I saw a meme informing us that 1970 and 2022 is the same span of years apart as 1918 and 1970. For some reason, that hit me hard. My Aunt Winnie was born in 1918 and she is long gone. And she was old and beyond frail when she died. One of the last understandable sentences she spoke was "I stayed too long." It haunts me. Meanwhile, I fully recall where I was in 1970, laughing with my friends at the Queen's School, the beach days with cousins at Doctor's Cave, the time spent dreaming on my bed at 37 Paddington Terrace, the door to my little private terrace open to a gentle breeze, the leaves of the mango tree beyond it rustling like maracas, my dogs, Ringo and Sly, dozing on the cool green terrazzo tile squares of my tiny furniture-free patio. As a teen, my brother used to knock at this door at night when he got home after curfew, and I would let him in, holding my breath as he tip toed to his bedroom on the other side of the house, with our parents none the wiser. And on afternoons after school, I sprawled at the foot of my bed doing homework, warmed by a slant of sun that found me through the open door, and I was keenly aware of my privilege, especially compared to my best friend, who was growing up in a Catholic children's home on Constant Spring Road. The photo is of me in 1970.
Flash forward to 2022. It's snowing today, with a foot of fine powdery flakes expected, not wet enough to cling to branches, but light enough to blow everywhere, accumulating in huge drifts. My niece and goddaughter Dani starts a new job next week, a rather amazing one that has everyone slapping her on the back proudly, knowing she richly deserves it, and that this company, a prominent one in the entertainment field, showed great discernment in hiring her as its social media coordinator. A lovely footnote is she had applied to this same company just out of college in 2019, but didn't get a call back, and this time despite the fact that more than 3,000 people applied, and she sent her application in as a lark, she was the one the judged most qualified, and good on them. They could not have chosen a more conscientious and creative soul to join their team. She is a wonderful writer, too, and a delightful human, as you can see for yourself from her latest post at Living Life Like...
Dani's last day at her previous job as the editorial and social media coordinator for a travel website was a week ago, and she decided to spend the interval before starting the new position next Monday with her cousin (my daughter) in Boston. The two of them have been having a wonderful time doing the town. I'm going to share some of the photos Dani has been posting, because I'm just so impressed by her ability to distill what she sees around her into images of poignant beauty.
And here are my niece and my daughter, enjoying breakfast in a Boston diner, out and about exploring their world, as twentysomethings still do in the time of plague. No judgment here, just a prayer they stay safe. I've noted that even the most responsible young people bow to an imperative to pursue very social lives. No doubt it is the nature of youth. From my distance of years, I remember it well.