Enjoying the moments

Now, things don’t always work out as we expect, let alone as we plan. As a high school senior dreaming of becoming a commercial artist via the opportunities offered in New York City I would never, ever have thought I’d end up selling real estate in Waxahachie, Texas.

You know, or should know, that folks in that bastion of Yankee-ness look askance at living any place west of the Hudson River, let alone south of it, let alone in the storied state of Texas, which they imagine to be all cactus and horses and cows and Stetsons.

Ironically, my first rodeo was at Madison Square Garden – it was, I might add, very well attended by cheering local sophisticates.

I was in my early twenties; I’d never even seen a real cowboy before. Perhaps it was that memory that nudged me toward Texas when the opportunity arose three decades later. Whatever. It turned out to be a great move.

On my way to Texas I lived in San Francisco, married, and raised two children. It was a great time to be there, before the tourists took over; we had easy access to theater and fairs and of course peace marches. And the Salinas Rodeo was only an hour away.

After the kids were grown and on their own, my job with the SSC brought me to Waxahachie and I’ve never left. After the project closed down I did think about going back to California, but decided it was too full and too expensive – and of course you can never find a parking space.

Nor was I willing to give up thunderstorms and lightning bugs, the thrill of seasonal change, or driving 70 miles an hour on the highway. I know you think I-35 has traffic, but believe me, it’s nothing compared to the stop-and-stop on Highway 101.

I settled into a wonderful old house and wished my family were here. I still do, but they were born and raised in the San Francisco Bay Area, and there they feel at home, so we’ve had to compromise.

Over the past two weeks they’ve both been here to visit – my son and his wife just before my birthday, my daughter and granddaughter just after, a kind of birthday sandwich.

The visits were short, in calendar terms, but intense and very satisfying, as a dark chocolate truffle compares with anything less.

We are a family of foodies, and the visits were all about sharing good food and drink, cooking and eating and retelling old stories, cooking some more, looking through old family photos and sharing new ones.

Which brings me to adventure.

Now, I was somewhat adventurous in my day, with a passion for hot rods in high school; as a young secretary I commuted back and forth to Manhattan on a Vespa, still later commuted to Texas on Amtrak.

You’ll note that my adventures were all earth-bound. Forget about flying. Please.
But somehow the serious adventure gene made it into my granddaughter Sarah’s DNA – aided and abetted by an 18th-birthday gift from her uncle – and so it was that I got to see the video of her sky-diving last summer.

Oh. My. God.



Right here is proof that it’s a good thing Grandma lives 1800 miles away.

She cheerfully boarded the plane, smiled and waved to the photographer, flew up into the sky and, in tandem with her guide, jumped out into space. Laughing delightedly all the way down. It was a soft landing, and she clearly had a great experience.

OK, so it’s in the genes, but it clearly passed me by.

After each of the family visits I was left with a kind of exhilaration, the same kind of euphoria I’d experienced after a trip to Paris a couple of years back. They were so perfect.

If we all lived in the same town, would the visits be so meaningful? Or would we take each other for granted and forget to focus on each other the way we did? When you have precious little time together, time together is precious.

Grandparents take note: Modern life means families are likely to be scattered, but I’ve learned that airplanes (yes!) , and telephones and the Internet and texting can keep them together at will.

And those visits . . . !