The BNSF trains which I love photographing from a distance, but detest as they run the town’s corridor starting just a block from home, always at high speed with whistle blasting nonstop, broke a record for longest blast that night, at 2:22 a.m.
From this awakening I started the coffee early, but put the pot half in. Lo, eight cups of stuff running from counter to floor. It was also the last of the coffee. I set the mop out the backdoor to dry, and the fresh waft of skunk followed me in. And this, was a Wednesday not even a Monday.
I eyed bills to pay or homework to read but opted to restart the current Netflix series. From this, I ran all the charge out of my phone-clock and woke up again, this time, late for work.
After the charging bar read five percent, I saw a text from youngest daughter in Portland. “Mom, Mom, Mom, can you call me?” Oh boy. I knew her AAA was good so no need for a car tow, but it was also just 6:10 a.m. Texts outside of 9 to 5 bring news. Fresh off my night of trains, coffee and skunks, I was bleary, but ready.
“Mom, Mom, Mom, the bar said positive you’re going to be a grandma!” What? I was not only coffee less but now speechless. This was my youngest, a week away from starting her dream of grad school. Baby? Yes, youngest and her fiancée are gifting us in April next year. This Gen Y child also said her phone app said it was the size of a gummy bear already. Holy, holy. After 30 minutes of muffled screaming since Dad was still sleeping, I drove directly to the coffee shop for a triple shot. Forgotten was endless night of train blasts, errant coffee and malingering skunk: I was now a gramma to be, of a Portland gummy bear.