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Saturday, my mom, Clara Jane and I went to Brick Front Grill, a recently-opened restaurant I've been wanting to try for two reasons: 1)I love Mediterranean food more than I love just about anything, and 2) it's co-owned by a childhood friend of mine. Despite years of not wanting anything to do with anyone from my days in the hometown, except family, the past two years have included many good encounters with childhood friends and some rekindled friendships. I think I'm officially over my gunshyness regarding people who knew me way back when.

Sure enough, my old friend was working at the counter when we got in line, and she recognized me right off the bat. That always amazes me, because I'm a lot bigger than I was in high school. Perhaps it was because my unwashed, windblown hair looked a lot like the perms I sported in the late '80s when she last saw me. I recognized her immediately, too, but I was looking for her. She looks exactly the same, only much more confident and pregnant.

After the lunch rush calmed, she came to our table to visit. We had a laugh over how funny it was that we both wound up in the food biz and commiserated on how hard it is to be in the kitchen while pregnant. It was good. Not just the company, but the food. One of the best gyros I've ever had, and hummus to die for. Good vegetarian options in the heart of cattle country! And gelato. Black licorice gelato. I'm so going back.

After a visit to my grandparents' house, where Clara Jane was stuffed full of marshmallows to undo all the good of the hummus she ate for lunch, we returned to my parents' house. I got Clara Jane down for a nap, spending a bit longer holding her after she fell asleep than was necessary, since I planned to leave before she woke up. She's had lots of visits to her grandparents' without me, but on Saturday she did something she's never done. When my departure was mentioned she looked at me and said, "I'm going home with you, Mommy." So far she's done just fine - out of sight, out of mind, I suppose. But that threw me for a loop, so I snuck in as much extra snuggle time as I could.

That's something parenthood has taught me that I didn't expect. I used to think that quality time with anyone required conversation and activity. What's "quality" about just being in the same room together? A lot, it turns out.

Anyway, once I put her down, I went outside for some horse time. Baby Cash is no longer a baby; he'll turn one on Thursday. During the train ride, Clara Jane informed me that she's going to make him a birthday cake, and I'm sorry I'll miss seeing that. Cash and I had our own little birthday party, though. I was petting him and letting him nuzzle me. When I stopped, he decided he wasn't finished, clamped the cuff of my jacket sleeve in his mouth, and put my hand back on his nose. Cute. Our cat does the same obnoxious trick.

What my cat doesn't do is this: she's never grabbed my breast pocket in her mouth and physically pulled my body back to her when I started backing away. Baby Cash is a smidge bit pushy, but I'm rather smitten nonetheless.

I didn't take any pictures of the horses yesterday, since I wanted to focus on playing with them. I took a ton of photos last time I was there. I did take dog pictures, though.

You're familiar with Chiggar the Dingo, if you've read for any length of time. You know exactly what he's thinking in this picture, too: "THE CHIG RULEZ!". I don't mention my parents' other dog much, mainly because she usually stays with my grandparents when we visit, as she's delicate and can't handle Chiggar and my dogs. Her name's Rhonda, and she's, as previously noted, delicate. Very delicate.

Rhonda originally came from a local Amish farm. When my parents got her at age two, she'd spent her entire life in a concrete-floor pen with other Labs. All of their incisors had been clipped to prevent the dogs from tearing each other to bits in fights. When Rhonda failed to produce puppies, they got rid of her.

She's skittish, timid, and easily startled, but never angry. Shortly before I got my camera from my bag yesterday, she was giving Clara Jane little kisses on her forehead.

When I arrived at the train station with my dad at 6:30, I can't say I was thrilled to see a crowd, waiting for the same trian. My hometown's pretty small and I fully expected to be the only pick-up. These folks - I have no idea where they came from or what they were doing, but they were going to St. Louis. And they were happy. I think some of them had gotten happy, St. Pat's style. They also had about half a dozen oxygen tanks for the eldest member of the group, which clanked and banged together and made me more than a little nervous.

The train was a double-decker, and we were all herded up the stairs. The conductor told us to all stay in the same car.

But ... but ... I don't wanna! I just want to sit on the train, rest my head against the cool window, knit my sock, listen to my iPod, and perhaps venture to the club car for a beverage.

You can imagine my relief when the conductor asked if there was anyone not a part of "the group". My hand shot up and I yelled, yes yelled, "Me!" Turns out the group was going all the way to St. Louis, while I was leaving at the Kirkwood station that services suburban St. Louis. Basically, the conductor informed me that the group was going to be sequestered in this car. Only he didn't say it like that. He just said that they were all staying together so that the conductor wouldn't have to open that particular car at every stop, so would I mind moving to another car?

As I grabbed my bags and ran down the aisle, the male-heavy group collectively groaned, "Aw! You're leaving us?"

"Hey. Not my fault. The conductor's kicking me out of your car. Have fun!" Because blaming Amtrak is, apparently, a part of the fun of riding the train. Oh, you get to bitch when the train has to stop to give another train the right-of-way, which can take up to half an hour. I used that time to listen to a very British pop mix on my iPod, made by my dear Sally. Nothing like listening to a little Lily Allen while looking at the landscape of my childhood:

I didn't hear much of the complaints during the 5-hour trip, as I stayed plugged into my music pretty much the whole time. The woman sitting a few rows ahead of me was fit to be tied, though. I could tell that even without hearing her. She ducked out for a smoke break during an extended stop at the Jefferson City station, and I'm pretty sure that had a lot more to do with her angst than the fact that her husband was waiting for her in Kirkwood.

Unfortunately, I had to listen to her as we waited to depart the train. "I'll never do this again. I'll drive," she complained. Not me, I said. "I liked having the extra time to be alone with my thoughts."

"Well, I don't like that," she snapped.

Coulda knocked me over with a Virginia Slim. This woman? She's not train people. She can just shuffle down the interstate next time while I lumber across the state in my lovely little Amtrak coccoon.

1. Runnin' - Heartless Bastards
2. Beautiful Sorta - Ryan Adams
3. Electrical Storm - U2
4. Comfortably Numb - Scissor Sisters
5. Red Red Apple - Fiona Apple
6. London Calling - The Clash
7. Blackbird - The Beatles
8. Bamboo (Interlude) - OutKast
9. The Man Who Couldn't Cry - Johnny Cash
10. Bliss - Tori Amos