Please, only the shutters.

Charlotte, North Carolina.

6:42 pm.

Luce restaurant located in downtown Charlotte is a white tablecloth location regarded as one of the higher end locations in the city. Tall, white ceilings with dim lighting and for either a touch of irony or southern comfort, an all Spanish staff. The menu hit all the marks expected: burrata, bruschetta, cold fish antipasto, osso buco, a garganelli option. I went with the spaghetti carbonara. Some pieces of pancetta were a bit undercooked, the negroni was a bit watered down, and there’s a slight potential that the espresso served was from a capsule.

None of the details are the memory that I’ll take away from this evening.

Jimmy, 60, originally from North Carolina. American Airlines pilot, occupying the copilot seat, knowing that he’s filling the co-pilot seat for a pay cut for the longer term ability to act as captain on transatlantic flight. Requested some sort of fruited martini with vanilla vodka. The bartender wasn’t familiar with the request, but heard him out anyway. The shirt seemed to be Tommy Bahama, tucked in, comfortable loafers, and a solid PI magnum mustache. He leaned over, asked me if I had eaten there before, and I was from “’round here’”.

The conversation didn’t last more than 3 or 4 minutes. He was sitting there waiting for his daughter in law and her boyfriend to show up. She’s 25, and in a few weeks he’s bringing her to Europe for the first time to spend time with him and her mother. Him and his wife, after having visited Europe, had decided that life was so genuinely better that they took the plunge: they invested in property in France. They had shopped around in Italy (and of course, ironically, in Abruzzo) however the central of France is where their hearts landed. A small town, roughly 1,000 people, a 3 story home attached on both ends. They can’t touch the outside of the home due to the antique nature of the building “we can touch the shutters though, so she’s figuring that out”.

His wife is dealing with all the short term challenges of living in a small rural town. She’s made friends with the farm owners who are now helping her source her eggs. She has her rustic basket, and she walks around with a scarf permanently around her neck. Recently she had the visiting of a bat and a kitten through their skylight which she lost much sleep but thankfully both foreign visitors found themselves out of the home and back to their natural surroundings. He had just spent the afternoon working with Fed Ex shipping a beach cruiser bike for them to use (and did you know American Airline employees enjoy a 60% discount?!). “She said she wants jug holders for each end of the handlebars so that she can carry a bottle on each side”. He took a second, laughed, and smiled to himself.

His and his families dinner table was ready, we shook hands, and they went on their way. There were so many little caveats, little bread crumbs of conversation that I couldn’t help but pick up emotionally and chew on a bit more. His appreciation of us having travel in common, the casualness in discussing his wife’s #firstworldproblems and being able to tell that he’s laughing with her as much as laughing at her. The second martini and the casual rub of his mustache. How we have a mutual appreciation of how incredible it feels to go to bed in the middle of July with the window opens and just the covers on. How inconsiderate the bells of the 18th century church in his French transplanted town are to be so close to his bed. I don’t know if our communal moments of appreciation and company makes me an old soul, or makes his soul just a bit younger.

Cheers Jim.