Halfway to the Stars
May. 31st, 2019 04:16 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dedalus_1947The loveliness of Paris seems somehow sadly gray
The glory that was Rome is of another day
I’ve been terribly alone and forgotten in Manhattan
I’m going home to my city by the Bay
Left my heart in San Francisco
High on a hill, it calls to me
To be where little cable cars climb halfway to the stars
The morning fog may chill the air, but I don’t care.
(I Left My Heart in San Francisco: Cross & Cory – 1953)
It’s hard to admit that my notions of how people will respond to places and experiences I loved is predicated more about me than the people having the experience. This tendency really borders on hubris – the excessive pride and arrogance that everyone else will share the things and places I value and cherish equally. This fact was again brought home to me a few weeks ago when Kathy and I took our granddaughter Sarah on her first airplane trip to visit San Francisco. By the time it was over, I felt like an ancient Greek traveler surveying the smoldering relics of old illusions and false expectations that had crumbled before the innocent behaviors of an eight year-old child.
The idea of taking Sarah on an airplane trip began with a conversation I had with Kathy about five or six years ago. She was telling me how the parent-in-laws of her boss, Kevin Baxter, the Superintendent of Catholic Schools in Los Angeles, took each of their grandchildren on a trip at age 10 to a city or place of their choice. It sounded like a wonderful idea to imitate, and we talked about it over the years, trying to decide on the proper age of the child, and the location to choose. As time passed, and we got older, Sarah’s age, and the distance and scope of the trip became less and less. Airplane trips to New York or Washington D.C. seemed a little too long, so we kept reducing the length of the trip and the stay to minimize our physical exertions and activities. At the same time, we were anxious to do it as soon as possible, while we were still able and fit. It seemed too long a wait until Sarah’s 10th birthday, so I suggested that we tie the trip to a fast approaching milestone in her life – her First Communion. Kathy thought it an inspired idea and suggested locations that offered short flying times and a variety of activities. We eventually settled on San Francisco, a city that we both loved to visit. I thought the plan was brilliant because it combined so many momentous components: First Communion, first time on an airplane, and first time visiting a beautiful and historic city. “How could Sarah not love everything about this trip?” I asked myself at the time, not realizing it was the wrong query to make. The question Kathy used instead to plan the trip was, “Will Sarah enjoy the trip and will it be memorable for her?” and, as it turned out, she did and it was. My error was in expecting Sarah to appreciate it the way I nostalgically remembered flying and traveling.
My experiences with airplane flying began as early as 1948, when I was a year old. My mother and father were returning to Mexico City from Los Angeles in the hope of establishing permanent residency while my Dad attended college under the G.I. Bill. My brother and sister (Arthur and Stela) were born there, but we had to return to Los Angeles when residency was denied. On the average, my Mom traveled back to Mexico to visit her family every 3 to 4 years, always taking the children along, and Dad when possible. Except for one trip by car, we always flew by airplane. I loved everything about air travel. Still considered a luxurious means of travel in the 1950’s, we dressed up for the journey, and departures and arrivals were always accompanied by loads of friends and family to see us off and welcome our return. Goodbyes included apprehensive excitement, tears, hugs, and blessings, which were transformed on arrival by cheerful hugs and shouts of welcome. I loved the sensations of lift off and touch downs, when the swift moving airplane miraculously elevated into the air, and then thudded onto the cement runway on landing. I also loved those occasions when the airplane experienced turbulent weather and buffeted up and down while flying. Those were the only times I actually felt I was in the air flying – otherwise the cabin was relatively motionless during most of the flights. Also, as the oldest child in the family, I usually contrived to occupy the window seat on the flights, gluing my nose to the porthole window so I could watch as we glided through billowy cumulus clouds, and look down upon the rough desert terrain we flew over, and the tiny structures and cars I spotted on ribbons of roads and highways. So I couldn’t wait to witness how Sarah would react to the same experiences, at roughly the same age. I was also excited about showing her the city of San Francisco, with all its historic sights, buildings, and bridges. Needless to say I had built up a massive tower of expectations that Sarah would have the same reactions I did. The reality came as quite an awakening.
