the old ones…
The restaurant’s hostess said about ten minutes, so we sat down and began to people-watch. I had just asked my wife what do you think we’ll look like when we’re old? when the couple approached us, an old couple, easily in their 70s. The lady asked if the seats next to us were taken, we said no, please join us. She sat down next to my wife and said you sure are pretty. She had dark hair like my wife and held her hands in her lap. Her husband sat down and stared straight ahead, he and I bookends to the moment. He never said a word, but I felt he was listening, sorta like I do.
She was a talker, an old whirlwind that still had a lotta whirl: We have a ranch for sale in Salida, would you like to buy a ranch?…where are ya’ll from?…we live in Santa Fe now, we come here to eat once a week…this is my husband John, he was in ‘the death march'(wink)…where are ya’ll from?…the ranch in Salida has a red roof, you can see it as you top the hill…we both grew up in Texas…John always orders the combination plate…where are ya’ll from?…
We sat as she went through that loop twice and then again, the same statements, always the gentle refrain of now where are ya’ll from? The mind, like the body, grows old. But for some the mind rages against the dying of the light, struggles to stay a part of life’s conversation. I leaned in to ask deeper: Your ranch sounds lovely, why are you selling it? She looked at me as if I’d slapped her, knocked her off course. Tears welled in her eyes: All the old ones are gone. She peered at her lap and rubbed her hands, then looked back at me. I nodded gingerly, undone by her munificence. The hostess called our name, so we stood and said goodbye.
We ended up sitting just across from John and his wife. I stared from time to time, the writer’s posture. He ordered the combination plate, just like she said he would. The waiter seemed to recognize them, like maybe they dine there once every week, just like she said they did. John and his wife sat their entire meal in silence. There was a singular moment when he spoke, but not with words. When they initially arrived at their table, John pulled out her chair and allowed his wife to sit down, then pushed her up to her place. It was a tender gesture that spoke volumes to me, something an old one would do, an aged survivor who has a red-roofed ranch for sale in Salida and a wife who’d tell a stranger you sure are pretty.
What do you think we’ll look like when we’re old? Little did I know the unraveling of my question that evening, little do any of us. Its funny, as I’ve had dreams before of a ranch near Salida…and my wife is a talker…and my name is John.
So, what do you think you’ll be like when you’re old? What do you want to be like? Do you think there really was nothing spoken at that meal, despite the dearth of words?
Enjoyed your blog. Thanks for sharing.
Valerie, good questions…I found myself wanting to spend time with this couple, like a day or two, just talking/listening/sitting…yes, there was much spoken sans words, but there was also this striking silence, almost a weariness…it was palpable in the midst of a boisterous restaurant. Thanks for your comment.
Dang! Just realized how much I missed your words. Kinda like my own personal communion this morning. Thanks for feeding me, my brother.
Good to be back, amigo…Santa Fe was as I remembered – glorious…
All I need do is look in the mirror…
Tim, I’m getting closer to that myself…
Thanks for sharing, John. I am always blessed by your thoughts.
Thanks, Joe…I hope you are well.
there is only one way i can respond to this. and, i feel a bit silly doing so. “you all” seem so friendly on here and seem to know each other more intimately than other blogs… anyway, a few years ago, 6 to be exact, i was sitting in the mall waiting for a friend while she was getting her hair cut. we had both had babies that year. the only difference, really, was that she was in her 20s and i was 45. i had a grown son already off and playing house up north with a pretty wife. but, as i sat in the mall waiting, watching both babies in separate strollers, i saw a couple come into the mall entrance heading for the nice restaurant inside. it was then that i realized just how much my life had changed. and desperately so. regardless of my new baby before me, as i watched this couple, i felt completely and utterly old. the couple seemed so “happy-go-lucky” with a bounce in their step. by the looks of them i was almost positive they were around my age. my husband is eight years older and by no means does he look it. but, as i watched, i could feel myself age. what a strange feeling. it was as if my life had passed me by somehow without my realizing it. in an instant i recalled the days of spontaneity my husband and i had lived. gone were the days of whim. gone was the little white sports car my husband had so willingly purchased for me and then traded in for an suv. i think he missed that car more than i did. so strange, my husband and i. we are literally polar opposites. he is the calm in my storm. and i, the lively side of us. but it was then. that moment. even today. in my mind’s eye. i can still see that couple walking hand in hand, smiling and laughing. so free. i remember she didn’t even have a purse. i felt stunned. i felt sad. i’m 50 now. my husband will be 59 later this year. and he still doesn’t look it. i’ve let my silver hair grow long and i wear a pony tail because he likes it and thinks i’m cute. and everyday we hear each other tell someone “he’s OUR son. we are not his grandparents.” and we laugh at the many expressions. i no longer feel old. but i wonder, when i look in the mirror, what will i look like when i am…
Kay, I’m glad you pushed on past feeling silly…thanks for telling that story, I could see it…and I loved the tension, that of ‘feeling’ old vs. ‘looking’ old…I did wonder if you carry a purse nowadays? Thanks so much for taking the time to comment…I hope you’ll stop by again.
i suppose the mention of the purse, or the lack thereof, was symbolic to me. nothing was weighing her down. she was free of entanglements. she looked younger, happier, lighter. btw, i always carry a purse or i feel lost. however, i have lightened the load by using a smaller one:)
This gave me chills, John. Your words take root in my mind and soul. The best God words always do that way, I think.
Thanks, Kelly…I completely agree with your thought about ‘the best God words’…they burrow, don’t they?