In most cases, the title of this post is only poetic.
After a long journey one looks forward to, nay, craves the comfort and
familiarity of home. Getting there can sometimes feel like you are crossing the
world several times over. Everything takes longer. The night before your flight
never seems to pass and sleep eludes you in your excitement and anticipation.
Security checks at the airport seem as though they would be faster if they
simply strip-searched everyone. Taxiing the plane to and from the runway goes
at a snail’s pace. If you are fortunate enough to have someone greet you at the
gate after passport control and customs, your journey may be over because the
minute you get a hug from someone you love, you are home.
In other cases, the title of the post is literal. I have
already experienced what I described above. I traveled from Dijon to Paris last
week, spent a night, caught a plane, and landed in Detroit where my Mom and
Greg greeted me. I spent a few days with them before hopping in a car again and
traveling three or four hours over to Kalamazoo, Michigan for a conference
where I was presenting a paper. The weekend passed nicely, but my longing for
Minneapolis was distracting. I ventured back to eastern Michigan to spend
Mother’s Day with my mom, the first in several years, and the day after.
This morning I boarded a train in Port Huron at 6:20 AM
and set out for home. The first train, heading for Chicago, was to be 6.5 hours
roughly. Due to freight traffic, we added another 45 minutes onto our journey.
Luckily I had a long 2.5 hour layover scheduled, which did not affect my
journey much. I met an old roommate for lunch and relaxed for a short time. My
train leaving Chicago was so prompt with its departure I almost missed it! The
prospect of spending another 8.5 hours on a train did not excite me, but it
meant that with each passing hour I would be closer to home.
An hour out of Chicago, we received word that we needed
to stop because the train in front of ours hit a car who tried to cross. Delay
me all you want on my first train, but my second train, my key to Minneapolis,
that is just frustrating. Ok, only half an hour delay, not terrible. Thirty
minutes later we were told it would be another thirty minutes. Thirty minutes
after that, we were told an hour. Then we were told we had to backtrack to the
last station and pick up people whose train behind us dropped them off and they
still need a ride home.
At this point, I have been waiting on the train longer
than I have been progressing westward. I try to be flexible most days, and I
keep telling myself that I have already waited three months to get home to
Reed, Mea Kitty, my home; I can wait another three hours (plus 7.5). While I am
calm about the situation, I am mighty damn frustrated. I am also wondering what
I will do to keep myself occupied for another eight hours so that my trip home
does not seem to take any longer than it already has; I definitely prefer the
poetic version to the literal.
