Riding Metro North. Vive la France.

~ Live & Learn

moving-train

Monday.

2:45 am.

How quiet it is.
Too soon to wake.
Too late to stop the mind.
A hamster on the wheel, spinning.

Duras: “How quiet it is,” […] “Who’d believe our nights are such an ordeal?”

3:30 am.

Up.
Pre-dawn.
In the Quiet Zone.
Ascending to de Botton’s higher consciousness. Or somewhere.

Alain de Botton: “Perhaps late at night or early in the morning (when there are no threats or demands on us), when our bodies and passions are comfortable and quiescent, we have the privilege of being able to access the higher mind …We loosen our hold on our own egos and ascend to a less biased and more universal perspective, casting off a little of the customary anxious self-justification and brittle pride.”

I do feel that ascension. Now if I could only park here.

6:51 a.m.

Father and his daughter walk to train station.  It’s 45° F.  “It’s cold Dad.” I look down at her bare red legs pockmarked with goose bumps: “Why aren’t you wearing nylons?” She snaps back at me: “Really Dad? Nylons. Nobody wears Nylons anymore? That’s creepy.”

So, now I’m on the wrong side of 50 and creepy.  OK, so it wasn’t a focus area. And, it’s not that I haven’t looked at women’s legs. And there you are, a flat stone skipping silently across the water, jumping decades of fashion revolution.

7:15 a.m.

We’re sitting backwards on train. An acrophobic subject to motion sickness and vertigo, yet I’m strangely at peace here. You are sitting backwards and feeling great. There’s a message in that.

We’re in the quiet car. And it’s Quiet.
Yet, there’s dissonance in the stillness.
The papers are blasting Paris. Grief. Horror. Revenge. Politicians yapping.

7:25 a.m.

The morning sun beams in, warming.
Rachel sleeps, her head leaning on my shoulder with her hands crossed on her lap.
Warmth runneth over. If anyone laid a hand on her…
I set my Kindle down, close my eyes and look up into the Sun.

Mary-Louise Parker:  Now do like this,” you’d said, taking my chin and turning it into the sunlight, saying, “Close your eyes again,” and I did and you asked, “You feel that? You feel that warmth on your face?” I said I did, and you said: That’s the hand of God there, touching you.

God or no God, I do feel that.

8:17 a.m.

Father and daughter walk cross-town. NYPD Blues are Present. At Grand Central. At the front, middle and back-end of the Jewelry District. And blanketing Time Square.

“Have a good day Dad.”
“I love you Honey.”

I watch her round the corner to her office.

And she’s gone.

Ian McEwan in “A Message From Paris“: “Paris, dazed and subdued, woke this morning to reflect on its new circumstances. Those of us who were out on the town last night can only wonder at the vagaries of chance that lets us live and others die.”

Notes:

35 thoughts on “Riding Metro North. Vive la France.”

  2. “We can only wonder at the vagaries of chance that lets us live and others die.” Knowing this deeply, is why I practice living and appreciating every moment. Loved this piece David. Glad you feel peace and the warmth of the divine sun.

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  4. I commuted for years alone, a young girl to NYC. I truly wish I’d had a loving Dad by my side. Nylons huh? giggle giggle. I needed the giggle amidst the emotion. You’re a good man David. Grateful to know you.

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  6. Even I didn’t know that nylons were out…what does THAT say??? Well, I do know that creepy females do exist. 🙂 Anyway, such poignant writing. I feel like we are all going through each day blanketed in sadness right now. We look around and everything seems different for this moment.

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      1. Go ahead and laugh…I’ve joined the ranks of the creepy women who believe women still wear nylons…at least sometimes. I bet those creepy women on some of your blog posts wear nylons too! Sheesh, birds of a feather…me and the creepy women.

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  9. Beautiful, David. Moving. Your words paint a vivid picture. Although I haven’t been to the “big city” for more years than I care to count, I can still see trips to the city on the trains, Grand Central or Penn Station, the crowds and the music of the city.

    And the image of you and your daughter traveling together in the early morning is priceless. Thanks for sharing with us.

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  14. its wonderful you have this chapter to travel with your daughter. she may not remember the ‘creepy’ comment, but she will forever remember the warmth of being with her dad travelling in. ps I’ve discovered that their use of ‘creepy’ is the one word, that is guaranteed to zip my lip 🙂

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