train tracks and dogs in waiting rooms

(photos from stopover in nyc on thursday afternoon, en route to boston)

written friday 4.23

i am sitting on the amtrak regional train from boston to philadelphia. it is friday afternoon and the train is slowing filling with people as we make our way down the southern edge of new england and toward the mid atlantic. the sun is sinking on the horizon and is painting the world a golden hue. the grasses in the estuaries along the atlantic haven’t come back to life after the winter and the contrast between their brownness and the blue of the water is striking. in the marshes, osprey are perched in their nests atop man-made towers. seagulls soar above the station stops at new london and old saybrook. islands, small and unnamed, along with fisher’s island, dot the coast and make me long for some isolation and a life that moves with the tide.

but along i roar and i remember i am watching it all from a train moving along at 60 or 70 miles per hour. mere hours ago i was navigating the hustle and bustle of boston on a friday. i sat in a coffee shop and read my book as i sipped a decaf soy latte. i took the T to MGH and was whisked by the elevator to the seventh floor of a fairly futuristic building, where i answered questions about side effects from a drug that didn’t even exist a couple of years ago. my blood was drawn and sent to a lab where it was tested for different levels and measurements of health. once again i hopped the T and went back toward harvard and met adam for lunch. as we walked, cars drove past, people talked and texted on their phones. i had a coke in a glass bottle with my lunch. it was the only old-fashioned thing going on. it all seems lightyears away from the islands off the coast of rhode island and connecticut.

those rocky aberrations with pine trees and grasses are so appealing to me. their rocks match those in places far to the north in new england and here they are, home in the atlantic, with waves crashing upon them and birds roosting, and in some cases, people living. i was talking with my friend yesterday, about how it is important to us to have the correct geography in our lives. it can offer calming support when we need it, a place to get away, and for me, a place where i am calm and find peace. i love the mountains, but i need water in my life. as i ride past the views of open ocean, i realize it isn’t necessarily just the ocean that I crave. it is the edge of the land, the meeting of terra firma and blue water. the relationship between the lapping, or crashing, waves and the land next to them. there is so much life in these places. it is so clear to see the meeting of two massive powers. it is comforting to come up here to new england, to know the mountains are so much closer and to know the rivers and lakes and ocean are never very far away.

to go in a different direction, i had the most wonderful time in the waiting room today. a man sat down across from me and set a duffel bag on the chair next to him. i wasn’t watching him closely, but saw out of the corner of my eye that it was a fairly large bag. i would have gladly continued reading my magazine (gerard butler and jennifer aniston) but the duffel bag let out a yelp.

there was a dog. in the hospital. this was the best thing that has happened in three and a half years of having cancer.

i looked up, perhaps with too much interest, as the man unzipped a little hole in the top of the bag, and a tiny dog’s head popped out. it was certainly part chihuahua but this was the best looking little dog i’ve ever seen. she was perfectly tiny, looking just like a handsome big dog but in miniature. i asked what her name was, but the man was unsure. it was his son’s dog, and in the moments that passed before his son came to sit down i admired the dog’s friendly face and laid back attitude toward the strange surroundings. dad showed up shortly and introduced us to isabella, part chihuahua, part daschund, and she was happy to be let out of her bag and into his lap. she simply lay down and kept looking around.

there were three of us admiring the dog, and we were each unabashedly happy to have her there in the waiting room. the reason i tell you about her is she brought each of us a reprieve, some comfort, in a place that so often has none of the above. for those moments we forgot where we were, we didn’t talk about our disease, and we just got to be big kids admiring a cute dog. i wish there was a program to bring dogs into the chemo rooms, if there was a way to avoid allergies and people who are afraid of dogs. because, as i know from life with gorilla dog, they bring unconditional love and so much happiness to life. that same peace i wrote about finding where the water interacts with the land can be found in a few minutes of petting the dog.

all in all, today was a good day. i woke up with sun gently urging my eyes open. my hosts had a loaf of delicious brioche on the counter. i got to spend time with a dog in the waiting room. and i got to sit in peace on the train, admiring the view and daydreaming of the world as it exists without the hustle and bustle that made this day possible.