As I’ve mentioned before in the blog, Kathy is the master travel agent and social activities director in the family, I just go along for the ride and the enjoyment – being supportive along the way. Her two-day itinerary and agenda of activities were perfectly designed for our eight year-old granddaughter. Sarah is a child in constant motion whose emotions and actions tend to flow in undulating waves – rising in verbal anticipation, peaking in kinetic energy and active enjoyment, and cresting in a momentary lull as she pauses to search for new activities to perform. This was visible from the moment she arrived at our home on the night before the flight. Walking into the house, rolling her carry-on suitcase behind her, she excitedly unpacked to show Kathy what she had brought to wear for the trip. Then, eyes bright with excitement, she listened as Kathy described the itinerary: overnight sleepover; early breakfast, then calling a Lyft for a ride to Hollywood Burbank Airport; an hour-long flight to San Francisco, then checking into our room at the Hilton Union Square Hotel; a restaurant lunch, followed by shopping at Macy’s on Union Square, and then swimming in the hotel pool; finally, a cable car ride to Fisherman’s Wharf, and then dinner. The following day I would take her to Union Square and Chinatown, and then we would meet our niece, Brigid Williams, for a Saturday at the Exploratorium at the Embarcadero. After listening and commenting on this very full and active agenda (Sarah is always eager to expand on topics and subjects she has heard about, or seen on television), she asked permission to go outside and shoot baskets before dinner.
Looking back on this trip with Sarah, I’ve come to some new insights about the things children enjoy about flying that are no longer based on my “remembered” experiences. Some of the things that excited Sarah were predictable, but many were not. She loved rolling our large suitcases for us whenever she had the chance, and the TSA checkpoint was a special highlight for her. All the TSA workers were incredibly solicitous and kind, giving her big, warm smiles, and patiently explaining the ticket and scanning procedure. She passed through the sensors quickly, and then turned around to give me advice when I set it off the alarms twice because of my belt and cell phone: “Take off your belt, Poppy!” she admonished me. The Hollywood/Burbank airport was also a big hit because of its wide corridors and huge picture windows showing the parked jet airplanes on the tarmac as they fueled and loaded the luggage onboard. Another benefit of the airport is its small size, which allows passengers to walk on board from the tarmac ramp or stairway, and Sarah’s excitement was visible as she bounded up the ramp leading to the entry hatch of the airplane. She had a little trouble buckling her seat belt, explaining that it was different from the car belts she was used to, but she was incredibly attentive as the stewardess explained the emergency procedures from the front of the plane. Later, Sarah had me point out exactly where the lifejackets were located under the seats and from where the oxygen masks would drop if they were needed. The takeoff, as expected, was the most invigorating part of the ride. With her nose pressed to the window, Sarah seemed to hold her breath as the plane sped faster and faster down the runway and then suddenly felt weightless as it lifted off the ground. The upward climb was steep, doubling the sensation of flight, and then banking slowly to the right, Sarah could see the quickly shrinking buildings, homes, streets, and cars below us. “Wow!” she said, “they’re so small”. Once in the air, surrounded by wide, puffy cumulus clouds, she said they reminded her of cotton candy, and then turned away to set up the iPad Kathy had provided so she could watch episodes of the children cooking show “Nailed It!” on the small screen. The only disappointment she evidenced was when the captain explained on the PA that because of possible turbulence, there would be no cabin service (Sarah had been looking forward to the stewardess providing soft drinks and peanuts). Landing at the San Francisco International airport provided a momentary distraction to her video watching, and she became alert to her surrounding again when we deplaned. Confidently leading the way down the wide corridor and reading the directional signs as she walked, she directed us to the baggage claim area, where she studiously kept her eyes peeled on the luggage carousel to spot our suitcases. She saw them first, and only asked for our help when they proved to heavy to lift.
