Last week I called a friend I hadn't seen in a while to tell her of a dream I'd had the night before: we were each planting dahlia bulbs in our yards. There wasn't much more to be said about that, other than the hope for an early spring.
But she told me that she'd dreamed that same night that she and I were traveling to Baltimore. That was a much more interesting dream, possibly a memory of a past trip, or the hope for a return trip in the future.
She and I traveled to Baltimore one spring day in 2102, almost eight years ago now. Danny had set us up with Amtrak tickets. Since I was still walking around then on my original knees, he thought to add the handicapped notation to our train tickets.
And so we traveled in luxury, according to my standards anyway. We were seated in a reserved waiting room prior to boarding, and when our train arrived, we were escorted to seating before the regular ticket-holders got on board. The porters even carried and stowed our bags. That was a boon to both of us, especially since we had to change trains in NYC, and the same courtesies were extended to us.
I've ridden on Amtrak other times when the number of passengers outnumbered the number of seats available. On one trip, I sat on the floor, near the baggage area, and Dave pretty much occupied a seat in the bar car--- a smoky room, as I recall. And even if there were "available" seats, many passengers tend to spread out, with their belongings and body parts occupying the seats beside them. It may be that the porters should advise the seat hogs to let someone in, but mostly, they tell the unseated to figure it out themselves. So we travelers were pleased. When we arrived in Baltimore, the attendants asked if we needed a wheelchair or other help disembarking. We were fine without that, though we allowed them to tote our luggage for us.
Danny picked us up in his car at the Baltimore station and drove us to his house on West 30th Street. He turned the entire house over to us during our stay, and he spent that time at his friend's house, just around the block. We even enjoyed the company of his cat.
The reason for this trip was that I was seeking a second medical opinion for an eye condition which my home ophthalmology office had prescribed treatment for. I was skeptical of the diagnosis. I decided why not seek the opinion of one of the best doctors in the country. The next day, Danny dropped us off at the Wilmer Eye Institute at Johns Hopkins Hospital, one of the most impressive and efficient health care facilities I've ever experienced. As as added plus, the renowned doctor there issued an opinion in accord with my own, to not follow the course of treatment from my home eyecare office.
The rest of the visit went just as smoothly. We ate at a famed seafood restaurant, much to the delight of my friend. We had pizza delivered to "our" home, and enjoyed the company of our homeowner/chauffeur/ tour guide and his friend, later to become his wife.
I can't remember all we did, though I recall we walked through the Fells Point District and ate lunch there.
Our return trip went just as smoothly, ending with M. picking us up*where she dropped us off, at the Rensselaer station.
My friend, in her recent dream of Baltimore, must have stored this rather prosaic little trip somewhere in the recesses of memory. Nothing much really happened, but the memory is a pleasant one.
* Possibly Marilyn or Dave., or either or both.I can't remember who did the drop-off and pick-up
