It was one of those impromptu weekend afternoons spent with one of my children, a block of time as unexpected and uplifting as a surprise delivery of twelve long stem roses. (I'm guessing, of course, since I've never received such a delivery, but it seems like it would be a really cool thing.)
When my daughter and I manage to overcome our inertia on a cold and dreary Saturday afternoon, the tiny spark of energy that impels each of us to get up off our respective butts and venture out somehow increases exponentially as we sit side by side in the car, as yet unsure of our destination but feeling a sense of accomplishment in going somewhere. It's as if we're two creatures in the snow snuggling up for warmth; together we're able to find energy reserves that only minutes earlier seemed so elusive.
Our first stop yesterday was Whole Foods for soup; I was salivating just thinking about the poblano corn chowder, she was not really hungry. I had to settle for minestrone, she was ecstatic to find broccoli cheese; we sat in the cafe and barely noticed how quickly we inhaled the warmth of our soups while we chatted about everything and nothing. Lest anyone think this was all about simple pleasures like soup and enjoying time together, make no mistake; we were already planning a visit to one of our favorite shoe stores, rumored (correctly) to be dumping everything at fifty per cent off.
As we chatted, I glanced occasionally at the elderly couple at the table next to us. Not a word passed between them, but they seemed as engaged with each other as my daughter and I were with our non-stop conversation. The silence was broken occasionally by simple gestures; at one point, I watched as the woman held up her slice of pizza up so the gentleman could bite off a large chunk. Eventually, they got up, grabbed their canes, and walked off holding hands. I nudged my daughter and we both watched, mesmerized. We looked at each other, and both uttered "Awwwww!"
I told my daughter of the elderly couple I had sat next to a couple of days earlier. They must have been in their seventies, although her heavily botoxed face made her appear a bit younger. Sort of. They didn't speak at all. The woman had finished her food, and had made her way over to her husband's plate, noiselessly scooping up forkfuls of the omelet he had been pushing around without much interest. The check came and they left, still without a word, walking within inches of each other.
"Of course they don't talk," my daughter said. "Old couples have nothing left to say to each other." Well shoot me now, I thought. Here I am in the midst of a divorce, still entertaining the fantasy that someone will come along and be my partner until death, someone to share the next chapter with as my kids go on to live their lives and treat me as a lovable afterthought. Will we really be left with nothing to say? My daughter went on. "They're retired, nothing interesting happens to them. And even if it does, they're together when it happens, so there's nothing to tell." Oy, how depressing.
Maybe not so much though. Sure, my daughter and I chatted about things, but I can't for the life of me tell you what. Obviously, the topics weren't all that compelling. As we drove home from our adventure of soup sipping, shoe shopping, and humdrum errand hopping, we both fell silent. It was a contented silence though, the kind you savor after packing in a good solid meal. We got home and parted ways silently, clutching our brand new fifty per cent off boots and heading off to do whatever it was we would be doing on a cold Saturday evening.
But I could detect in each of us a spring in the step that wasn't there when we first ventured out. Something had passed between us, silently. I thought about those elderly couples, and realized how lucky they are.
Awwwww!
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