It’s been a long time since I’ve ridden the commuter train from the city. I got in by car but I had to fend for myself on the return evening trip. I was comforted by a friend who planned to be at the Fair, too, and assured me she would deliver me to the depot.
I was attending the book fair as a visitor. It was put on by the Midwest Antiquarian Booksellers Association. Long ago I used to participate when I thought it was fun to pack 20 cartons of books plus folding bookcases, set it up, and dismantle it again after two days. Not so much fun anymore. Besides it leaves large holes on the shelves in the store from the missing books until each one is back in its slot.
It was a fine event in a beautiful facility. I said Hello to dealers I hadn’t seen in awhile, and enjoyed looking at the large variety of books and even bought a few. The attendance was only so-so. People who attend love it. But there are far fewer of them lately.
Had a lovely dinner afterwards with friend Lisa who then dropped me at the front door of Union Station. I followed the sign to Tickets, stood on line and wondered why each ticket buyer was taking so long to purchase a ticket. When I finally reached the window and announced, “Deerfield,” she told me I was at the wrong place. Pointing way out there, she said, “See those windows with the white curtains, off there to the left? Go there and follow the signs that say Metra.” I did. Lots of walking. And carrying two heavy books on my arm. I got the ticket, found track 13, and went back to the snack/gift shop to buy a newspaper. The woman, nodding at my books, put my newspaper in a bag with handles, large enough to carry the books. That was nice.
The trip home was uneventful although it was pitch black outside and I couldn’t read any of the station signs through the window, couldn’t recognize the sounds of the voice announcing the stops, and had an uneasy feeling I was riding off into the wild blue yonder. Finally, “Deerfield” rang clear, and there at the platform was dear ol’ Art waiting to take me home.
But I am remembering another train ride into the city. I was complaining about an aching back, and a friend suggested I visit his acupuncturist. He would make an appointment for the two of us and we’d make the trip together. Acupuncture! I would finally experience it! That morning I met him at our local station, and when we got off the train he said he always walks, it’s not far. Sure, it’s not far when you are 6’3” and you can take one step to my four. I trotted next to him as he strode through the city. His wife is my size so he was used to someone panting at his side as he walked. We got to the office exactly on time.
How was the acupuncture? I wouldn’t know. I was lying on the table trying to recover from the race I had just finished. I refused a follow-up appointment. We got down to the street and I hopefully suggested a cab. “For such a short distance?” he sounded surprised. “We have plenty of time for the train back.” So I jogged at his heel all the way back. “Don’t rush,” he said as we entered the station, “we still have four minutes to get to the track.”
Did the acupuncture do any good? He swears by it. I was swearing too.
---- Florence
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