hobos...listening for the train whistle

For some odd reason, as a child I wanted to be a hobo.
The Union Pacific train track wound lazily around Pachappa Hill, and down the street at the Riverside Avenue crossing, I'd often see hobos hitching rides on open train cars while my mother waited for the train to pass.
Back in those days we didn't call them homeless people. They were just drifters, going from place to place looking for work. They WERE homeless, but by choice. I personally think they were the last of the pioneer line, always restless, not fitting in with mainstream society,  needing to see what else was out there instead of staking a claim.
One of my favorite make-believes was pretending I was a hobo. I'd get the yardstick from the laundry room, snag a bandanna from an older sibling, put my little treasures in it, and tie it to the end of the yardstick. After an adventurous hike, twenty-five feet across the patio past the calla lilies, LOL, I forayed out to the playhouse we had in a private part of the backyard.The windowless living room wall, a short section of front-yard fence, and the retaining wall to the neighbors' allowed for total freedom in play. A Catalina cherry tree grew next to the two-story playhouse. I would 'build' a fire with twigs in the middle of the floor, lie on my back, watching the leaves rustle in that tree, and listen for the train whistle. Where were those hobos going? I wondered. Did they have mothers who wondered where they were? Where did they take a bath or go to the toilet? My mind raced from imaginative to practical and back again.
More often, lately, I'd like to tie up my belongings, tie them to a stick, and disappear on a boxcar, just to avoid confrontation anytime I have a conversation with anyone about the state of the Union. Unfortunately, I like showering daily, having a refrigerator, and sitting on the patio with a cup of coffee. Also I do not have a concealed weapon permit, so I might wanna hold out for that. In the meantime, I'll pray about how to slightly withdraw from society and yet still be a help to those in need, a friend to those who want one, and a loving wife and mother to my own little tribe.
It could happen. I'll need more coffee.

Are you fed up with the rancor in everyday exchanges? How can we reverse this awful trend???
The Listening Post is open...