Maybe it’s age, maybe it’s poor maintenance but it seems to me that the white lines on the road are just not there when driving in this dark, dreary weather.
Everybody is in a hurry, and switching lanes with a rooster tail of water behind them makes a bad situation worse.
I had come to the intersection of Highway 10 and Glover, just as the light turned yellow.
The car ahead of me was a Toyota, about 20 years old, patches of primer holding together the rust, blue smoke coming from a tail pipe hanging on by the last thread of the clamp.
As the light turned red, the young girl in the passenger seat leaned over and kissed her boyfriend on the cheek.
He responded by putting his arm around her in a full embrace and suddenly their lips were locked together in one of those passionate young lovers’ kisses.
It seemed that some of the dreariness had left the day.
They didn’t notice that the light had turned green and I could have honked my horn and broken the spell, but we had just come through a week of reports of death and violence in our community and it felt good to share their brazen display of affection.
After all, I grew up in an era when John Lennon told us that “all you need is love.”
So, feeling a bit like a voyeur, I sat and waited.
They finally noticed the light had changed and, with a lurch, the old car pulled away leaving a smoky haze across the intersection.
He still had one arm around her, pulling her close, his other hand draped across the steering wheel.
Most of us can remember those days. Maybe in a drafty old rattletrap or maybe it was Dad’s four-door sedan with the curb feelers and the plastic seat covers, but it was a place to be alone.
Public displays of affection were frowned upon, so maybe we had a favorite spot at the end of a dead end road off a dead end road.
Maybe you walked out to the bridge at the edge of town at dusk and carved your initials into the railing and walked home in the dark holding hands.
Perhaps your spot was under an old tree in a clearing that appeared out of nowhere after following a secluded path through the brambles and brush.
What if you walked past everyone else on the beach and went down around the point to where an outcropping of rocks and storm-tossed logs shielded you from the rest of the world, a perfect spot to spread your blanket on the warm sand.
Don’t forget the ‘lookout,’ that spot at the top of the winding road that gave a spectacular view of valley during the day and exploded with romantic city lights below at night.
Maybe the more adventurous suitors coaxed their partner to the end of the pier to watch the ‘submarine races.’
The best way to chase away a dreary day is to call up warm memories from the past and feel the strength of those hugs and the passion of those stolen kisses.
Surprise your partner at that next long traffic light — lean over and give them a kiss and see where it goes.
If some insensitive jerk behind you honks his horn, give him the peace sign.
Make love, not war.
At least that’s what McGregor says.
