Tuesday, May 10, 2011

Train, train, go away...

No, this is not a dog post-- although Dugan could use some additional training.  And it's not a kid post or a working out post either-- although if you know me, you know that those areas could also use some assistance.  This is a relevant-to-my-community post.  Because, well, I care about my community.  And it's the long sought after solution to the most eminent problem facing my community today.  The TRAIN.  

We have a train track (and accompanying trains, of course) that cuts right through the neighborhood.  I must be honest, when we bought this house I had no idea we had this train.  From our back deck all I could see were trees and bushes and a somewhat dirty pond-- but it was picturesque and serene and a little bit of "country" in the midst of suburbia.  I loved it.  It wasn't until that first night in our new home, as JMahl and I lay in our bed (actually, our bed hadn't arrived yet, so we were lying on a mattress on the floor), holding in each other sweetly and dreaming aloud of the life we'd live in this house, that that dream world fell apart.  We experienced our first earthquake. The house inspector was a fraud and our newly mortgaged home was collapsing at our feet.  Or maybe the sky really was falling, Chicken Little.  Regardless, save the kids and get out of here!  Unfortunately, it was our first night and we hadn't yet planned a fire escape route, so we chose to cower instead amid the clamouring and banging and high pitched squealing and shaking until minutes that felt like hours later, the noise and shaking subsided and we discovered our house was still standing.  
It was then that we realized we had a train in our backyard.  

Fast forward six years and, to be honest, we don't hear the train anymore.  It's become just background noise unless we have guests over-- guests who attempt to not pee their pants as the train barrels through; guests who squeal "What IS THAT?" while JMahl and I continue to nonchalantly eat our meal and look questioning at them.  "What's what?  Oh... that.  That's the train.  You won't notice it by the end of dinner."  And they don't.  
And I have developed a love-hate relationship with Tropicana.  I feel compelled to buy it since I watch it being transported through my backyard many times a week, but at the same time I sometimes feel as though if I didn't buy it, maybe it would find a different route to travel, since it always comes right about the time I receive an important, sound-sensitive phone call.  
I have also picked up some very interesting new words and phrases from the graffiti on the train cars... but those should not and won't be shared here.  Needless to say, if you ever hear one of my children utter a curse word, don't blame me-- blame Tropicana.  

So, we've come to live with our train, and it hasn't been so bad at all.  But then, recently, we were advised that CSX intended to buy up some property on our train track and build an intermodal facility-- ie, a place to load and unload cargo.  According to rumors, this facility would operate 24/ 7, would have 100 foot high cranes and light towers, and would just be an all around nuisance to the neighborhood and to any hope I may have of selling this house one day.  And I, along with my neighbors, got really up in arms about it.  

And then, I discovered the solution.  The solution to this train problem, this facility noise and light issue:  HUSBAND AND CHILDREN.

You see, as I lay in bed one night thinking about how annoying this Intermodal facility is going to be, my husband began to snore.  And when he snores, he snores.  So I elbowed him.  And he rolled over and continued to snore.  And so I pinched his nose shut, and he began to snore even louder through his mouth.  Just as I raised the pillow to smother him, the hall lights flashed on, footsteps banged across my hall, the toilet seat crashed down, and water began to run.  Thirty seconds later, more water running, another crash that I couldn't label, more feet running, door banging.  
Husband still snoring.  
Baby screamed.  
Child's bedroom light flashed on; yelling: "Mommy, Micah's awake"
Dugan barked.  
Kolbie yelled.
A bang as someone or something hit the wall. 
Light flashed off and back on.
Train went by.
Husband snored louder, but now combined grunts with his snores.
Toilet flushed.
Door banged.
Lights off.
From Kayton:  Don't turn the lights off, Mason!  I want the lights on!
Lights on.
Bedroom light flashed on: MoMMY!
Baby yelled.
Dog barked.
Husband snored.  

See? With all this going on, I won't even notice the intermodal facility.  In fact, I may just take a tent and a sleeping bag out there and call it a vacation.  

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