It's ironic the way that things work out. Just yesterday, I found myself on the Amtrak train, making my way, as I often do, between Wilmington, Delaware and New York City. The elderly couple who sat across from me caught my eye. The woman wore a brightly colored dress, unexpected and provocative for her age, and a wide smile, as she passed me on her way to her seat. Gerald, her husband, followed behind, gingerly holding himself up by his ornate cane, with a billowing white beard that would rival St. Nicholas himself. He bristled as his wife, Jean, said "Gerald, are we in row six or row thirty-six?"
"Jean, it is row six, as I told you on the platform. You know how I like to sit close to the front." Gerry seemed a bit on the harsh, snappy side, but I try not to judge. And I know first hand the difficulty one experience when faced with an infirmity of any kind.
Jean replied, softly, "Well, you know my memory these days." They went on like this, Gerald and Jean, for about an hour, aftre they had settled in their seats. I barely noticed their words as I perused my copy of the Wall Street Journal, and check my emails on my phone. It wasn't until Jean pulled out a copy of Delaware Today Magazine, and began discussing an article she had read, that my attention was piqued.
I have worked in my position as an Executive Vice President for a Fortune 500 company for nearly fifteen years now. While I love my job, and the level of financial success I have attained, my first love has always been food. So when Jean mentioned the article, an article I had read just this morning, I started listening.
"I'm reading about all of these different places, Gerald, and I really think we should give some of them a try when we return from our vacation. The idea of the whole article is that you can go to these places, enjoy a full meal, and pay less than $50. That falls right into our budget."
Gerald's reply threw me for a loop, as it was so quick and harsh that I was surprised a man could be so sharp with his wife. "Jean, you know how I feel about talking on the train. I have my book, and you have your magazines, and we agree to not bother each other. You know I love my books. Besides, we have our places to eat, and we have our favorites. I have my favorite, at least."
You got the feeling that Gerry often, if not always, got his way. But you could also sense that Jean, with her subtle intelligence, knew how to get what she wanted, from Gerald, as well.
Jean, undeterred, continued, "I just think you should keep yourself open to new things."
"I'm seventy two years old, Jean. I don't want new things. I want my book, and I want some peace and quiet."
He burrowed back in, as did I. Minutes passed.
Jean turned the page and started: "Gerry, look here! It's our place!"
With a sigh that would rival a child's, Gerald looked up, and stretched his neck to see the magazine. His mood changed almost immediately. "Well look at that. Good for Luigi! He is getting some great press lately. Do you remember how Luigi Vitrone's Pastabilities was named in last month's "Best of Delaware Hall of Fame?"
"Yes, dear."
He went on, "and do you remember last week, when our nice waiter Michael gave us that Zagat's book, that Luigi was highlighted in, of the best Italian Restaurants in the Country?? Did you bring the book, Jean? I told you to. You did, right? I want to peruse it to make some informed decisions while we're in the Big Apple for two weeks."
At this point, I could be silent no more. I smiled at Jean, and I spoke up.
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