I’ve posted many a blog entry about my fond memories of Grandma and Grandpa’s house at the end of Rutledge Street. I guess friendly people, big front porches and endless plates of bacon and eggs can make quite an impression on a kid.
However, it wasn’t my recollection of their kindness, their house or their food supplies that struck a sentimental chord this morning. Instead, it was the sound of passing trains that took me back. Our new place in Kansas City is just above the railroad tracks that run along the Missouri River. Although you can’t see the trains from the window, you can hear them all night long. Which is exactly the way it was at Grandma and Grandpa’s place in Yates Center.
There’s something about a train whistle in the night that makes a person appreciate their bed a little more. It’s a lonely sound that always reminds me how lucky I am to be tucked away—comfortable and warm. It’s little things like this that will help make Kansas City feel like home and eventually bring some calm back to what has become a chaotic existence.