My love of pretty girls and trains

One of the many reasons I like pretty girls is that the kmajority of pretty girls smell great. In the United States alone female body wash, perfume, and other scented things are a multi-billion-dollar industry. And the same can be said about fashion for females. High heels included. Frankly I love to meet a pretty girl or two in Walmart and just stop as they pass by--giggling, shopping for more nice-smelling body wash products, fashions, perfume and maybe a pair of sexy high heels.

There are not enough words to express how deeply I appreciate pretty girls and yes, those gorgeous women CEO's, lawyer's, doctor's and police officers. No mortal man or woman is that intelligent to tackle this task of totally-expressing the beauty,Now aroma, and grace of women.

There is, to me, something magical in the way pretty girls and women just breeze down the sidewalk or through Walmart. I am here to tell you that watching them walk is such a blessing that again, I am hobbled in the ability to express my love and appreciatiion for females as they walk alone or with another gorgeous female.

The same can almost be said about trains. Yes, trains. Like I said in my summary you would have to live as me for a week to understand my thought processes.

My love for trains goes back to when I was about the age of nine. I was not that bright, but I knew beauty and how to appreciate it in its various forms as well as what smelled good and what did not.

The diesel fuel that trains burn to me, smells great. Call me stupid, but that is me. I love to sit by a traintrack and smell the smoke generated by a diesel locomotive as it jars the ground as it pulls its boxcars and flat freight cars down the track. I think that in another life I was kin to Jimmy Rogers, the famous Country singer that was dubbed as "The Father of Country Music," who also loved and sang about freight trains as well as hobos.

And talk about beauty to me, there is nothing (but a pretty girl or two) that can equal or define the word, beauty, as much as a flashy-freight train going top-speed down miles and miles of steel rails making them hum as it speeds toward its destination.

So you see the similarities between pretty girls and trains are many. From the smells, eye-freezing looks, to the way each one moves in its particular trek in our lives.

But if I were to choose between the two, pretty girls or trains, which one is my ultimate favorite. I would have to choose . . .

Pretty girls, of course. Because as flashy and great-smelling as they are, freight trains cannot talk.

I thank YOU for reading this, and all of the hubs that I labor to publish.

I hope that this hub has not offended any girls, women, or the organizations that they have formed and use to secure their place in the workplace, politics and society.

And the same for lovers of trains.

I say this because THIS, FRIENDS, IS NOT A COMEDY HUB. It was written from my heart and with a lot of sincerity.

Thank you.

KENNETH

I want to leave you with a favorite childhood memory . . .

About age nine, my mom and dad went with my mom's oldest sister and her husband, Robbie and Dow Terry, Hamilton, Alabama, to an all-day Sacred Harp Singing, a style of singing without musical instruments, but the entire congregation sings a song chosen by the various song leaders.

It was so much fun. Well, to the adults. I grew bored quickly and begged my mom if I could go outside (for it was a gorgeous summer day) and just play until the singing was concluded. Amazingly, the said yes.

And off I went. Free. On my own and ready to see what I could get into. This is the truth, my friends.

The first stop, the basement of the church that was in the process of being remodeled, thus, there was paint, chalking, paint thinner, sheet rock, and even some hammers and nails for a boy of nine to play with, but for some mysterious reason, these items didn't interest me, but something I saw when arrived did.

A beautiful high bank covered with Kudzu, a plant given to our country by Japan and what a menace it is. It will grow and cover most any building or tree without any feeding or watering.

At the bottom of this bank was a rail road. I loved it. I could even see the grease on the inner-side of the rails threw off by numerous freight trains. I was in "heaven," for a while. I knew that the singing would conclude way over in the shadows of the evening so I had to make good use of my time.

Walking the tracks until I was out of sight was not a wise choice. I didn't need to give my mom any static because she did allow me to be outside while the singing was going on.

Ahhh, I couldn't believe me eyes. Laying on its side in the Kudzu was an automobile tire. And still in good shape. My mind's gears began to click and grind on what I should do with this tire for some needed-fun.

