Get My Hat.

Fred and I are on the train from Anaheim to Seattle for our 24th anniversary. We’re in a sleeper compartment, which, and click the “Launch 3D Tour” thingy. It's a two-seater compartment that makes into a bed at night. We were supposed to have a 40 minute stopover in Portland today at 3:40 p.m. (and again Monday at 1:50 p.m.). Now, I figured this would be an easy way to see one of my new Lucies. But not only was the train over 2 hours late, she had other important stuff going on as well. We sure were thinking about you guys as came into the station. Tonight we will stay in Seattle until 9:45 a.m. Monday morning. So, really, Sunday in Seattle. But that’ll be very fun also. I’ve rented us a car for the day and we’re staying at The Arctic Club Hotel. And then we come back. It’s a high-speed trip. But that's how we roll. I’m only just packed the day before. Why? Well, that’s another Oprah show. We only just decided to go. (We invited the kids, but when they found out all the details they said, “Hell to the no.") Until Saturday, I’d had vertigo off and on for about 2 weeks straight. I’m so much better now and I treat it with seasick pills, so what’s a little motion sickness, right? Anyways, I got better and Fred and I are going on the train. Whenever my mother would hear a train whistle, she would say, “Get my hat.” because whenever her dad would hear a train whistle, he would say, “Get my hat.” Grandad was a bit of a hobo before he met Grandmalice. The End.