Fog Horns, Soup, and Train Whistles

While I surfed through an on-line college class catalog this morning, I had so many random thoughts meandering around and through Writing Non-Fiction and Writing for Publishing that I am amazed I could keep everything separated. This randomness won't mean much of anything to anyone but me, and I'm not even sure about me;  however, I will share it anyway.

***I thoroughly enjoy a bowl of homemade turkey vegetable with rice soup fresh from the freezer. I never truly enjoy cooking up a turkey carcass or beef bones, and removing whatever meat I can find. I don't particularly like preparing the fresh vegetables that I add to the broth. I certainly don't like figuring out the best way to cool the delectable results in a rapid and safe manner, especially in the summer. But I love tossing in frozen leftover veggies, rice, and miscellaneous broths that I find hiding in various freezer containers. I love the tantalizing aroma that fills my home. I love the sight of soup-filled containers stacked in my freezer. And most of all, as I did today, I love popping frozen soup into the microwave, heating it up, and enjoying every morsel. Aaaaah, good stuff.

***Besides loving soup, I love (are you ready?) crows. I wish I knew what they talked about. It seems many hours of every day are filled with their extremely loud discussions, debates, and arguments. I also wish I knew what in the world they are doing when they toss old, damp, moldering leaves out of the gutters onto my porch and sidewalk. Either they are trying to send me a not-so-subtle message on gutter cleaning, or my gutter is their private pantry where they store bread crusts, apple chunks, and my hazelnuts. Do the robins lose worms on the roof, worms that roll into the gutter and live on wonderful decaying matter? Or are raucous, leaf-tossing crows like children playing in a dirt pile? Wheeee! It doesn't really matter. I love crows.

***I love the sound of the fog horn. I don't hear it very often since the fog isn't usually very thick, but I heard it this morning. I think the horn I hear is attached to a buoy in the shipping channel of the harbor about one-half mile from my house. There is something quite lonely and haunting about its deep, resonant "oooooooooooo, ooooooooooooo." Yet, there is also comfort in the sound that filters through the thick gray blanket engulfing my home. "I'll lead you in," it sings.

The comfort coming from a fog horn goes back to the time I was 4-5 years old. My younger brother and I spent happy months with my folks by Lake Union in Seattle, Washington. We lived there while Dad was receiving Naval training. About the only thing I remember from that short stay was looking outside on foggy mornings and seeing nothing but gray--thick, thick gray, and hearing, "oooooooooo." To this day, the sound of any fog horn brings back my childhood memories of another horn calling from somewhere beyond the Aurora Avenue Bridge. Those were good days for this child.

***The train whistle is also a sound I love. I don't know why I find something majestic and alive in the sight and sound of trains. I count the number of cars rumbling past as I wait at a crossing. I marvel at the graffiti scrawled across many of the cars. Although such artistic expression is considered to be defacing property, some taggings are truly works of art. And, I wonder about the places the cars have been, the sights they have seen, and the sounds they have heard. I am sure the train has many stories waiting to be told.

I also wonder about the cargo. Where is it coming from and where is it going? Who toiled endless hours to load and unload the payload. Who are the paying passengers, and who is riding in an empty box car? To me, a train whistle calls out, "Come and hear. Let me tell you my tale." It warns me, "Watch out! I have important work to do. I'm coming through." And it invites. "Come explore with me. Come see this wonderful country and its people. Come."

If I believed in reincarnation, I was probably a railroad tramp in another life. But I don't, and I wasn't, so I guess it is time to hop the train in this life. I can be a hobo in a sleeper car for a few days. I will listen to the stories the train tells, and write them down.

Thus my thoughts went, jumping from one thing to another. They kept me amused for awhile. Writing this post has kept me amused a while longer. The day is now gone. I have done nothing noticeable around the house. There is still hope though, I could still get some mowing done before dark. I could.

Loving another day blessed with sights, sounds, and musing,

Jan