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Monday afternoon, coffee and book in hand, I waited at the pretty depot for the train bearing my husband. He jumped off the train, walked me to the car that didn't contain the Girl Scout troop all hepped up from their visit to "Princesses on Ice", gave me a smooch, and sent me on my way for four hours of solo iPod/knitting time.

Not the case. The train, thanks to the Girl Scouts, was damn near full. "Make a friend!" the conductors say when the seats are rapidly filling. I like making friends! I decided an older woman would be my new friend, primarily because I happened to be by her seat when I realized everything else was full.

She, however, didn't wish to be friends. She avoided eye contact with me and scooched as close to the window as possible. When the time came for her to eat the cold Church's chicken legs she'd hauled onto the train, she turned with her back to me, like I might snatch a drumstick out of her maw.

She was not Train People, so I didn't feel the need to be Train People with her, either. I pulled out the iPod, cranked up the new Arcade Fire as loud as I could stand it (which means the chicken lady most certainly could hear it) while working on a new sock.

It's probably this attitude that led me to making a mistake in the sock that required me to unravel the entire three hours of knitting I did on the train. It's also probably responsible for the constant buzzing in my right ear.

Was Clara Jane glad to see me? Oh, yes. Yes, indeed. So glad, I can't even begin to describe it, other than the say that the talking didn't stop for next next 14 hours. She didn't want to go to sleep, and she let me cover her entire face with lipstick prints. The feeling was mutual

Tuesday morning, my dad took us to the fancy train station in my hometown:

And we set out across this great state. Again:

Clara Jane fought sleep the night before and woke up with huge dark circles under her eyes. I hadn't brought earplugs with me because the two reasons I wear earplugs at night - my snoring husband and my snoring basset hound - weren't with me. I hadn't planned on sleeping with the windows open. My parents live near the train tracks. Do you know how many trains pass through their town in the wee hours? Four. At least, that's how many I heard. Either that, or they were nightmare trains, warning of the day to come. When we boarded the train at 9:30 AM, we were both ready for a nap, but none were to be taken.

I was a bit concerned during the entire trip about the rather unkempt man in the seat catty-corner behind us who stared at me for roughly 2/3 of the trip. The other 1/3 was spent emitting a slurpy, wet hack while singing The TB Blues under his ragged breath.

Clara Jane was a bit obsessed with the large woman - and when I say "large woman" I always mean larger than me. This means any woman I describe as "large" is going to be in the "I can't believe I don't fit into Lane Bryant clothes anymore" to "Holy cow! The Discovery Health Channel just gave me my very own show!" category. Keep in mind I don't intend this in a derrogatory manner because there but for the grace of God waddles my fat ass.

Anyway, the large woman in the seat in front of us wore head-to-toe blue-backed leopard skin. Drapey blue blouse, covered in leopard spot with a matching skirt. Leopard-print purse. Leopard-print luggage. Leopard-print cell phone that played "Secret Lovers", just like that one cell phone commercial, at least eight times in the two hours we shared the train with her. Even her hair - jet-black mixed with streaks of orange - resembled a leopard.

The first time Clara Jane and I walked past this woman during one of our many trips to the snack car, Clara Jane looked at her and said, "Mom, this woman looks just like a leopard!"

Luckily, Leopard Lady took this as high praise. Leopard Lady was sweet to Clara Jane and let her feel the silky sleeve of her leopard-print shirt. She's good Train People, even if she did make me feel a little like we were on the Big Cat car of an old-fashioned circus train with Atlantic Starr.

Instead of going to the pretty Kirkwood station, we opted to go all the way to the downtown station, where B. would meet us with the truck. We'd drop him at work and take ourselves home. Or so we thought. That was before it took us an hour to get from Kirkwood to downtown St. Louis (Miles traveled in this time: 15. Obviously, we weren't on the bullet train. We weren't even on the musket train.) I was fighting sleep, and Clara Jane was fighting me. Hard. Why? Because I wouldn't let her accost the back of Leopard Lady's seat with her feet. "Leopard Lady's been so nice to you. You shouldn't kick her. Besides, leopards are predators and I'll bet you're tasty."

By the time we arrived at the downtown station, I handed my four bags over the chain-link fence to B. Then I handed him his daughter over the fence. Then I went back on the train and told them to take me to Chicago, pronto.

Well, I did everything but that last part. B. took the afternoon off work and I fell asleep roughly thirteen minutes after walking in the house, which included the time it took to empty 24 ounces of Amtrak coffee from my bladder. I've heard rumors that Clara Jane fell asleep shortly after me, and we were both out for three hours.

I had nightmares about tubercular leopards.