The 60 Year Milestone

My First Photograph
Held by a Nurse - At 2-days-old
The Camera Flash Reflected on the Window Glass
Through Which my Dad Took the Picture

I woke up this morning, having reached the 60 year milestone; and, I initially found it a tough age to accept.

This birthday, though a long time coming, simply arrived before I was ready - before I could achieve many life goals, to my own satisfaction. My unfinished "bucket list," so-to-speak, includes: 

• Completing the BA I began long ago
• Finding myself, life's-work-wise
• Owning more of my house than the bank
• Mastering the piano and ukelele
• Writing a great Canadian novel, and
• Acquiring a few stamps in my passport

I was born 60 years ago today at the Salvation Army Grace Hospital in our nation's capital. My dad always said I was the most expensive thing he ever bought at the Salvation Army. Mom and I spent a week in hospital - as was the custom back then - during which, my first photograph (above) was taken. It was an inauspicious beginning that eventually resulted in:

• The first High School graduate in one branch of my family
• A successful marriage, not once but twice
• Three special children and four treasured grandchildren
• Certificates for Fashion Design and Writing For Publication
• Second place in an international fashion design contest, and
• Oft published in local papers; and, in Reader's Digest, thrice

This taking stock - the listing of my accomplishments - certainly helps counteract the negativity of the bucket list and the unwelcome reality that I'm closer to the end than I am to the beginning, these days. It also brings me consolation through the following four positives:

• I'm happily married to a supportive and loving guy
• The elusive BA is neither time-sensitive nor essential
• I'm still moving forward, so anything is possible, and
• Not all great destinations reside in a passport

So, here's to my next milestone - whenever and whatever it might be! Since I can't keep birthdays from coming, I'll work on accepting them gracefully. After all, now that I think about it, there's usually cake!

My Grandad

 A picture of Grandad baiting a hook
while my hair flies as I cast my rod
behind him, and Grama looks on.

My grandad, my dad's dad, had a gruff demeanor and a gravely-gruff sounding voice: Even so, I remember him as one of the kindest men I ever knew. Though he suddenly passed away nearly fifty years ago, in my heart and mind, he remains a truly memorable individual.

The late 1960's found my grandparents semi-retired and transplanted to a home in Florida: We were all missing them very much. One evening in October, my father suddenly decided to fly south for a visit. As I was still awake when he was making his plans, I implored him to take me with him.

A late-night phone call, to my elementary school principal's home, and I was quickly given the go-ahead to miss a week of school in favour of another educational adventure. The very next morning I was on an airplane with my dad, headed to Florida for the vacation of a lifetime.

We were picked up in Tampa by my grama & grandad, and Grama’s brother Charlie. During the week, I got to: swim in the ocean, drink orange juice freshly squeezed in an orange grove, watch an alligator eating raw chicken, glimpse a rocket at Cape Canaveral from the highway, go trick-or-treating, tease Grandad by repeatedly knocking on the door and then hiding behind a bush, and spend a lovely afternoon fishing while Grandad and Daddy accidentally caught and battled both a crab and a stingray.

This amazing week with Grama and Grandad as well as neighbouring great-aunt Hilda and great-uncle Charlie remains vivid in my memory. I remember my dad, who rarely enjoyed vacations, really seemed to enjoy his week with his parents, and I loved every minute of it.

Just prior to boarding our airplane home; my grandad, while hugging me good-bye, said something strangely serious considering my young age. He told me that he wanted me to remember the good times we had together, the laughing and joking and hugging; and, that I shouldn't come to his funeral when his time came.

Once on the plane, I remember crying because there were no window seats in coach on the side of the plane that faced the viewing area on the tarmac. I also remember that a nice flight attendant let my dad and I sit in 1st class so that we could wave good-bye to our loved ones.

My grandad died in Florida, less than three months later from a sudden heart attack; and, my dad (with his sisters) headed south again, this time to bury his father. I didn't get the chance to say that I couldn't go on this sad mission: The decision was made for me. And though I alone knew, that the decision was my grandad's preferred choice, I was relieved.

Losing this special man, the day before my 10th birthday, hit very hard and close to home. Over the years, I've tried to honour my grandad around this time each year, by remembering as he said, the good times we had together and the laughing and joking and hugging.

All these years later, uncle Charlie, aunt Hilda, my grama and my dad have all passed on as well. Luckily, I'm still comforted by the memories I treasure from that unexpected reunion in Florida, and the few faded photos - like the one above, taken by my dad - from that last week we all spent together.