My co-worker, Sarah, lives with Bob and Marge. When she and Kaitlin and I went out on the town yesterday, the day's events included an invitation from Bob and Marge for dinner. It wasn't what we'd planned. We were thinking of a nice dinner downtown. But, well, okay. Maybe we could drop in and catch a late movie after the obligatory chow and chat.
The dinner was nothing spectacular -- a stew and some bread -- but, somehow, it tasted gourmet. Seriously. Think I had thirds.
Bob and Marge were old. Marge could barely see. Or hear. Or walk. But she was beautiful. She was one of those people who wears the Holy Spirit on her sleeve. I looked at her and saw Jesus.
Bob was cantankerous. He is a Hungarian immigrant who takes a certain amount of pride in knowing English better than most American speakers of the language. But he loved us. Genuinely. I could have called him Gramps and felt completely natural.
We chowed and we chatted. Offers of cake were made. Questions of our evening plans were asked.
Well, you see, we were going to go to a movie.
Would you like to stay and play Mexican Train?
Play what?
It's a domino game.
Ahhh, nifty. [Raised eyebrows.]
They looked at us like they'd offered drinks and live music. It was a sincere invitation.
Sarah, Kaitlin and I exchanged glances. We shrugged our shoulders and tilted our heads.
Well, okay, sure. Why not?
Bob and Marge smiled. Marge shuffled her walker to a nearby chest of drawers. The game was on....
And what a game it was. We laid dominoes end to end. We talked about sewing and practical jokes and mission trips and Jesus. Bob and Marge argued in that way only old people can: feisty and completely endearing. The time to go came too soon.
I think I'd like to ride that Mexican train to Hungarian blessings again. Maybe it can become a tradition. And maybe I can offer a few blessings in return...
Sarah, Marge, Kaitlin, Bob and me playing Mexican Train. Good times.
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