Memory Lane

I think it all began when I first wrote and posted my "Where I Am From" poem; somehow my mind was pulled down that reflective path called memory lane. Around the same time, my husband and I took a late afternoon drive back to our old stomping grounds. We grew up in adjacent cities on the San Francisco peninsula, and a wedding reception for a friend was what brought us back. Without five children in tow, we managed to arrive in town over an hour early, so we took the time to drive the slow roads and see the familiar sites of our Palo Alto years. The first stop was the baseball field where glorious championships were won and are still remembered with unbelievable detail.




How many times I remember driving past this sign; it has not changed one bit since we were children. I wonder if I was driving past when he was hitting home runs and pitching no-hit innings? It's very possible.

We also took time to visit the church where we met and were married almost twenty years ago. It is fancier now; in 1986 my mother despaired of my wedding being in a building that resembled a grocery store, complete with dreadful green linoleum. I only knew that I wanted to be married in the church I called home. How many times I walked the sidewalk in front of this building, how many long conversations took place in the parking lot. My soul was fed in those pews, and what fun I remember from our wedding day.


Peninsula Bible Church


We knew we needed coffee and a place to change clothes before we got to our final destination, so we tried to guess which corner would have been taken over by Starbucks. Well, we hit it spot on. As I sat at the table, staring down a road I had driven on, walked down, and run across countless times in the twenty-eight years I called this home, I got a little choked up. I didn't always have this life; I don't look down memory lane and see The Good Ol' Days. We had tons of fun and made many lifetime friends, but I realize now that those days were preparing me for the life I am living now. At some point, in the years since we moved away, I settled in with myself, no longer fighting or doubting who I am called to be. Like a runner breaking through the wall, I feel like I am finally hitting my stride. I still stumble when the road gets rocky, and the heat and constancy of the race can wear me down if I am not careful, but I do love this life.


Middlefield Road


The view from my table was filled with the light and shadow of dusk, and the yellow roses were in full bloom overhead as we walked back to the car. Happily caffeinated and dressed in our fancy duds, we went off to celebrate a friend's marriage. Memory lane continues, and even revisits its old haunts, but that night, a little earlier than we expected, we were happy to get back on the road to home.

How many years I called Palo Alto home, but not now. This humble hill, with our family's collection of strengths, weaknesses, preferences and idiosyncrasies, is home now. The road is not always smooth (we are human and our frailty often shows,) but this is where our memory lane now widens and fills with stories to be told for generations to come. I never could have imagined this twenty years ago. What I thought was joy has only multiplied; what I thought was difficult is now put in perspective. When "hard" comes again, I will know it is doing its work on me, and I am confident that it is a good work.

Oh, yes, I do love this life.


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