Marilyn

Yesterday as we were leaving our work site I spotted a ziploc bag - empty save for a few cookie crumbs - in an ashcan. My heart leapt at the luck. Our old ziploc bag wallet has fallen into disrepair, scattering our few hard earned coins from its gaping holes. Never one to pass up a chance to put another man's trash to use, I asked Tess to stop the truck so I could snatch up this treasure. As I jumped down from the truck, a white haired woman in the blue jumper uniform of the school's cafeteria asked me where we were going.
We got to talking. Her name was Marilyn. She told us about her years on the road with her truckdriver husband. How after the kids moved out they spent 5 years lving in the semi. How she enjoyed learning new ways to eat, and how she learned to talk to everybody. A mutual appreciation of the road shone in our conversation.
Marilyn's husband died on June 3, 1986. Since then she's been a manager of two school cafeterias, and although she is 77 years old and retired, she works full time at a college cafeteria, because she was bored without work.
The open road, the hard work, the rumble of the diesel engine. Marilyn found us in our Ryder truck, rejoicing over garbage, told us her life story, and walked away with a youthful spring in her step.