Tag Archives: #sanfrancisco

Torn between three places? Why we are comfortable where we are.

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Larry and I have just returned from visits with our children in California and Colorado. While enjoying our time, it is nice to return to our own home in Florida. This article, which was originally published in 2019, explains why we are happy where we are.

There is always, always something to be thankful for.  Author unknown

When my daughter Julie headed out to Colorado in 2003, it was originally planned as a nine month adventure teaching environmental science. Soon, however, Julie fell in love with the mountains, Colorado, and Sam, not necessarily in that order. They built a life together, completed graduate degrees, got married, bought a house in Frisco, and had a child. They have  settled into the life at 9100 feet.

Meanwhile, our son Adam chose a different path in another Frisco…San Francisco. After completing a law degree, he moved into an apartment in the middle of the city. This past December, he met Sarah. In a whirlwind romance, they dated, got engaged, got married, and now are expecting their first child. They have settled into life at sea level.

In the middle of all this, my husband Larry and I decided to move from Upstate New York, to a fifty-five plus community in Florida, close to 2000 and 3000 miles from Frisco and San Francisco, respectfully. There are those who ask us when we are moving closer to our children. The answer, for now, is NOT NOW.

Feeling gratitude despite living so far away may be difficult to fathom. However, I am thankful. Both my children have chosen to settle in two of the most wonderful places we have ever visited. Recent experiences bear that out.

Frisco, Colorado is nestled in beautiful Summit County. Surrounded by mountains reaching over 14,000 feet, it is for us a summer wonderland. Trails beckon us on hikes that bring us next to flowing streams, stunning wildflowers, and expansive vista. Larry plays with Summit County pickleball league while I take long walks with my granddog. Free concerts are offered in most surrounding towns Thursdays through Sunday. 

Our favorite is the one on Main Street in Frisco every week. Hundreds of people congregate around the pavilion in the middle of Frisco Town Park. The adults settle into lawn chairs and on blankets, pulling dinners out of coolers, while their dog or dogs settle near by. Meanwhile, the children dart around the lawn and path around the pavilion. It is a slice of Americana that I hadn’t seen since growing up in our Upstate New York town. In addition to the free entertainment, the area has several theater groups and a summer residency for the National Repertory Orchestra. Because of all it offers, Larry and I have rented there for the past four summers.

One thousand miles away, San Francisco is one of the most beloved city in America. When we visited Adam, we have taken advantage of all its attractions. We have walked through Golden Gate Park and across the iconic bridge. We have visited Alcatraz, Muir Woods, Sausalito, and Point del Reyes. We have used the city as a starting point to attractions as far south as Monterey and as far north as Astoria, Oregon. 

With our children living in such wonderful places, why have we have not picked up and moved? This question has taken on new meaning now that we have The Frisco Kid in Colorado and a soon-to-be grandson in California. 

Let me start with Frisco. Everything I wrote about my favorite town in the world is during the summer. In 2019, its residents experienced snow through the end of June, enjoyed a beautiful summer, and had its first dusting of the 2019-2020 season on a nearby ski resort on August 22. By September 19, the mountains got enough to get skiers excited. 

When we visited Julie and Sam in mid-October, snow fell on five out of six days. An Upstate New York girl, I always loved the site of clean, white snow on lawns and trees and trails. Unfortunately, sidewalks are not immune. After dropping The Frisco Kid at pre-school the second full day we were there, the sun was shining everywhere, including on the black ice on the sidewalks. We had to leave for the airport a day early as a major storm was expected to bring hazardous conditions to Route 70. The Weather Channel advisory recommended travelers to pack food, water, and blankets in case one was stranded. Although the snowfall never amounted to more than 2 inches (Denver actually got more!), the temperature dipped to 16 degrees above zero, without windchill. We love Frisco but cannot see us living there through their long winters.

The weather in Adam and Sarah’s now established home town  is admittedly better. Even if you factor in the famous Mark Twain quote, “The coldest winter I ever spent was a summer in San Francisco,” we would never have to deal with snow. , The city, however, is known for its steep hills and even steeper housing prices. If we sold our home in Florida, we could maybe afford a bathroom. No, I am not talking about a one bedroom, one bath apartment. I am talking about a bathroom. No shower included. And to get to that bathroom, we would probably have to walk up four flights of stairs, as the natives seem to eschew elevators. 

There are two more reasons not to move. First of all, a number of friends have relocated to be close to their children, only to see them relocate one or two years later because of their careers. 

Finally, Larry and I love where we are. We are in a one floor home that is a perfect size for the two of us. We have activities that fit our needs: pickleball courts; fully equipped gyms, olympic sized pools, restaurants, and entertainment venues. To add to our pleasure, we have our choice of over 250 clubs and organizations with which to participate within our gates. 

Within a forty minute drive, we have all that Orlando has to offer, including world class entertainment. The Frisco Kid experienced Disneyland for the first time last year, and she is already on a campaign to make it a yearly visit. Hopefully, she will h persuade her new cousin to do the same!

So we are here to stay for as long as we can maintain our independent lifestyle. This Thanksgiving, we are grateful that both my children have chosen to settle in two of the most wonderful places we have ever experienced. We have planned visits as well as a promise to them that we can be on a plane in a moment’s notice if needed. Meanwhile, the guest room is ready for them anytime. 

A version of this article originally appeared in the November 14, 2019, Jewish World News, a bi-weekly subscription-based newspaper in upstate New York.

