People are funny, you can learn a lot in life, just by sitting in the cheap seats, quietly observing what is going on in your world. Savoring the moment, harvesting the little gems of getting older and learning how to be a tad bit wiser.
Harold and Maude are booggyin down the concrete super-slab towards Montgomery and Gadsden, Alabama. All is well in their little comfortable, well cushioned world, she sits in the co-pilot’s chair and silently studies her husband of that many years.
His well-worn wrinkles, gray at the temples and hard, crusty hands on the wheel. The father of their 2.5 children as the census likes to say, current hero of her grandchildren, the provider and pilot of Dreamscape their twenty-seven year old well-loved and cared for coach.
Harold reaches for his hip pocket and produces a handkerchief and brings it around to his nose, unfolding it, he puts it to his face, and makes a deposit. He then deftly, folds the handkerchief back up, shoves it down the back of his pants pocket, clears a northbound flatbed loaded with sheet rock and then smiles at Marge and asks her …. “You getting’ hungry girl?” … She is still very much his girlfriend after all these years, his eternal prom-queen, “there’s a Flyin’ J up here in a bit, whadya say?”
Maude smiles her quirky little smile and says, “Yes. That sounds better than Cracker Barrel, let’s go for it.”
Later on they are sitting in the booth, over in a quiet corner of the “choke and puke” as truckers refer to them and she looks at him and says, “Can I ask you a question?” and he says, “Sure babe, what is on your mind?”
She then says to him, “I noticed back there, down the road aways, you retrieved your handkerchief and blew your nose, and then put it back into your pants, but before you did that, you re-folded it.”
So he says, “Yeah?” rather puzzled and inquires, “Why do you ask?”
“Well,” she replies, “for some thirty-nine or forty some odd years, I have been finding them (the folded handkerchiefs) in your pants and I have noted that they are always folded and all, so I have been putting them back in the handkerchief drawer.”
“Hmmmmmmmmmmm,” Harold quietly allows this new revelation of married life to soak in, thinks about what his wife has just said, and then he says to her, “that will explain why I can never seem to get my reading glasses clean.”
He then says, “How’s your chicken fry hon? Everything okay?”
Life … Love … and the Interstate.
Been there done that, never gonna go back there again.