Two Peas in a Pod

You know that old adage, “They were like two peas in a pod?” Well, it was invented for this senior couple I meet every morning on my walk. They wear the same windbreakers---hers is yellow; his is blue. They have the same baseball caps on—his is red; hers is blue. They have the same bow-legged gait, a teetering yet steady step that keeps them moving forward in their daily walks. They sometimes walk side by side; sometimes she follows him. But still, they are together. Matched. Two peas in a pod.

            This morning, like most mornings, I come upon them at around 31^st street and Roosevelt. They now don two matching masks: both blue. Is there any significance to the fact that the color is the same for this all important accoutrement of the pandemic? They stop to let me pass, and I ask them how they’re doing. “It’s a bit cooler today,” he notes. She nods. Usually not the one to engage in the idle chit chat. But she’s engaged. Supporting him in his assessment of the weather. I agree, predicting more heat for later in the day, “They say it’s gonna be even warmer tomorrow,” he proclaims.

            I can tell he’s grinning behind his mask.

            And so is she.

            My walk is usually such a solitary activity. I keep to my routine. I walk in the morning. I walk in the evening. I revel in the bird song and cat greetings and blue skies and purple irises.  I use these walks as a replacement for swimming. It’s not the same, but I like walking. Most of the time, I think about what is not going on in my neighborhood. How quiet it is.  No one else out walking most mornings. It’s just me and Two Peas in a Pod.  

            And, sure, once a week Mr. Ian comes along for a stroll—he’s my pod. When he walks with me, it’s an entirely different experience. He notices things that I’ve been walking past for months. The explosion of tangerine nasturtiums in front of a well-kempt lawn on 30^th street. The circle of yellow poppies that surround a tired patio. He points these out to me, interrupting whatever mundane complaint I’m in the middle of. It’s an interruption that I need. I’m too much in my own brain, esp. of late.

            I’ve never noticed if Two Peas are talking. It seems like they walk in companionable silence. Though now with social distancing, it’s hard to tell. Yet, you can tell they’ve been together a lifetime. They move and breathe and, I bet, even think in sync.

            One morning, I’d come upon them in the middle of the street, right below Clinton Hill. They were paused for a moment, and he was on his knees, tying her shoes.

            “I’d do anything for this woman!” he’d proclaimed, laughing joyously.

            She’d just nodded, smiling shyly as he finished the job.

            He’d stood and they marched on, up the hill, their brightly colored windbreakers crinkling in the breeze. And I had thought, wow! That is true love! Bending down on one knee to tie your partner’s shoelace!

            It’s an image and a sentiment that has stuck with me. And, today, during this walk, in this blue skied puffy clouded 51^st day of the shelter in place, I think how valuable it is. To have two peas in a pod.    

           Especially, if your shoe comes untied!