I sat behind an old couple at the airport in Chicago. It was a grey day and we all stared out of the terminal at the dismal Chicago sky and waited for our late flight. The old woman sat in a wheel chair, her hair thinning but curly and cute. The old man sat close to her and wore a cap high above his two ears that fanned out, nearly into cups of cartilage. I think that after 60, the cartilage in a man’s body gets tired of being merely ornamental or functional and begins its quest to take over the head. Your smell goes as well as your hearing, but not the nose or ears. No sir. They live on to conquer all things that are aesthetically important.
Every few minutes the old man would lean over and say something to her and she would laugh this wonderful, full laugh. Every 4 or 5 laughs she would reach over and pinch him on the leg from something he said and he would laugh.
I smiled and wondered if a good marriage in old age trumps the murkiest sky and if you make it that long, murky skies are welcome in the morning, maybe not as much as the sunny ones, but still welcome.
I looked at this old couple and thought of my wife. My wife thinks I am funny. Whether that is really true, beyond our marital bubble, remains a matter of debate. Regardless, I thought of how I’ve always been able to make her laugh, and I think if I can make her laugh at least one time a day, at me or with me, till we are old and in wheelchairs at an airport, spectators to a grey sky, I’ll be able to say I’ve done alright.
"She's a woman... if you make her laugh, you've got a life." -As Good as it Gets