Celebrating February 21st

Getting older means giving up a lot of things. For some people it seems they hardly give up anything and move into their nineties with their limbs, their brain, their teeth, their hair all intact. I was going to be one of those people. I would be young at heart, stay active, play with my great-grandchildren (I don't have any yet) and work well into my eighties. Despite reoccurring memory lapses and a serious back surgery over 11 years ago, I have maintained this illusion until two weeks ago when I experienced the most intractable back pain ever. I have to accept that my new cane is my friend.

What does this have to do with February 21st? A lot. So embedded in my pain was I that the fact my niece's family would be coming up to San Jose for the Kings/Sharks outdoor game had completely slipped my mind. Since neither Heidi or the girls were going to the game I had envisioned a Saturday evening laid out on the couch spending time with Heidi and the girls. Heidi had other plans.

Eleanor's class has a buddy project where they take teddy bears to prominent sites within their state. The bears are sent around the country to be photographed with the student at these sites. We were so close to San Francisco Heidi  was not going to miss this chance to get a buddy photo near the Golden Gate Bridge. "Why don't you come with us?" she said. The last thing I was going to do while everyone else was having fun was sit and nurse my pain on the couch. Besides, unbelievably, my back was feeling much, much better. (That's another story I hope I get around to posting.)

So after a big family lunch at Krung Thai and a few minutes at home to change clothes, Heidi, the girls, and I set out for San Francisco. The girls conked out immediately giving Heidi and I some time to talk and express awe and wonder over the the cow-studded pastoral scenes along the way, the way the coastal clouds hovered over the hills, the sun gleaming off the edges of the clouds and the promise of a gorgeous sunset to photograph with buddy bear and the girls.


Soon it became clear we were in a tight race for time. Not only that, the sun sank below the bank of clouds to the west producing no brilliant colors to create a stunning background to the famous Golden Gate Bridge. With light rapidly fading we began looking for a spot on the west side of the bridge in hopes of getting some kind of picture. After taking into consideration the distance I would have to walk, we decided on China Beach. Our navigation system took us on a few wrong turns and circles, but as darkness began to settle, we arrived and hurried down the interminable number of steps to the beach. The first thing Eleanor said was, "It's not Golden!" No, no it wasn't. In the blue-gray of dusk, and no sun to light it up, the bridge appeared to be a dark gray.

We snapped as many pictures as our battery power allowed, running into the waves, being surprised by the waves, me and my cane, my visible symbol of old age. But no. I would not give up having a young heart, enjoying the transcendence of those moments filling my lungs, my heart, my veins, every part of me right down to the depths of my very being with the thrill of life. As I abandoned myself to the sand, wind and waves, I realized in that moment I had no pain. None. On a scale of 0 to 10 it was a zero. For nearly a year now the best I  could ever have said was a 2. The pain had been there at some level for that long. I did not spend much time dwelling on that discovery. The moments were too precious, too fleeting, too magical to waste my thoughts on pain.

Darkness forced us to abandon our glorious retreat. By the time we reached the clifftop, two little girls were very hungry. Where to go? We knew so little about the area and everything around us looked residential. My phone was completely dead. Heidi wanted Italian food. Pizza perhaps. Her navigator wasn't being too kind to us. We wound our way around such streets as Balboa, 25th, 21st, 20th, 18th, 10th, Geary. At last there was that Italian restaurant. But no parking. As we wondered what to do next, a spot opened up on the other side of the street. Throwing any knowledge of San Francisco driving rules to the wind, Heidi made a quick U-turn and we parked. But once inside The Gold Mirror, we learned there would be a wait time of over 20 minutes. The little ones were starving and didn't want to wait that long. We saw a Safeway down the next block and decided to find some quick food there. But the deli was closed and we couldn't find anything that would be a decent meal for the girls. Taco Bell? There was one about 10 minutes away. But as we headed to the car and started to walk past the Gold Mirror the girls expressed renewed interest in trying again. Sure enough, a table was opening up and by the time the girls had used the restroom, we were ready  to be seated.

The menu was a bit of a shock, but rather than be cheap and order only soup and salad, we decided to keep on living up our February 21st. Eggplant Parmesan for Heidi, Veal Parmesan for me. Spaghetti to split between the girls. It was a bustling, busy place, with lots of laughter, and many birthdays being celebrated. At least four that I can remember. And they actually sang the REAL Happy Birthday song we all know and love. No loud clapping or jarring songs. That's when we got the idea to celebrate. Not anyone's birthday (Annabelle, Heidi and I all have birthdays in March) just celebrate. Celebrate being alive. Celebrate the ups and downs of life. Celebrate the precious few moments we have together just for today. "Happy February 21st" we said as four water-filled wine glasses clinked together.