I’m surrounded by mountains and haven’t hiked very much. This morning I wrote a poem based loosely on the image of the sunset and hues of purple in the sky and in the hilly silhouettes that I often see when I’m driving. For now, I feel more content to be driving through these mountains as opposed to being in the woods of them – it’s a different type of beauty and seems oddly metaphorical… something about journeys and distance and details both blurred and fine. On some of these drives, I’m reminded of the night I drove to the animal hospital to put my cat, Nick, down. He was sweet and calm and zen like even though he was suffering. I can name the song that I listened to over and over on that ride. I can remember how the lights of the houses in the distance twinkled and seemed both warm and solitary – people hunkering down in the winter beneath the rounded ridge lines above. Sometimes it feels like I’m moving through watercolor landscapes, page after page, field and mountain and winding road – everything distant and angled towards a slightly off-center vanishing point.
I started writing the poem last night on my drive home from work – one of my many bad habits. I don’t text and drive, but I am guilty of trying to write a few lines or thoughts every once in a while. I’d dictate them, but that has usually had pretty poor results – moonlight becomes doomsight beautiful become brute and fall… Once home, after feeding and walking the dog, I engaged in one of my other bad habits, going to the bar for a few beers and a bite. I suppose it’s not really a bad habit, but I’d be healthier without it.
At the bar I was in observation mode – people watching as they came and went. There was a couple sitting a few seats away. She had on a cream colored sweater with a print of a mug (perhaps coffee or hot coco). He was balding on the top with shocks of hair on the sides. He wore a blue, gray, white, and black unbuttoned flannel and t-shirt with an unfortunate font that made it difficult to read. For the longest time I was convinced that it said Trump Alliance – the colors were red and blue and silvery and the font was jagged and angled the way heavy metal band fonts from the 80s were – it had some picture on it that looked maybe like a rocket ship that also seemed phallic. I felt myself disliking this man and his gaudy tee. I was quietly writing him off as being in the cult of Trump – proud with the in-your-face nature of the hats and shirts and flags. Over the years, I’ve grown less tolerant of any cult be it football/sports, political, or national. I simply don’t like hero worship. I kept looking at the shirt – I wanted it to be something other than what I thought it was. I was uncomfortable with my own rush to judgement and dismissive inner thoughts. A slight shift in his position showed that the tee read Triumph – a rock band popular in the 70s and 80s. The penis space ship was a flying v guitar. We eventually talked a bit (something that probably wouldn’t have happened had I remained closed off). I have no idea what his political affiliations are – a subtle reminder that it probably shouldn’t matter. I learned that he briefly lived in New Jersey and that his wife hates that he starts every conversation with that tidbit. She said something along the lines of, “of all the things you could talk about you lead with that as though it’s somehow interesting.” She was being playful with her ribbing, and his fifteen minutes in New Jersey became a running joke throughout the evening.
There was another couple at the bar who shifted seats and sat next to me. She was complaining that a light was shining in her eyes. I said they dim them when it’s party time – she didn’t seem to realize I was joking. When the bartender didn’t offer to do anything about the lights, she got up to go talk to a manager or someone. When her husband came back from the restroom, while she was somewhere lodging a complaint, he said – this happens every time. They’re either too close to the kitchen or the bathroom or a drafty window, or a too hot heater, or it’s too bright or too dark. He’s gotten to the point of not settling in until they’ve switched seats a few times. For a while we sat without talking. They ate their meal – he had a bowl of noodles and vegetables and she had the fish tacos but didn’t eat the soft tortilla shells. I had a roast beef sandwich with a thin au jus and a horseradish mayo.
I don’t know how we all started talking. Obviously there was talk of living in New Jersey. I shared that I lived in Bucks County most of my life. There was some talk of working in New York. The guy in the Triumph shirt asked the guy who changes seats too often if anyone ever told him he looked like Chris Elliot. Seat changer kinda rolled his eyes and said sarcastically… no, nobody has EVER said that to me. Except for having hair, he really did look like Chris Elliot. He said when he was younger he used to be told he looked like Val Kilmer’s Iceman from Top Gun – he would have preferred Tom Cruise. I asked him if he anticipates having an Ernest Borgnine phase.
I spent the next three hours hanging out with these folks at the bar, but mostly with the couple who sat next to me (Chris Elliot and his fussy wife who wasn’t really fussy at all). I didn’t get their names, but I got part of their story. He’s 57 and sells antiques and she’s 61 and works as an admin for the university. They’ve been married 28 years. They met at a conference in one of those small resort towns in New York. They were both working for the YMCA – I think he was in Connecticut and she might have been in New Jersey or New York. They hit it off and hung out in the conference hotel at a place called the F lounge – there were lots of jokes about that. When the hotel was being torn down years later a friend of theirs arranged to rescue the placard from the F lounge and give it to them as a gift.
28 years and they still hold hands and look each other in the eyes they way new couples do. They joked about their marital “bliss” saying sometimes they fight and don’t speak for a week (or at least until Wednesday) and that they’re only pleasant because in the car ride over they agreed they wouldn’t fight (at least not until the car ride home). There was an honesty in their humor, a level of mutual tolerance that makes it work. I don’t doubt that they’ve had their ups and downs, but they seem to weather it with grace and it’s clear they continue to choose each other day in and day out.
At the end of the night, I told them that they have a great story. I told them that when I travel or spend time in public places, I watch how couples interact – many seem indifferent, some seem hostile, and a select few have this spark in the way they look at each other. I told them I appreciated seeing their spark.
I hope they continue doing exactly what they’re doing – I suspect they’re one of those couples whose presence makes everyone else a little happier. I know I felt that way when I left.