After leaving our luggage at the hotel, I learned quickly that, unlike adult travelers, San Francisco dining was not a big deal for children. Sarah would have been happier selecting her meals from a children’s menu at Red Robin rather than a pub called Johnny Foley’s Irish House on O’Farrell Street. While eager to choose a meal from a menu, Sarah simply picked at her food during the meal, leaving it spread out on the plate, mostly uneaten. The trip became exciting again when Kathy took her shopping at Macy’s Department Store on Union Square. There she could use the Macy’s gift card and cash she had received as gifts for her First Communion, and purchase the shoes and shirts she was eager to inspect and try on. Another big hit for Sarah was the pool and our room at the Hilton Hotel near Union Square. The room was a spacious corner room with a separate rollout couch, two TV’s, and two large picture windows overlooking downtown San Francisco. Once we had unpacked and stored our clothes, Kathy volunteered to take Sarah down to the pool to let her swim, play, and burn off more energy. This is a tag-team strategy we often employ when babysitting our granddaughters, one of us would take them swimming, walking, or to a park to play, while the other person took a break. A pool is always the best for us because the girls are competent swimmers, and all we have to do is watch them while lounging on a deck chair.
When we were ready for dinner, Kathy and I tried describing the cable car ride we would take to Fisherman’s Wharf, and the many stores, restaurants, and sights along San Francisco Bay. These had always been my favorite part of San Francisco, and I suppose I expected Sarah to feel the same way. I wasn’t disappointed, even when discovering that the cable car terminal at Powell and Market Street was closed for repair, and a bus would transport us to the pickup point, about halfway along the cable car route. I would have preferred a longer cable car ride, but Sarah loves public transportation of any kind – bus, metro, or train – and the cable car was a brand new experience. Sitting on the outside bench of the car, she was able to see the people and city of San Francisco as we rolled along toward the Bay, slowly climbing, and then descending down the steep hills on Hyde Street. Reaching Fisherman’s Wharf, she feigned interest as we pointed out the Golden Gate Bridge and Alcatraz Prison, but I think we were past the highpoint of the evening for her. We walked along Jefferson Street, looking at the stores and searching for a bayside restaurant for dinner, and all the while, Sarah, who was radically underdressed for the San Francisco cold, kept repeating, “I’m turning into an icicle! I’m turning into an icicle!” The evening was salvaged after dinner, when we allowed Sarah to wander through a vast It’s Sugar! candy store nearby, where she could pick as much and as many candies as she could bag.
Sarah awoke bright and early the next morning, long before we did, and while we continued sleeping, managed to view a variety of Disney Channel programs on what she called “my TV”. After a buffet breakfast in the hotel restaurant, it was now my turn to entertain Sarah by taking her on long walk through Union Square, and then up the hill to Chinatown. She proved a patient traveling companion, allowing me to pose her for pictures, and listening to my stories of the city and its sights. Of far greater interest to Sarah, however, were the storefront displays of Asian toys, fans, parasols, and knickknacks that cluttered the sidewalks of Chinatown. I kept shooing her along until she again paused in front of a clothing store to inspect a rack of traditional Chinese formfitting dresses called “quipaos”. There I finally relented and asked the rhetorical question, “Would you like to buy one?” By the time we returned to the hotel from our 90-minute walk through San Francisco, Sarah was eager to get on to our next adventure while I was exhausted. Thankfully Kathy had arranged to meet our niece Brigid at the San Francisco Exploratorium at the Embarcadero that morning. What I had originally considered a thoughtful idea to visit a relative living in Oakland proved a Godsend. Bridgy took Sarah completely off our hands, and the two of them spent the sunny morning and afternoon exploring, playing, and manipulating the hundreds of interactive displays and exhibits that populated this massive museum. Kathy and I just tagged along, watching them learn, laugh, and play, until it was time to find a place to eat at the Embarcadero. When we finally got back to the hotel, there was still sufficient light for me to take Sarah back to the pool area where she spent an hour or so swimming, playing with some children who joined her, and lounging in the sauna. Foregoing a restaurant that evening, we picked up dinner at the hotel delicatessen that evening and ate in our room. Sarah went quickly to bed after finishing.
