Trains

I've got lots of stories about trains. Lots and lots. And they are growing in their various categories. And lots and lots of them reach my heart. My Dad was a Stationmaster - a real railway man - you could smell it on him, on his stationmaster uniform, and from the time he spent in the railway yards. I can recall the times he took me into the railway stations themselves as a kid. It was certain smell. When I walk into teh Carterton railway office - I dont get that smell - but at least the outside is famailar to what I grew up with. I lived by the rails for the first five years of my life, so I like to consider I am a railway child. Although clearly I am not a child anymore. This is part is why I like travelling on trains, and that I like listening to the trian toot its way in both directions at the back of my house. That by way of introduction is merely context. Anyway, heres one particualr story that tugs at my heartstrings - specifically in realtion to me and my life journey.

There's this phenomenon that occurs at Carterton Station. There are at least 4-5 couples that stand at the station each morning. The "husband" or "partner" stands by their lady, in at least two cases the man holds the ladies bag. Then when the train arrives, the man kisses the lady/wife/partner goodbye. And then....and then the man is there to greet her on the return trian home. Its not just "ageing couples". There's a couple of young couples that do this too. One brings their dog each way.

Increasingly, more and more, I think it would quite nice to have a man hold my handbag, pass me the newspaper, and wave me goodbye, and be there to greet me when I got home, and then we would walk hand in hand off to the home cooked roast he had made for me - or hot pot of fresh pumpkin soup on the stove accompanied by French bread from Moises and the homefire would be stoked..the house would be warm - and he would keep all the lightbulbs active and not wait until they all blew out before changing them, necessitating navigating the house at times like a partially blind person.

Anyway, whats prompted this entry? I guess its been building for sometime, but was jolted by overhearing this guy talk about his sister on the train home tonight. He was talkinga bout how at 38 yeah she was fine with no kids, no commitments, but now shes 43 and empty. Eek, I'm nearly 43, I'm not empty - but I guess I am reassessing my status as as a SWLA - Single Woman Living Alone. It used to be funny. I guess I am finidng it less humourous than I used to.

So now I just need to find myself the perfect man - refer paragraph 3 - oh, he would of course, also have weeed the garden during the week, so that at the weekend, I could merely plant out the vegetables and "potted colour". We'd talk about what we had done during the day, to which wed'e be interested, but then we'd talk about other stuff and make exicting plans to travel while he was doing the dishes.

Somewhere between these lines, as hard or not as it maybe for some readers and even myself to believe, I am actually being serious.