels is not a skill I've mastered, nor want to.)  So, they too have earned a place in my office.

And frankly, with each pair of shoes that gets added to my office collection, I've noticed a corresponding decrease in my anxiety level over not having the perfect pump to wear. . . or maybe that's just the jubilation I feel because my load has gotten lighter.  Now, I spend my time marveling at how smart I am for marrying such a brilliant man.

Dressing Room

After more than five months of riding the train, it's nice to know I can still be surprised by what I see.  Let's take this morning, for example.  I watched a man finish dressing on the train.  I'm guessing he must have had a harried morning because he got on the train with shoes, slacks and shirt on and carrying a briefcase, tote bag and plastic grocery sack full of stuff.  Once he was seated, he pulled a newspaper flyer from his briefcase, unfolded it and placed it neatly on the floor.  Then he placed his briefcase, tote bag and plastic bag on it.  From his plastic bag, he proceeded to pull out a pair of socks and attempted to discreetly put them on.  He produced a tie from his briefcase and expertly tied a double windsor.  Then he added his suit jacket, which I had failed to notice earlier. Once he finished dressing, he proceeded to clean out his briefcase, which seemed to be filled with receipts, newspaper advertisements for black Friday sales, and assorted scraps of paper.  I guess the man might contend that he was productively using his commuting time, and I suppose I would agree, in part.  I may actually try to sort through some papers in my tote bag during my ride, but I think I'd rather do my dressing in the comfort of my own home.

Vacation is over

It's back to work and the daily commute after a week of vacation.  And frankly, it looks as if I chose the right week not to take the train, as the headline of this morning's newspaper -- Train commutes are off the rails -- was the lead in to a story of delays and stranded riders on both the MARC and VRE trains last week.  The most interesting bit information in the story came from a VRE spokesperson who stated that "About 45 percent of delays are well within our control. . ."  The comment begs the question then, why aren't things getting better?  The answer, of course, depends on who you ask.  According to MARC, increased ridership causes more delays.  Rather than add cars or trains to accommodate the increased riders, however, MARC seems to taking a different approach -- not making any improvements so people won't want to ride the train.  I believe the thinking is that if no one rides the train, MARC could keep to its schedule.  Now there's some logic for you.  I'm just glad this is a short week.

Dawn's Early Light

The time change means I can again watch the sunrise as I commute to the city each morning.  Sure, I know that this luxury is short-lived as the days continue to grow shorter.  Pretty soon, not only will I be arriving home after work in the dark, but I won't even get to see the sun peak over the morning horizon either.  So for now I will enjoy it.  Let there be light!

Scraping Ice

Frost on the windshield added a few extra minutes to my morning commute as I had to rummage around and find my ice scraper for the season.  Fortunately the frost was easily removed, but the experience was a wake up call for what is to come. 

Paying it Forward

Finally!  I was able to pay forward a surprise happy hour on an unsuspecting commuter.  If you recall, in August I blogged about a woman who carried an extra plastic cup with her Friday carton of wine in hopes of sharing a weekend toast with some new face.  On August 13, that face was me; and I was so touched by the gesture, I vowed to pay it forward.  Since that time, though, I have been unsuccessful in my efforts.  Not for lack of trying.  It seems that more often than not on the Fridays when I have decided to purchase a carton of wine and get two cups from the Union Station liquor store, the person sitting next to me is not of legal drinking age or is so engrossed in a telephone conversation that I have never been able to offer them a glass of wine.  That is until last night.

Jeff, a young professional  whom I'd say was in his early 30s, sat down with a sigh in the seat next to me and I could just tell he'd had one of those days.
 "How long have you been commuting?" I asked.
 "About four months," he said.  "It's killing me."
"Perhaps I can make it better," I told him as I produced my two plastic cups and carton of wine.  "Would you like to share a cup with me?"
He started to grin and said, "Is it red or white?"  "Red gives me heartburn."
"It's white," I responded as I watched his grin grow.

So we shared a glass and chatted for more than an hour and I told him about my first happy hour friend and how I'd vowed to do the same thing.  He said he would carry on the movement.  "Maybe not every Friday," he told me, "but I'll try it at least a couple of times."  I just hope I'm the person sitting next to him when he does.  Even if I'm not, though, at least I've done my part to pay it forward.