I didn’t realize how exhausted she truly was until the next morning, when for the first time ever, Kathy and I awoke before she did. The 6am alarm we had set did not stir her, and I had to gently shake her awake before she moaned, rolled over, and reluctantly opened her eyes. The return airplane trip home was a repeat of her first flight, only this time she easily manipulated her seatbelt and ignored the preflight safety announcement. After takeoff she quickly gave full attention to the iPad on the flight tray and continued watching the cooking show she had begun on the previous trip. The only novelty for her on this flight was being served when the attendant asked what refreshment she would like to accompany the complimentary bag of pretzels. I have to admit that I was slightly disappointed by her reactions, thinking that Sarah had not fully appreciated the extent of all the novel circumstances we had experienced. When, during the flight, I casually mentioned this to Kathy, she simply gave me a puzzled look and said, “What did you expect from an 8 year-old girl?” That accusatory question sat with me for the remainder of the flight, prompting me to recall my own first trip to San Francisco when I was 5 or 6 years old. My grandmother, aunt, and two uncles were visiting us from Mexico, and my parents had decided to take them on a road trip to Yosemite and San Francisco. There are actual photographs of this trip, but I only recall vague memories of waking up one morning to the sounds of a waterfall near a lodge we occupied in Yosemite, and a stop we made on our way home in Bakersfield. It was in Bakersfield that our car broke down, and we had to stay overnight before it was repaired. This breakdown was the highlight of the trip for me, because it provided drama, excitement, and an overnight stay at a roadside motel with a pool. When we weren’t exploring the grounds of the motel near the service station, my three siblings and I spent the entire afternoon and evening playing in that pool with other children. Those flashing scenes are the full extent of the memories of my first trip to San Francisco. By the time we landed at the Hollywood Burbank Airport, I had left my disillusions behind, and just felt happy at having completed the long planned dream of being able to watch Sarah react to many first time experiences. I don’t know how many of them she will actually recall in the years to come, but I took plenty of photographs to help her remember.
The glory that was Rome is of another day
I’ve been terribly alone and forgotten in Manhattan
I’m going home to my city by the Bay
Left my heart in San Francisco
High on a hill, it calls to me
To be where little cable cars climb halfway to the stars
The morning fog may chill the air, but I don’t care.
(I Left My Heart in San Francisco: Cross & Cory – 1953)
It’s hard to admit that my notions of how people will respond to places and experiences I loved is predicated more about me than the people having the experience. This tendency really borders on hubris – the excessive pride and arrogance that everyone else will share the things and places I value and cherish equally. This fact was again brought home to me a few weeks ago when Kathy and I took our granddaughter Sarah on her first airplane trip to visit San Francisco. By the time it was over, I felt like an ancient Greek traveler surveying the smoldering relics of old illusions and false expectations that had crumbled before the innocent behaviors of an eight year-old child.
The idea of taking Sarah on an airplane trip began with a conversation I had with Kathy about five or six years ago. She was telling me how the parent-in-laws of her boss, Kevin Baxter, the Superintendent of Catholic Schools in Los Angeles, took each of their grandchildren on a trip at age 10 to a city or place of their choice. It sounded like a wonderful idea to imitate, and we talked about it over the years, trying to decide on the proper age of the child, and the location to choose. As time passed, and we got older, Sarah’s age, and the distance and scope of the trip became less and less. Airplane trips to New York or Washington D.C. seemed a little too long, so we kept reducing the length of the trip and the stay to minimize our physical exertions and activities. At the same time, we were anxious to do it as soon as possible, while we were still able and fit. It seemed too long a wait until Sarah’s 10th birthday, so I suggested that we tie the trip to a fast approaching milestone in her life – her First Communion. Kathy thought it an inspired idea and suggested locations that offered short flying times and a variety of activities. We eventually settled on San Francisco, a city that we both loved to visit. I thought the plan was brilliant because it combined so many momentous components: First Communion, first time on an airplane, and first time visiting a beautiful and historic city. “How could Sarah not love everything about this trip?” I asked myself at the time, not realizing it was the wrong query to make. The question Kathy used instead to plan the trip was, “Will Sarah enjoy the trip and will it be memorable for her?” and, as it turned out, she did and it was. My error was in expecting Sarah to appreciate it the way I nostalgically remembered flying and traveling.
