Sometimes I feel like the train’s conductor.  At other times, I feel like a passenger.  During some conversations with DH, I feel as though I’ve stepped on the train, handed the conductor my ticket to punch, and am on my way.  Woo, woo!

     It usually starts with him saying something from left field.  You know, that place where you have no idea what the heck he’s talking about or where it came from.

     My normal response is, “What?”

     He must think I’m hard of hearing because he repeats what he said louder.

     “I heard you.  I’m asking you what you are talking about not what you said.”

     He repeats what he said.

     “Where did that come from?”

     It came from some subject long past that has slipped out of my mind and meandered down the tracks.  Time has gone by, subjects have changed, and I’m not losing my mind I’ve moved on.  I’m sure you know how it is.  37 years with this man, you think I’d be used to it by now, but he can still drive me ‘round the bend at times.

     Chugga, chugga, choo, choo.  The train has left the station.