Sunday we had a family outing at the Orange Empire Railway Museum in Perris, California. "Family" consisted of my husband and me, our kids, grandkids, my brother and sister-in-law and their crew.My husband and I left late-- a given for us--and I forgot to tape Monk, which was airing at 12 noon. USA used to air the episodes several times during the week, but now it's only Friday nights ( I can't watch because of Shabbos) and, apparently, Sunday afternoons.
Time to get Tivo.
Perris is a small town in Riverside County, not far from Palm Springs. So small that Miss Direction couldn't locate the A Street address of the museum, but my husband is a man of many maps. The hour-and-a-half drive was pleasant (it would have been even more pleasant if I hadn't foolishly drunk a cup of coffee just before leaving), and when we arrived we found our group lunching at the picnic tables. Last Wednesday I began the South Beach diet, so I feasted on two mozarella sticks , some tuna salad, and an orange pepper, and passed on the chips and fruit. It's the fruit that I miss: blueberries, strawberries, mangos, apples. One more week, and I can add them to my diet. Chocolate, too. In moderation.
After lunch we bought tickets for the rides--a trolley and a train -- from an elderly cashier who wasn't exactly friendly and who took so long to run our credit card that we missed the 2:30 train and trolley. While we waited for the next trolley, we toured the museum. The railway cars were interesting (the kids enjoyed running through the cars), but I was most fascinated by the advertisements on the car walls for things that no longer exist: Dragnet. A nonflammable cooking spray that promised not to explode. Krsipy Crackers. Enriched breads. Laundry aids. Banks.
A half hour later we were on the trolley. Trolleys, our guide explained, were an attempt to attract passengers leery of riding on railway cars that were prone to accidents and fires. Our guide pointed out various railway equipment, including a car that had been used in "Who Framed Roger Rabbit?," another that had been donated by Shirley Temple. (Coincidentally, on that Sunday night, Shirley Temple would be honored by the Screen Actors Guild at their annual awards ceremony.) The guide also showed us a Pacific Electric car, and I flashed to a story I'd edited for Murder on Sunset Boulevard, an anthology of stories written by members of the Los Angeles chapter of Sisters in Crime: "The Red Car Murders," by Richard Partlow.
"The Red Line?" I asked our trolley driver.
"Right!"
Thanks, Richard.
The grandchildren weren't as interested in the history of the equipment our driver was showing us.
"Can't it go faster?" my eight-year-old grandson asked me.
"I guess not. But after this we take the train."
My niece's five-year-old son was preoccupied with his new baby brother, fast asleep in an infant seat on my son-in-law's lap.
"That's not his baby," my niece's son announced to the driver, indicating my son-in-law. "It's my mommy's baby."
"We have special Thomas exhibits," the guide informed us. "In November. If you're interested, I advise buying tickets at least two months before. They go fast."
"That's not his baby," my niece's son repeated. "It's my mommy's."
"Last November we had over 40,000 people come see Thomas," the guide said.
After the trolley ride we visited Emma, a beautiful steam engine housed in a barn called Grizzly Flats. We climbed aboard. We took photos. Then onto the train. Not a memorable ride, and not much to see (I noted a facility for children and families donated by Rob Reiner).
But the kids had fun.
My seven-year-old granddaughter resumed pushing a stoller holding one of the younger kids. Her sister was walking hand-in-hand with my niece's oldest.
"Train fast enough?" I asked my grandson.
He nodded.
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