My experiences with airplane flying began as early as 1948, when I was a year old. My mother and father were returning to Mexico City from Los Angeles in the hope of establishing permanent residency while my Dad attended college under the G.I. Bill. My brother and sister (Arthur and Stela) were born there, but we had to return to Los Angeles when residency was denied. On the average, my Mom traveled back to Mexico to visit her family every 3 to 4 years, always taking the children along, and Dad when possible. Except for one trip by car, we always flew by airplane. I loved everything about air travel. Still considered a luxurious means of travel in the 1950’s, we dressed up for the journey, and departures and arrivals were always accompanied by loads of friends and family to see us off and welcome our return. Goodbyes included apprehensive excitement, tears, hugs, and blessings, which were transformed on arrival by cheerful hugs and shouts of welcome. I loved the sensations of lift off and touch downs, when the swift moving airplane miraculously elevated into the air, and then thudded onto the cement runway on landing. I also loved those occasions when the airplane experienced turbulent weather and buffeted up and down while flying. Those were the only times I actually felt I was in the air flying – otherwise the cabin was relatively motionless during most of the flights. Also, as the oldest child in the family, I usually contrived to occupy the window seat on the flights, gluing my nose to the porthole window so I could watch as we glided through billowy cumulus clouds, and look down upon the rough desert terrain we flew over, and the tiny structures and cars I spotted on ribbons of roads and highways. So I couldn’t wait to witness how Sarah would react to the same experiences, at roughly the same age. I was also excited about showing her the city of San Francisco, with all its historic sights, buildings, and bridges. Needless to say I had built up a massive tower of expectations that Sarah would have the same reactions I did. The reality came as quite an awakening.
As I’ve mentioned before in the blog, Kathy is the master travel agent and social activities director in the family, I just go along for the ride and the enjoyment – being supportive along the way. Her two-day itinerary and agenda of activities were perfectly designed for our eight year-old granddaughter. Sarah is a child in constant motion whose emotions and actions tend to flow in undulating waves – rising in verbal anticipation, peaking in kinetic energy and active enjoyment, and cresting in a momentary lull as she pauses to search for new activities to perform. This was visible from the moment she arrived at our home on the night before the flight. Walking into the house, rolling her carry-on suitcase behind her, she excitedly unpacked to show Kathy what she had brought to wear for the trip. Then, eyes bright with excitement, she listened as Kathy described the itinerary: overnight sleepover; early breakfast, then calling a Lyft for a ride to Hollywood Burbank Airport; an hour-long flight to San Francisco, then checking into our room at the Hilton Union Square Hotel; a restaurant lunch, followed by shopping at Macy’s on Union Square, and then swimming in the hotel pool; finally, a cable car ride to Fisherman’s Wharf, and then dinner. The following day I would take her to Union Square and Chinatown, and then we would meet our niece, Brigid Williams, for a Saturday at the Exploratorium at the Embarcadero. After listening and commenting on this very full and active agenda (Sarah is always eager to expand on topics and subjects she has heard about, or seen on television), she asked permission to go outside and shoot baskets before dinner.