Eureka! I had it.

I took the tire to the very top of the high bank, (not an easy task, I tell you), and stood there for a moment and thought. And thought.

Eureka again! Another idea.

I slowly took the tire to the edge of the bank and before I knew it, the tire sailed from my shaking hands all the way down to the rail road tracks, but didn't roll over the tracks like I had imagined it to do, but instead it stopped and lay down smack-dab in the middle of the tracks.

Oh my God! I did call His name at this time.

I couldn't yell for that would disturb the singers, mom and dad too with Robbie and Dow and my butt would be on fire in seconds.

So I just silently prayed in my heart for a train not to come by before we left the singing. And leave it to God for answering my prayer for no trains came down the track while I was there, but on the way home, during supper at home and even in bed that night, I worried, grieved, and sweated a gallon of sweat. No lie.

I was afraid I would hear a news bulletin on our Wizard radio that dad bought at the local Western Auto in Hamilton, about a tragic train wreck at that church's location.

I never heard any bulletin. Or read about a train wreck in our local paper.

Even with all of this fear and stress . . .I STILL LOVE TRAINS.

Hubs, I have discovered, do not be to be too lengthy to make a point. I am putting that formula to work for me in this hub entitled, "My love for pretty girls and trains," just in case you didn'read my headline.

Take for instance pretty girls, to be fair and up front. What normal, red-blooded guy anywhere on earth hates to gaze and take-in pretty girls? Anybody? Anyone? I didn't think so. So, I take this as a majority-rule event.

TRAINS not only served as vehicles of entertainment as passengers discovered this new way of getting from one point to the other, but helped major industries in our country to become instantly-prosperous by shipping their goods across country to clients who supported their factories. In the infancy of trains, this particular model was known as a "Puffing Billy," due to the billows of smoke belching from the smokestack at the front of the locomotive. There was an engineer and an attendant who kept the huge boiler stocked with dry wood to keep the fire hot to cause the water in the round part of the engine to boil making the needed-steam to keep the train running. Besides the engineer and attendant, there was a brakeman who set the train schedule and made sure it ran properly and the conductor who kept order inside the cars loaded with excited passengers.

YOU NAME IT AND A TRAIN carried it. From lumber, barb wire, to cattle and soon, passengers, America's trains handled whatever job was given to them. Thus, the pride that the various train companies had in their vehicles that made the steel rails sing. Later as America grew, the train met it's first rival, a diesel truck with a trailer that also carried merchandise to all points of the United States, but as the truckers would say, "safer and faster," and then the great fiery competition grew between trains and trucks. Before the truck stepped into the ring to give the trains competition, the barges that sailed up and down the Mississippi and Missouri rivers, and many more, carried coal, gasoline, kerosene, cotton and corn to other dealers who did business with the particular barge companies. Many economists still say that with the competition between the barges, trains, and trucks, America's economy grew faster and stronger than any economy figure in the world.

TRAINS LATER BECAME the central vein of transportation for businessmen to meet their clients from coast-to-coast. Yes, they could have went by bus, but that would have taken days where a train could reach the businessman's destination in record-time. But not only was the train used for transporting businessmen to their designated clients, but for entertainment. Yes, entertainment. Many couples who were dating or even newly-married, viewed the train as a "magical and wondrous carpet on steel rails," that carried them to where a Hollywood premier was being held or maybe a grand opening in a town far away. These couples loved the ease and convenience of the passenger trains because they could have a leisurely-lunch or dinner and have a cocktail or two and get in the mood for a night of excitement and dreams. America owes a lot to the trains, but there is no way that our nation can ever pay back the debt it owes the enduring icon, the train.

I could spend a lot of time trying to say more nice things about trains, but I can only say two words . . .

"THANK YOU"

to all of the train companies, employees present and past, living and deceased, all legends in your own time.

I appreciate everything you have done and am doing for our country.

KENNETH