Buffalo Gal

The tickets are bought and the countdown is on.
Jessica and I are going to L.A. to do the same thing and have a completely different experience. Seeing any world through 20-year-old eyes and 44-year-old eyes is like getting two trips for the price of one.
Add to the equation that we'll be running with my forty-something friend, Renee, and her twenty-something son, Harry, the the numeric perspective permutations become unwieldly.
Renee and I were media scribes in the Cisneros Camelot court of San Antonio in the mid-1980s. I don't recall much of the idealism, but remember many excellent Press Club parties (which usually involved Renee getting on the phone afterwards trying to convince yet another new establishment why it would be a good thing for THEM to become the official host of the San Antonio Press Club).
My strongest recollection of Harry has four-year-old Jessica on the back of his bike as he rode to the corner Taco Cabana to rescue the rest of us with breakfast tacos. I remember thinking he was a great kid.
I even held fast to that belief when I came home a few years later to find babysitter Harry and co-conspirator Jessica had popped the heads off her substantial Barbie collection and floated what looked like dozens of blonde spiders on the surface of the pool while they surfed off the diving board on Barbie's dream car. Walking into the back yard that day was one of those moments where you had to remind yourself you are a parent and thus can not laugh or try to use the Dream Car like a skateboard off the diving board. I do recall thinking "better not leave this much combined imagination alone any more."
Harry apparently has now replaced his bicycle with a 68 Mustang convertible and the little room upstairs with an apartment in Brentwood.
I'm not sure I'm ready for that. Considering my own kids didn't give me a vote in the matter, I don't know why he would. I saw him last at his high school graduation and am comfortable with freezing him right there in time.
It doesn't work that way. I realized a couple of years ago that I stopped taking Jessica places and started going with her. She's moving along at warp speed towards her own career, her own home, her separate life.
But Spring break is giving us an excuse to get on a plane and circle back to see and celebrate some of the people who made the journey with us.
And I know that in a pinch, Harry and Jessica can go for breakfast tacos.

Buffalo Gal Judi Griggs I'm a communications professional, writer, cynic, mother, wife and royal pain. The order depends on the day. I returned to my hometown in November 2004 after a couple of decades of heat and hurricanes. I can polish pristine copy, but not here. This is my morning exercise -- 20-minute takes without a net or spellcheck. It's easier than sit ups for me. No guarantee what it will be for you. Clicking on the subscribe link will send you an email notice when each new entry is posted.
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Previous Entry :: Next Entry Read/Post Comments (0) Share on Facebook		2004-02-09 8:27 AM California dreaming The tickets are bought and the countdown is on. Jessica and I are going to L.A. to do the same thing and have a completely different experience. Seeing any world through 20-year-old eyes and 44-year-old eyes is like getting two trips for the price of one. Add to the equation that we'll be running with my forty-something friend, Renee, and her twenty-something son, Harry, the the numeric perspective permutations become unwieldly. Renee and I were media scribes in the Cisneros Camelot court of San Antonio in the mid-1980s. I don't recall much of the idealism, but remember many excellent Press Club parties (which usually involved Renee getting on the phone afterwards trying to convince yet another new establishment why it would be a good thing for THEM to become the official host of the San Antonio Press Club). My strongest recollection of Harry has four-year-old Jessica on the back of his bike as he rode to the corner Taco Cabana to rescue the rest of us with breakfast tacos. I remember thinking he was a great kid. I even held fast to that belief when I came home a few years later to find babysitter Harry and co-conspirator Jessica had popped the heads off her substantial Barbie collection and floated what looked like dozens of blonde spiders on the surface of the pool while they surfed off the diving board on Barbie's dream car. Walking into the back yard that day was one of those moments where you had to remind yourself you are a parent and thus can not laugh or try to use the Dream Car like a skateboard off the diving board. I do recall thinking "better not leave this much combined imagination alone any more." Harry apparently has now replaced his bicycle with a 68 Mustang convertible and the little room upstairs with an apartment in Brentwood. I'm not sure I'm ready for that. Considering my own kids didn't give me a vote in the matter, I don't know why he would. I saw him last at his high school graduation and am comfortable with freezing him right there in time. It doesn't work that way. I realized a couple of years ago that I stopped taking Jessica places and started going with her. She's moving along at warp speed towards her own career, her own home, her separate life. But Spring break is giving us an excuse to get on a plane and circle back to see and celebrate some of the people who made the journey with us. And I know that in a pinch, Harry and Jessica can go for breakfast tacos. Read/Post Comments (0) Previous Entry :: Next Entry Back to Top