Looking back on this trip with Sarah, I’ve come to some new insights about the things children enjoy about flying that are no longer based on my “remembered” experiences. Some of the things that excited Sarah were predictable, but many were not. She loved rolling our large suitcases for us whenever she had the chance, and the TSA checkpoint was a special highlight for her. All the TSA workers were incredibly solicitous and kind, giving her big, warm smiles, and patiently explaining the ticket and scanning procedure. She passed through the sensors quickly, and then turned around to give me advice when I set it off the alarms twice because of my belt and cell phone: “Take off your belt, Poppy!” she admonished me. The Hollywood/Burbank airport was also a big hit because of its wide corridors and huge picture windows showing the parked jet airplanes on the tarmac as they fueled and loaded the luggage onboard. Another benefit of the airport is its small size, which allows passengers to walk on board from the tarmac ramp or stairway, and Sarah’s excitement was visible as she bounded up the ramp leading to the entry hatch of the airplane. She had a little trouble buckling her seat belt, explaining that it was different from the car belts she was used to, but she was incredibly attentive as the stewardess explained the emergency procedures from the front of the plane. Later, Sarah had me point out exactly where the lifejackets were located under the seats and from where the oxygen masks would drop if they were needed. The takeoff, as expected, was the most invigorating part of the ride. With her nose pressed to the window, Sarah seemed to hold her breath as the plane sped faster and faster down the runway and then suddenly felt weightless as it lifted off the ground. The upward climb was steep, doubling the sensation of flight, and then banking slowly to the right, Sarah could see the quickly shrinking buildings, homes, streets, and cars below us. “Wow!” she said, “they’re so small”. Once in the air, surrounded by wide, puffy cumulus clouds, she said they reminded her of cotton candy, and then turned away to set up the iPad Kathy had provided so she could watch episodes of the children cooking show “Nailed It!” on the small screen. The only disappointment she evidenced was when the captain explained on the PA that because of possible turbulence, there would be no cabin service (Sarah had been looking forward to the stewardess providing soft drinks and peanuts). Landing at the San Francisco International airport provided a momentary distraction to her video watching, and she became alert to her surrounding again when we deplaned. Confidently leading the way down the wide corridor and reading the directional signs as she walked, she directed us to the baggage claim area, where she studiously kept her eyes peeled on the luggage carousel to spot our suitcases. She saw them first, and only asked for our help when they proved to heavy to lift.
After leaving our luggage at the hotel, I learned quickly that, unlike adult travelers, San Francisco dining was not a big deal for children. Sarah would have been happier selecting her meals from a children’s menu at Red Robin rather than a pub called Johnny Foley’s Irish House on O’Farrell Street. While eager to choose a meal from a menu, Sarah simply picked at her food during the meal, leaving it spread out on the plate, mostly uneaten. The trip became exciting again when Kathy took her shopping at Macy’s Department Store on Union Square. There she could use the Macy’s gift card and cash she had received as gifts for her First Communion, and purchase the shoes and shirts she was eager to inspect and try on. Another big hit for Sarah was the pool and our room at the Hilton Hotel near Union Square. The room was a spacious corner room with a separate rollout couch, two TV’s, and two large picture windows overlooking downtown San Francisco. Once we had unpacked and stored our clothes, Kathy volunteered to take Sarah down to the pool to let her swim, play, and burn off more energy. This is a tag-team strategy we often employ when babysitting our granddaughters, one of us would take them swimming, walking, or to a park to play, while the other person took a break. A pool is always the best for us because the girls are competent swimmers, and all we have to do is watch them while lounging on a deck chair.
When we were ready for dinner, Kathy and I tried describing the cable car ride we would take to Fisherman’s Wharf, and the many stores, restaurants, and sights along San Francisco Bay. These had always been my favorite part of San Francisco, and I suppose I expected Sarah to feel the same way. I wasn’t disappointed, even when discovering that the cable car terminal at Powell and Market Street was closed for repair, and a bus would transport us to the pickup point, about halfway along the cable car route. I would have preferred a longer cable car ride, but Sarah loves public transportation of any kind – bus, metro, or train – and the cable car was a brand new experience. Sitting on the outside bench of the car, she was able to see the people and city of San Francisco as we rolled along toward the Bay, slowly climbing, and then descending down the steep hills on Hyde Street. Reaching Fisherman’s Wharf, she feigned interest as we pointed out the Golden Gate Bridge and Alcatraz Prison, but I think we were past the highpoint of the evening for her. We walked along Jefferson Street, looking at the stores and searching for a bayside restaurant for dinner, and all the while, Sarah, who was radically underdressed for the San Francisco cold, kept repeating, “I’m turning into an icicle! I’m turning into an icicle!” The evening was salvaged after dinner, when we allowed Sarah to wander through a vast It’s Sugar! candy store nearby, where she could pick as much and as many candies as she could bag.
