My husband and I recently found ourselves having dinner at a beautiful historic inn in the Northeast while on vacation. It was one of those places with creaky wood floors, low ceilings, soft lighting, and enough history in the walls to make you wonder who had dined there through the centuries.
We thought we’d simply be enjoying a nice dinner. Instead, the special that evening wasn’t on the menu. It was a generous helping of whining with our dining.
The hostess seated us at a table right next to another couple who appeared to be a decade or so older than we were.
Mind you, the restaurant had plenty of empty tables. We looked around wondering why, of all the places available, we were placed within arm’s reach of strangers. It didn’t take long to find out the couple was on a date.
We know this because they told each other… loudly.
Very loudly.
In fact, by the time our appetizers arrived, we knew they had met at the local senior center.
By the time our entrées arrived, we knew he’d recently suffered from back spasms and a bout of gout.
A few bites later, we learned he’d had something removed from his ear by the dermatologist. They had found another suspicious spot, removed it, and now he was sporting a Band-Aid.
He noticed how tan she looked and guessed she’d been walking more.
She seemed pleased that he’d noticed.
We also learned about his knees, her ankles, his cataract surgery (one eye down and one to go), and the fact that she no longer likes driving at night because she just can’t see well enough.
There wasn’t a medical chart in sight, but there certainly wasn’t any HIPAA in effect either.
Somewhere around dessert, I realized something.
When we’re young, we impress each other with stories about adventures, careers, dreams, and places we’ve been.
As life moves along, our stories change.
They become conversations about doctor’s appointments, aches that come and go, medications that finally worked, surgeries that went well, and whether the new knee is behaving today.
At first, I couldn’t help but chuckle.
But then I found it unexpectedly sweet.
Here were two people who had found each other later in life. They weren’t pretending to be twenty-five. They weren’t trying to impress anyone. They simply showed up exactly as they were—Band-Aids, cataracts, sore joints, and all.
And someone wanted to hear every bit of it.
That thought was driven home later that evening when we joined a crowd on the lawn for a concert. We heard someone behind us say, “I can’t see them.”
Without missing a beat, their companion replied, “It’s music…you don’t need to see!”
We laughed out loud.
Maybe that’s one of the quiet gifts of growing older. You stop worrying so much about perfect circumstances and simply enjoy being there… together.
As for Wes and me, we left smiling.
It’s not exactly the stuff Hallmark writes greeting cards about. But if we’re fortunate enough to reach that season ourselves, I hope we’ll still be sitting across the table from one another…talking a little too loudly…and grateful that someone still wants to listen.
