Mar 06 2003
On my own
The next week+ is going to be a busy one for lazy Me. My stepmother is visiting from London from Saturday through Wednesday, and Thursday I’m going to Boston for a long weekend.
Even more than usual, my father isn’t far from my thoughts these days. My stepmother hasn’t been to San Francisco since 1999, the last Christmas we had together, and she has never been here without Dad, so I’m not sure how she’ll do. She might find, as I did in London last Fall, that it’s no worse than being at home. Wherever you are, *you* are still there, and he isn’t. But people are different. I have a couple of fun things planned, like going out to dinner on Saturday night and having brunch on Sunday with my good friend Adrian, who was also a friend of my Dad’s. I hope it’s OK for her.
I am going to Boston next week to see the Impressionist Landscape exhibit at the Museum of Arts. I’m actually going to the exhibit on Dad’s birthday, St. Patrick’s Day – the most ironic birthday possible for my Irish-hatin’ pop. It’s my way of celebrating his birthday and the gift he gave me and shared with me of loving art. If he were alive, I bet he would have met me there. So I’ll go alone and hope that the happy memories outweigh the sorrow of losing him.
People seem to find it astounding that I’m going on my own, which I in turn find astounding. After all, I went to London without John three months after we were married. You might as well start off as you mean to go on. Most of the trips I have taken have been either with my father or on my own, and being alone in a strange city holds no terrors for me. What does terrify me is the sort of relationship the women must have who say things to me like, “Your husband lets you go alone?”