Tracking the Days

I have been at my present office location for two and a half years, and in that time I have watched trains come and go. The railroad tracks are approximately thirty feet from the front door, so to ignore them is impossible. I have decided to enjoy them instead.

It occurred to me about two years ago to keep track of the different engine companies and their numbers. I jot down the numbers, and my capable staff watches in my stead when I am absent. Before this year has passed two-thousand different engines will have gone by, and that’s just when the office is open.

I have seen trains that come from the North and South, Old and New Mexico, Canada and Texas, Kansas and Missouri, and the Union and the Southern. The tracks have been there for about one-hundred and fifty years, so I think I may have missed a whole bunch of them.

From my desk I have a front row seat to the daily drama on both sides of the tracks. There is a large orange cat that roams the neighborhood (he looks like he could be named Casey). I don’t know if Casey has a place to call home so I have put a blanket and a box in a shed behind the building just in case. I propped the shed door open just enough to let him sneak in and out without a lot of fuss.

I have seen a squirrel scamper right by him without so much as a lift of his paw. There are so many squirrels scurrying about the cat is either not interested or completely overwhelmed as to which way to jump.

One particular squirrel had been storing nuts in one of the flower pots outside the window. The day after I took the pot inside for the winter the squirrel came up to the window and just stared. “Excuse me, where are my nuts?” I never know how to answer that.

We have birds that have built nests in the gutters of the building and then their young fall out onto the pavement.  It seems like a poor plan to me. Once in awhile, after the window washer has left, the birds will fly into the window once or twice before flying on. I tell you I don’t have much hope for this particular breed of bird.

In addition to my daily activities of train spotting, answering the phone, and reading, I will on occasion visit with people, including the mailman or a delivery man. Sometimes I see people walking their dogs, or just walking. Emergency vehicles will go by, grain trucks will come and go, buses will pull up at the quilt shop across the street (housed in the old train depot), cars will park at the law office and classic trucks will leave the old fire station. Sometimes it’s hard to get any work done with so much to watch.

The thing I cannot see, that which I barely notice, is the passage of time. Every day a train goes by and blasts its horn to let everyone know it has come and gone, but the days go by with nary a whisper. It’s a crazy concept, but an older person knows what it’s like to be younger, but a younger person does not know what it’s like to be older. As I have gotten older I have become aware of a pattern that will, I fear, become more common as I age. Friends, in increasing numbers, are becoming ill and being hospitalized.

Life is so fragile and our days on this earth are not long enough. The train blows its horn and another day disappears out of sight. For the past five and a half decades I have watched the years come and go. They seem to be going faster as I get older and there is no way to stop them. I guess I will just enjoy them instead.