Sarah awoke bright and early the next morning, long before we did, and while we continued sleeping, managed to view a variety of Disney Channel programs on what she called “my TV”. After a buffet breakfast in the hotel restaurant, it was now my turn to entertain Sarah by taking her on long walk through Union Square, and then up the hill to Chinatown. She proved a patient traveling companion, allowing me to pose her for pictures, and listening to my stories of the city and its sights. Of far greater interest to Sarah, however, were the storefront displays of Asian toys, fans, parasols, and knickknacks that cluttered the sidewalks of Chinatown. I kept shooing her along until she again paused in front of a clothing store to inspect a rack of traditional Chinese formfitting dresses called “quipaos”. There I finally relented and asked the rhetorical question, “Would you like to buy one?” By the time we returned to the hotel from our 90-minute walk through San Francisco, Sarah was eager to get on to our next adventure while I was exhausted. Thankfully Kathy had arranged to meet our niece Brigid at the San Francisco Exploratorium at the Embarcadero that morning. What I had originally considered a thoughtful idea to visit a relative living in Oakland proved a Godsend. Bridgy took Sarah completely off our hands, and the two of them spent the sunny morning and afternoon exploring, playing, and manipulating the hundreds of interactive displays and exhibits that populated this massive museum. Kathy and I just tagged along, watching them learn, laugh, and play, until it was time to find a place to eat at the Embarcadero. When we finally got back to the hotel, there was still sufficient light for me to take Sarah back to the pool area where she spent an hour or so swimming, playing with some children who joined her, and lounging in the sauna. Foregoing a restaurant that evening, we picked up dinner at the hotel delicatessen that evening and ate in our room. Sarah went quickly to bed after finishing.
I didn’t realize how exhausted she truly was until the next morning, when for the first time ever, Kathy and I awoke before she did. The 6am alarm we had set did not stir her, and I had to gently shake her awake before she moaned, rolled over, and reluctantly opened her eyes. The return airplane trip home was a repeat of her first flight, only this time she easily manipulated her seatbelt and ignored the preflight safety announcement. After takeoff she quickly gave full attention to the iPad on the flight tray and continued watching the cooking show she had begun on the previous trip. The only novelty for her on this flight was being served when the attendant asked what refreshment she would like to accompany the complimentary bag of pretzels. I have to admit that I was slightly disappointed by her reactions, thinking that Sarah had not fully appreciated the extent of all the novel circumstances we had experienced. When, during the flight, I casually mentioned this to Kathy, she simply gave me a puzzled look and said, “What did you expect from an 8 year-old girl?” That accusatory question sat with me for the remainder of the flight, prompting me to recall my own first trip to San Francisco when I was 5 or 6 years old. My grandmother, aunt, and two uncles were visiting us from Mexico, and my parents had decided to take them on a road trip to Yosemite and San Francisco. There are actual photographs of this trip, but I only recall vague memories of waking up one morning to the sounds of a waterfall near a lodge we occupied in Yosemite, and a stop we made on our way home in Bakersfield. It was in Bakersfield that our car broke down, and we had to stay overnight before it was repaired. This breakdown was the highlight of the trip for me, because it provided drama, excitement, and an overnight stay at a roadside motel with a pool. When we weren’t exploring the grounds of the motel near the service station, my three siblings and I spent the entire afternoon and evening playing in that pool with other children. Those flashing scenes are the full extent of the memories of my first trip to San Francisco. By the time we landed at the Hollywood Burbank Airport, I had left my disillusions behind, and just felt happy at having completed the long planned dream of being able to watch Sarah react to many first time experiences. I don’t know how many of them she will actually recall in the years to come, but I took plenty of photographs to help her remember.
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