"What time do you think we'll get to Austin?" I inquired of the passenger across the aisle. I'd just overheard a conversation between her and the talkative traveler in front of me as he wondered about his arrival time farther on. She gave me an estimate, and as the man rambled on, I heard him mention the name of a town that sounded familiar.
"My husband knew someone from there," I ventured to the back of the seat. The older gentleman picked up on my conversational tidbit like a trout grabbing a lure, and he was off. Just then Howard came back from getting us something from the train's snack bar and I nudged him toward the conversation. After a few tentative remarks, they were conversing like old friends.
In the curious way strangers have of sharing details of their lives, it came out that the other man was a retired pastor, and from there they had much in common, not the least of which was gospel music and favorite singers. Finally, Howard could stand it no longer and said as he stood up, "Do you mind if I sit with you?" I settled contentedly back in my seat to the satisfactory murmur of two preachers with their heads together.
Earlier, searching for seats in the crowded cars, we found an arrangement of three seats facing the windows in the observation car. "Are these taken?" we asked of a woman sitting in one of them, who immediately moved over and invited us to sit down. A lovely conversation sprouted as we learned she was visiting from California.
"I miss my grandchildren," she said wistfully, to which I exclaimed, "That's why we're here, too!" Turns out she had six children, three of whom had moved to Texas. Although she was Mormon, we had much in common, and her eyes lit up as I shared how God had provided for our family after Howard went into the ministry in mid-life. "What blessings!" she marvelled.
At a restaurant yesterday, Howard and our son (like father-like son) kept up such a lively repartee with our waitress that I thought we would never get our food! The jovial black woman had roots in the south and unabashedly boasted of her cooking skills. "My northern friends almost kill themselves on my red beans and rice!" she declared.
"Did you ever hear of Picayune, Mississippi?" my husband asked about the town where we'd raised our family. Her eyes grew wide, as she blurted, "Picayune? I know exactly where that is!" When a reference was made by our son to something in Disney World, our knowledgeable hostess recalled it, gesturing with her forearm the exact directions to it.
Not only have we been feasting at all the novel eating places our kids have taken us, but we are also having a feast of commonality with those we meet along the way!
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