Waiting for Train

Twice a week, John and I bike over train tracks on our way home from his preschool.  We arrive at this spot mid-day, poised beside a busy freeway, breathing in lots of fumes.  But, often, we catch a slow-moving train.

It seems quite idyllic, a boy on a bike (actually in a burley), a train passing underneath.  The first time it happened, we stopped, waited for the train to reach us, and then stayed approximately 3000 minutes, in 150 degree heat, as each boxcar creeped by.  Numerous bikers rode by, cooing at the sweet sight of boy and train.

The next time, we could barely make out the train's light, miles away.  John begged for us to stop, desperate to see the train approach.  Again, oooo's and ah's from others whizzing by, but none of them stopped!  It's one thing to watch a sweet boy watching the train, it's another sit there and watch it, too!

So these days, I feel a bit cruel, racing home from school to beat the train-sighting.  We do indulge in many slow-paced things - making roly-poly habitats for hours at a time, pushing the two-wheeler bike until my back almost breaks, pushing a swing until I fall asleep standing up, throwing a football back and forth for multiple soccer games.  But, standing in fumes for 30 minutes to watch a train light miles ahead, not even sure it's moving, I draw the line.

Maybe more of us should stop to smell the roses, stop to watch the trains.  But, honestly, you have to be selective.  If you smell ALL the roses, and watch ALL the trains, there will be nothing else - no dinner, no naps, no clean laundry, no bike rides, no peace.