Whistle-stop

During the summer months, one can walk to the local farmer's market. But, for the other nine months out of the year, one has to ride the Whistle-stop shuttle, as I affectionately refer to the van that transports a dozen passengers at a time, in a large loop. The closest supermarket by Whistle-stop is one hour away. The closest mega-mart, or Chinese restaurant is also a one hour van ride away.

Shopping for food in this manner means discerning need versus want. "Do I really need that extra large box of ding dongs?" I might ask myself. Milk, ice cream, frozen treats don't really fare well on the long ride back home. So, I have adapted by buying simple foods such as rice, dried beans, bread, honey, nuts, fresh fruits and vegetables, and bottled water.

It is a different lifestyle than the one I enjoyed while living on the upper East-side of Manhattan, where dinner was just a take-out away.

But there are good things about the Whistle-stop shuttle. The drivers are on a first name basis with all the passengers. Mike, with the bushy mustache, shares stories of his little doggy Emmet. Carol tells us all the latest Weight-Watchers benefits. Art is every one's loving father. Albert recites his favorite recipes. Beverly tells us about her new house. It's like riding with family!

Passengers board the van and share their stories as well. I listen. Living here in the Foothills, if nothing else, has taught me to listen. Some are stories of joy and celebration. Some are stories of pain and sorrow. Some are stories of redemption.

I look out the window, as I ride the van, and am treated to vistas of trees, and snow-covered Sierra-Nevada mountains. The next time you take public transportation look into the faces of fellow passengers. What do you see in their eyes? What do you hear in their voices?

A living prayer, that's what I see and hear. Perhaps, we---all of us together---are God's prayer?

What do you say, my friend? As for me, "All aboard on the Whistle-stop Express!"