Calendars don’t mislead or obfuscate. They mark the inexorable passage of time. That was the burden of the message exchange recently with Shirley Morganstein, a great speech therapist who set me to writing essays nearly eight years ago. In my case, essay writing has made those years pass most pleasantly. While essay writing has occupied much of my time, Shirley has established her own company called “Speaking of Aphasia.” If you ever have an encounter with aphasia, it may be well for you to see Shirley who represents the gold standard for providing remedies for people with that disorder.
One of the by-products of essay writing is that there are occasions when an item is worthy of comment but not necessarily a subject that will sustain a full essay. In my career as a non-paid essayist, those short subjects have been grouped at different times under four headings. First they were called, “Odds and Ends.” That was followed by “Bits and Pieces.” Then came “Thoughts While Shaving.” Finally, when my driving career was discontinued, there were “Musings.” All of them had to do with short subjects.
To lend a bit of elegance to these odd lots of subjects, they will now be called for the time being, “Meditations.” Chapters will designate one “Meditation” from another. For the benefit of scholars, in later editions chapters will appear with numbered verses. And for those of you who consider my choice of titles and divisions being called chapters and verses as too Bible-like, you will be cheered and encouraged to know that the first “Meditation” will be called, “Great News – Myrtle is Ovulating.”

GREAT NEWS – MYRTLE IS OVULATING
Meditations – Chapter One

When a man has lived a long time and has moved around quite a bit, it is inevitable that such a person would use a wide variety of conveyances. In my own case, there have been cars, subways, buses, troop ships, ferries, and airplanes including the speedy Concords, as well as troop and commuter trains. In recent years in the Boston-Washington corridor, Amtrak has offered a new high speed service using the Acela trains. In Europe and Japan, dependable high speed rail service has been offered for more than 60 years. We have a long way to go to catch up with them.
Given a choice, my strong preference is for train service as opposed to all other forms of transportation. Of course, there are drawbacks like derailments and trains running late because of a cow lying down on the tracks. All of those drawbacks are conceded. What is not conceded is that a trip on a train is a relaxing and an elegant way to get from one place to another with minimum risk to the body.
In recent days there is one major impediment to train travel that has to be overcome. That is the loud talking blabber mouths who wait until they are seated on a train to call someone to spill out all the secrets that most people discuss only with their lovers and spouses in the confines of a locked bedroom door.
Similarly, in my long experience, it has intrigued me to find that upon registering in a hotel, some guests believe that is his or her license to begin a quest for a willing member of the opposite or same sex to begin a romantic encounter. It is the hotel that sets off this reaction.
The same syndrome is encountered when a person with a cell phone takes a train ride. As soon as he finds his seat, the cell phone comes out and the secrets of the day are exposed for all to hear. It must be the train that sets off such inanities.
Last November, for example, on a trip to Washington, we could not help overhearing a woman lamenting her chance to acquire a husband. She was seated behind me so it was impossible to give her an objective male evaluation. Had she been seated close to me, she would have been told that her chances of finding romance would increase exponentially if she refrained from loudly discussing her private and personal affairs in public.
Then there was a doctor who was responsible for the administration of his hospital. He recounted the financial misfortunes of his hospital for the better part of an hour. Mental notes were made by other passengers to avoid that hospital at all costs.
The overheard conversations did not contribute to our entertainment or to our store of knowledge. They simply had to be endured as a toothache must be endured.
In recognition of the cell phone problem on its trains, Amtrak has a “Quiet Car” where theoretically cell phone calls are prohibited. That prohibition is often honored in the breach as calls are indeed made, but the callers are much quieter.
So it was that Miss Chicka and her husband took a train trip on New Jersey Transit to New York late in May, 2005. Cell phone calls could be heard everywhere. It was a real cacophony. Our caller told all of us that it was “cute, cute, cute.” She said some article of clothing would “be cute and delicious.” This listener deplores the word “cute.” He did not know if the “cute, cute” appraisal applied to a new dress or to a coat for a dog. There are some things we are not destined to know about. As we said, what inanities.
On the way home, one leather lunged female cell phone user wanted to provide an up to the instant description of the love life of a woman who may have been known to both parties on the call in question. There was no such thing as ignoring the conversation because it was simply too loud and too clear.
Myrtle was the subject of the call. Presumably, Myrtle was experiencing some difficulty in becoming pregnant. Our cell phone caller on the train handled everything with aplomb. She announced to all of us at the outset, “Great news. Myrtle is ovulating.” She followed this remarkable announcement with the information that “Now is the time to get things done while she is most fertile.” Those of us who were unfamiliar with Myrtle’s gynecological and obstetric situation were left to wonder about the phrase, “Now is the time to get things done.” It seemed to me that this was such a sterile and non-romantic approach to a life altering decision. But “getting things done” told all of us that Myrtle meant business whether it applied to her doctors or to Myrtle’s male friend.
Unfortunately, we will probably not know whether Myrtle and her husband, lover, boy friend or casual acquaintance were successful by having her ovulation followed by a pregnancy. If pregnancy occurs, you may be sure it will be announced to train riders by Myrtle’s friend. Looking ahead it would be of great interest for all of us to know whether Myrtle has considered such eventualities as breech births or a “C” Section. So you can see we have a lot to look forward to on future train rides with Myrtle’s buddy.
Obviously, it is too early to know all these details, but there is a train car load of people who now share the secrets of what appears to be an effort to make Ms. Myrtle pregnant. Myrtle and her partner must be pleased to know how her fertility is well known to all of us.
For the future, good old ovulating Myrtle ought to pick friends who don’t have a cell phone or who don’t ride trains. Or maybe Myrtle ought to keep her OB-GYN condition to herself.
E. E. CARR
May 30, 2005
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Boys and girls, there will be no fewer than eighteen meditations in this series. Buckle up! I’m pretty excited about it; multi-essays are often my favorites, because sometimes he connects such disparate subjects with his transitions. And even when he doesn’t, it’s great to see how he feels about so many different things in the space of just a few pages.
He found his inner Andy Rooney with this one, that’s for sure. I’m sad that he didn’t make it to the era of people using video-chat apps on the train; because the phone must be held pretty far from the face for this to work, conversations are even louder. I’m sure Pop would have taken to photobombing these occurrences whenever possible.
Our trains in California prohibit having loud conversations as a general rule, which is largely ignored. Loud conversations are bad, but they’re definitely not the worst thing you get on bay area public transit. Crazy people are a routine occurrence, as are people who bring powerful portable speakers to treat entire subway cars to their personal playlist full of shitty music. Now and again you’ll get chain-smokers on the train, which to me are the #1 offender. I’d rather have a car full of phone talkers than be trapped with one smoker.
I remember taking the “L” in Chicago home late one night in college. As I stepped on to the train, I was immediately faced with a man standing directly in the middle of the doorway. He was looking down at his feet, and moaning over and over: “Burn God, Burn God, Burn God, Burn God.” This went on for the duration of the twenty-minute ride. It was phenomenally disconcerting. But still, give me any number of divine arsonists instead of a chain smoker, and I’ll happily put in my headphones and ride in peace.