Take the last train to Clarksville.

Sweetie and I have driven to Indiana and then back to Missouri numerous times by now. Near the Illinois and Indiana state line is the Wabash River and vestiges of the Erie and Wabash Canal. Begun in the 1820s and finally ended in the 1870s, this canal provided folks in New York State access to the Ohio River, and thence to the Mississippi. 

Growing up in Northern Indiana, I could not help but absorb some of this history.The school bus that took me to elementary school drove beside this Wabash River. As an thirteen year old, I often walked to that river, because it was only a mile away from that wonderful house I lived in. (I still dream about that house, and they are always good dreams.) 

There was a Canal Street in Huntington, Indiana and an Erie Avenue. I knew that there had been one or more canals running through that hateful town. (Hateful mostly because I was 16 and 17, and could not wait to leave that backwater. And the hateful people it held.)

And now, I am sorry I didn't learn more about that place, founded in the early 1800's. It was close to Ft. Wayne, named for Mad Anthony Wayne, and I loved that. The area was saturated with history about both the white men and the Indians. And maybe even women.

So it goes. 

And now it is known as the hometown of Dan Quayle. Such ignominy.

In my new town, Montgomery City, I am told that it is a quiet place, and not to expect much after 9 p.m. Yay. If I were a 16 year old, slightly mental girl, I would be bursting my seams to be anywhere else. As a 50-something, slightly mental lady, I am so glad to live here.

Daphne du Maurier once wrote that everyone remembers, knows, what it is like to be young. But one does not know what it is like to be old.  

I'm finding out.