Escape

My daughter and I took an Amtrak train to New York the other day. As we stood on the platform, I listened to an announcement over the loudspeaker telling passengers which cars were "business class" and which were something called "quiet cars." The train was crowded enough that we were happy just to find a seat, but I was a little intrigued by the "quiet car" concept, so I looked it up on my phone.

Amtrak says people who sit in quiet cars have to talk in subdued tones. Actually, they shouldn't talk much at all, and they definitely can't make or answer calls. Anything that might ding has to be muted, and even the lights are dimmed.

I think Amtrak is on to something. At home, I have a place like that, and it happens to be my car. It's become a habit that when I pull into the driveway, my children get out while I stay in. Often I'll sit and sift through emails (or, if I'm being totally honest, Facebook or Instagram) on my phone. Sometimes I'll listen to a story on the radio. That time in the car is my escape.

The bathroom - a place where lots of people like to hide out - doesn't work as well for me. Inevitably there are visitors to the bathroom. Usually they knock, but sometimes they don't.