So this morning I woke, feeling the same way I fell asleep, with a belly full of gas and cringing with pain while I held it in and smiled like there was nothing amiss. That’s right you read correctly. My opening line for my 6th blog and the 2nd entry for my writer’s journey is about flatulence or the inability to execute it…
Seriously, you might be thinking to yourself. Last blog she was tearful and all like missing home and full of doubt and now in this blog she wants to talk about flatulence — What happened in between? Well let’s see, the #1 train leaving Toronto was 2 hours late. I found a window seat, stowed my carry-on and sat looking out the window until I fell asleep. I slept on the most uncomfortable seats I have ever slept on and I have been known to sleep sitting up so I would know. Trust me when I say, an hour into the ride I was really missing my blanket and pillows. As it is, I rolled up my coat for a pillow and used my scarf as a blanket, (Natasha so glad I chose to wear the green scarf, that brown one, although thick wouldn’t have been wide enough to cover my…..body.)
Did you know that you have to bring your own pillow and blanket on the train? Well I didn’t. I thought it was part of the service, after all I was sleeping on the train for 3 nights — Yep, silly me. So onto the blog I go and in all fairness this topic does have to do with my trip, plus I am bored and need something to keep me busy. And, the information within might just come in handy for anyone who is thinking of touring Canada by train.
On a side note; if anyone talks to my mom before I do, tell her she was right. There is not much to see this time of year in northern Ontario, hence the reason I am bored. All the eyes can see from the observation car is an ocean of evergreens – Acres, upon acres, upon acres of evergreens. Which were lovely the first 300 acres or so. Majestic giants of the north dusted with snow, standing tall against a sunlit sky. However, after a while they all start looking the same. Now to make the scenery livelier someone should have decorated some of the trees with bulbs and garland – that would have been something to see.
Taking the train this far north is like driving down Hwy 24 from Brantford to Simcoe; boring, boring, boring. However I think there is not much to see any time of year. Oh yes, the varying colours of the seasons would be lovely to behold but after 300 acres of the same scenery it would become boring. And I would like to add; where are all the animals in Northern Ontario? I haven’t seen foot prints in the snow let alone a bird in the sky; it’s kind of eerie actually. So as the train veers around bend after bend, with lines of snow dusted evergreens on either side of me, writing about my dilemma seemed the most productive thing to do. So let’s continue with the story shall we.
For someone who has a phobia about passing gas in front of strangers, (mainly men) the train might not have been the best choice of transportation — Especially a three day train ride. Like any other public transportation there is no privacy and there are plenty of men on board; which in my younger years I wouldn’t have minded, but now that I am wiser and under the circumstances, men on board not good not good at all.
So you might be asking yourself, why didn’t she let them rip last night once everyone was asleep. Yes, most everyone was asleep, however there were still several restless passengers walking back and forth and then of course there were the stewards forever doing their rounds. Some point through the night I even relocated to the dining car which was empty, but turned out to be a busy through-way. I was the only one there, as soon as someone entered the car they would have known it was me, and I wouldn’t have been able to get past my embarrassment to speak with anyone the next morning.
Why didn’t she go to the washroom then, you might be asking yourself. Surely there was no one walking around in there. Yes, yes now that’s a logical solution however, I tried that, several times. There is a little something you don’t know about me; my sphincter has a sadistic mind of its own. Yes, I often refer to my sphincter as an entity on its own and if you continue to follow this blog, after this entry, you will get to know it quite well. In truth, I actually think it waits for the most opportune time, for it, to embarrass me. Since the bathroom wasn’t the place it could carry that out, it clamped up tighter than a snapping turtle on a fishing line. I love that analogy and have used it several times when writing about my sphincter. Yes, this is not the first time I have written about my sphincter.
Not being able to pass gas in front of men has been a long standing dilemma of mine. After all it’s not something a woman does in polite society. My Ex and I have actually had in depth discussions (And I mean arguments) about it. Personally, I think my inability to pass gas in front of him is the reason we are not together. Over the years I have written several proses on the subject; first-hand accountings and fictional, which I will share in future blogs. They always get a hardly laugh; I am hoping this one will too.
Now let me clarify the situation; it’s not that I can’t or don’t pass gas, because I do. I am actually one of those, wait-until-she-gets-home, kind of “farters” (before you do spell check, no “farter” is not a real word, but it should be). The moment the door has shut and I am safe in my abode, I let a day’s worth of gas rip out of me. Like a trumpeter it announces my arrival home to anyone who is in hearing and smelling distance (And by anyone, I mean my children.)
Flatulence has been a topic of choice while spending time with my sisters and mom on our annual Sic Lid Sistas weekend away. I have no problem letting one rip in front of them and actually eat food, like French onion soup, the night before just so I can participate. For some reason we find flatulence, hilariously funny. One sister, who shall not be named, purposely drops them right beside you, while we are out shopping or trolling the casinos. She then quickly disappears, leaving you to take the blame once the stale aroma of what she had for dinner the night before, hits the delicate noses of the innocent bystanders. I never knew that one day her, drive by gassing and sneak away antics would come in handy.
Across the aisle from my seat is an empty four-seater that has been empty since leaving Toronto. So keeping my sister’s flatulence antics in mind this morning, I casually walked across the aisle and sat in one of the seats. Behind the empty seat was an elderly lady who was still asleep. First, I made sure there were no men in the vicinity then while I looked out the window with interest and snapped pictures I let the gas loose. I figured if it trumpeted out of me or had an acrid smell to it, I could always look back and snicker like it was the elderly lady farting in her sleep. With her still asleep she would not be any the wiser nor could she defend herself. Don’t look at me that way, I was desperate. My belly was really hurting and I needed desperately to remedy the situation, before letting gas rip and a little embarrassment was the least of my problems. Luckily the gas just seeped out and fortunately had no pungent smell that I could blame on the lady nor trail after me when I went back to my seat.
I am feeling much better now and smiling like I am not under duress or a crazed Joker. However as I sit here my thoughts have turned to lunch and dinner and breakfast the next day. What will I do the next time this dilemma occurs; surely the elderly lady won’t sleep the whole trip away. Hmm…Perhaps I could stay a little longer in the breezeway between the cars, a little chilly yes, but that just might work.
I know, not what you were expecting me to write about on my grand adventure, but hey, I am still surrounded by evergreens, the train is still veering around bends and time has flown by while I write this for your enjoyment. Perhaps once we cross the border into Manitoba my adventure will get more exciting for both of us. And look on the bright side, at least I am not crying anymore.