One-Track Mind Derailed       The phrase, “Stop and smell the roses” used to be nothing more to me than a trite catch-phrase scanned onto t- shirts until last Sunday when I was on the train heading toward Chicago’s Loop.    At first it was a typical day for me and I was very much caught up in my introvert urban  routine of hunting for a seat facing forward and then looking at my watch every few minutes as if that would make the train go faster.    I always wear headphones on the train just in case anyone actually wants to talk to me and on this rainy afternoon I had a hankering for John Mellencamp.         As I was asking myself when it was I started liking John Mellencamp and when and why he dropped the “Cougar” from his name my scattered  inner-ramblings were halted as a couple walked on who quietly demanded my attention because, well,  they were different.    They caught my eye because they weren’t in the usual claustrophobic demographic I see on the el.    That demographic being hyper 20-30 somethings chatting about so and so and blah and blah; basically cookie cutter images of me that don’t catch my attention because I see enough of me, quite honestly.         This slow-motion couple was a breath of fresh air amidst this caffeinated city.  They were a married couple probably in their 80's and I immediately began to gawk at them as if they were as amazing as fireworks or a glowing sunset.       I guess in a way, they were because I see old folks on the train about as often as I see fireworks or glowing sunsets.   I suddenly wanted that to change and had a glimpse of posting “WANTED” signs around the city offering a cash reward to anyone over the age of 65 who would move to the city and pepper our landscape with laugh-lines, polyester and ball caps that claim,  “I’m the grandpa-that’s why!”       The train started to move before they had time to reach their seats and the take-off sort of shook them to one side and I was instantly filled with a maternal instinct to jump out of my selfish skin  and escort them to the safety zone of seats.  But, instead, I sat with my anti-social headphones listening to John Mellencamp ironically croon about how he’s from a small town and here I was so urbanized I didn’t have the courage to take the time to help these beautiful old folks out of fear someone else on the train would think I’m silly.       They made it to their seats with the same grace and ease as the rain falling down the windows of the train and I knew they weren’t newcomers to this commute.  When they sat down directly in front of me  I half-smiled to myself because I wanted to take in the aura of these rare  gems up close.  He was a tall, sturdy man with a hearing aid and a constellation of  brown spots on his hands that I saw as trophies awarded for a collection of years.  His wife was a petite lady whose smiling eyes had the permanent expression of, “Oh, aren’t you just the cutest!”         I didn’t catch their names, but I’ll go ahead and name them Dolores and Ed.       They sat there looking out the window as Ed shouted comments about what he was seeing.  It was a geriatric game of “I spy” and his doting wife would repeatedly touch his arm with a smile and whisper, “Not so loud, darlin’.” By this time I was so intrigued and let’s face it-nosey, that I had turned my music down, but was able to listen to their conversation in addition to the music-an urban juggling act I do quite well.       From what I overheard it seems they used to live in Chicago and hadn’t been back in a while.  Every 30 seconds or so of landscape would flood them with a pool of vivid memories that I just wanted to dive into and do a million laps in.       “Ah, yes, and then we’re going to turn a corner and”.....       “Not so loud, darlin”....       “We’re going to turn a corner up here and there will be a church”...       And, sure enough...3 second later...a church.       “Ah ha!  I knew it!  I remember it as if it were yesterday”.       I wanted it to be yesterday.  I wanted to see this man in his 20's dressed from head to toe in his Sunday best.    I wanted to see him stroll up and down Wells Street with a top hat and tilt it as a lady walked by.  I don’t even know if that’s what was done back then, but I wanted to see it.       “And here’s Cabrini Green.  Would ya look at that-they’ve built a park and there’s a fancy coffee shop. This sure has changed”.               I felt embarrassed for the $4 cup of coffee I had drank that morning.  Ed and Dolores don’t drink fancy coffee from a cafe.  They visit friends and family and sit down to communicate with them.  They take the time to eat a meal at a table.  I wanted that.  I wanted to slow down and eat a real meal with them complete with meatloaf and potatoes instead of the quick protein shake I shoved down my throat before scurrying out of my apartment.  I didn’t want my coffee in a heartless to-go cup.  I wanted to sit down to a bottomless cup of conversation and not look at my watch.       I wanted to tell them how much I had learned just from observing them.  I wanted to tell them that I don’t want to have to wait until I get older to slow down and take notice of things; that I would try to do that from here on out thanks to them.              But, instead I sat listening to John Mellencamp sing a “ditty about Jack and Diane; two American kids doing the best they can.”       And that’s exactly who this couple was:  Two American elderly kids doing the best they can. I wanted to start doing the best I can.   As I sat there with my pleather coat, torn jeans and a tattoo I suddenly felt very aware of the inferior number of years under my thrift store belt and realized I had been so focused on me I was missing out on opening my eyes.    Right then and there I made a vow to start being more like Ed and Dolores.         I will start making eye contact with people I don’t know.  I will go to my neighbors and introduce myself.   I will look out the window and instead of lazily watching the landscape and people go by, I will absorb and appreciate it all.   Somewhere I was certain the Star-Spangled Banner must be playing as a background to this and I had to stop my hand from reaching out,  touching them and exalting, “God Bless America!”    My urban conditioning has put that  restriction on me-do not reach out and touch 80 year-olds while shouting lyrics to a song I really don’t even know.         As the train slowed for my stop I felt myself breathing easier than I had in a long time.  I walked off onto a platform full of people and reminded myself that inside of me there is an Ed and Dolores and it’s my job to bring them to the surface.  I took off my headphones, looked up, and took a step forward.