Me with my great-grandmother, Jessie. March 1958. She attended Stanford University in the late-1800's! This photo was taken at her home in Burlingame. I do believe that's a hoya plant, behind us!Today, my youngest child and I will make that sentimental journey to the city-by-the-bay.
We will spend the weekend with my older children, my parents, and assorted extended family members. Why all the trouble? Because I will be fifty-years-old this Sunday. (I can't say "fifty-years-old" without seeing Molly Shannon on S.N.L., way-back-when.) We'll walk and talk, dine in and out, and visit a museum. I'm both thrilled and terrified at the prospect of such focused attention. Fifty years? That can't be possible. I'm just getting started!
Although it will be a stark celebration with my true love stranded on a Pacific island, we shall do our best to carry on in style. He's fine. Lonely. Bored. Looking so forward to his return in ten more days. This is the longest we've been apart in our eight years of life together.
Tomorrow is a fun anniversary of sorts. On that date, I was invited to birthday (#33) dinner out, with a few friends in Marin. (C.B.?-you were there, too-remember?)
I decided I would call G and invite him to join us. A brazen idea? Perhaps. I had only met him once, several weeks before my birthday. He'd made an impression. To my giddy delight, he accepted my invite.(He was a good friend of the folks taking me to dinner.) The five of us drove out to Olema. Much later that same night, I was visiting with G at his home. "Tremors" was on. (One of the silliest films ever?) We discovered a love we'd never known. It took another nine years to get together, completely. It was worth the wait.
I'll be back home in a few days.