Realizing What I Have Missed

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Up until now, I thought that maybe I hadn’t missed that much in the past 16 months. My husband Larry and I had our health, had managed to keep a level of contentment throughout the pandemic. We missed our family terribly, but we had frequent Zoom calls with our children and grandchildren.

Even throughout our two weeks in California, I had felt pretty good. Larry and I had hugged our fifteen and a half month grandson, overwhelmed with emotion. I knew I had missed a huge chunk of his first year, but I took comfort again from the hours on Zoom and FaceTime. We were starting our in-person relationship late, but I didn’t dwell on what we had missed. He knew us. He came to us. We savored every minute with our visit with our son Adam, our daughter-in-law Sarah, and the beautiful little boy who had been named after two of his great grandfathers.

But then, after our flight to Denver and an easy drive  up to Summit County, we hugged our granddaughter. (She had been warned: We would be hugging her so hard that she would squeak!) But who was this taller, more beautiful, more poised person? Where was the little girl with whom we had last hugged goodbye in Florida in March 2020? The gap between her and this person who     poured her own tea, rode a two wheeler, swam underwater in her community pool was so great. Yes, we had missed time with her, with her new cousin, with all my children that we can never make up. 

And I hadn’t realized how much I had missed our time in the mountains. On our third day, I finally made the hike up to Rainbow Lake, a short distance from our daughter’s home and our summer rental. As I walked up the trail, I took in the columbines and the wild roses and the aspens. Then I reached the lake, my happy place, the spot in which I find peace and contentment. How could I forgotten how much I love this spot over 9100 feet above sea level in the Rockies? Had it been almost two full years since I had sat on the log and drank in the beauty that surrounded me?

Larry and I had spent the Fourth of July in Frisco for at least ten years. We watched the parade down Main Street with Sam and Julie, then, six years ago, Sam and a very pregnant Julie. The next few years, our granddaughter watched from her carriage, then her father’s arms, and then as a participant on a tricycle in the Cavalcade of Children. 

This year, however, we headed out of town and, by 11:30 a.m., five humans and one dog were floating down the Colorado River. Sam manned the raft while Julie completed the entire trip, including some level 1 and 2 rapids, on a paddle board. Larry, our granddaughter and I found spots on the raft and took in the beauty surrounding us. We spotted a bald eagle perched in a tree, Canadian geese gliding along the shore, red cliffs rising above us, the Rocky Mountaineer weaving its way on the train tracks above us, fellow travelers on rafts and kayaks and paddle boards and inner tubes catch the currents with us. It was a beautiful Fourth, made even more special in contrast to last year’s isolation in our Florida home. 

The day ended with our granddaughter reading Go Dog Go, one of our favorite children’s book, to Larry while sitting on his lap on a rocking chair in her bedroom. Behind them, the window gave us a view the sun set in the aspen tree. 

As we finish our time in the mountains, Larry and I  have also been able to connect with the friends and extended “mishpacha” (family) that we had not seen since August2019. We took in outdoor lunches and evening concerts with dear friends from North Carolina. We celebrated our granddaughter’s birthday with Sam’s family by riding the Georgetown Railroad, eating lunch along side Clear Creek, and singing “Happy Birthday” over cupcakes and a candle-that-refused-to-stay-lit in a breezy park. After two full years, we are again finding our Colorado rhythm. 

Mann Tracht, Un Gott Lacht is an old Yiddish expression meaning man plans and God laughs. Recent events have shown us how unpredictable life can be, whether exemplified in a terrible pandemic that has lasted for months or a catastrophic building collapse that happened in seconds. On a personal level, these past eight weeks of my reconnecting with family and friends has made me  realize how much I  have missed, how much time I have lost, and how important it is to never take what I cherish for granted. 

A version of this article originally appeared in the Jewish World News, a bi-weekly subscription-based newspaper in upstate New York, in July 2021.

“Farklempt!” Overcome with Emotion!!

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Yiddish may be one of the world’s more obscure language, but it has given us words which are no less than perfect. Someone may have “nerve,” but chutzpah reflects a shameless audacity that says it better. Being a “good person” is nice, but being a mensch brings that individual to a high level of honor, integrity, kindness, and admiration. One can complain, but when one “kvetches,” he also adds a layer of whining and fretting that really captures the moment.

Another word that Yiddish does best is farklempt, overcome with emotion. I can count on one hand how many times I have ever needed to use this word or felt its power. The day I held our newborn son. Three years later, when I held our daughter. And six years ago, when I lay eyes on my two-hour-old granddaughter. And now, I can use it again: When we were finally able to hold our grandson for the first time.

Our grandson as born in March 2020, a few days before the world closed down due to the pandemic. My husband Larry and I were on Indian Rocks Beach, Florida, with my daughter Julie, her husband Sam and our granddaughter when our daughter-in law-Sarah went into labor in a San Francisco hospital. Our son Adam announced their newborn’s  official arrival late that night via phone calls and texted pictures. 

By the time Julie and her family flew back to Colorado later that week, the impact of COVID-19 on our lives exploded. We promised our children that we would “stay safe” and shelter-in-place. Larry and I had made reservations to fly out to California later in the month, but we had no choice but to cancel and wait until things improved. Little did we know at that time that that wait would stretch out for over 15 months.

Thanks to social media, we got to see a great deal of our “San Francisco Kid.” Adam and Sarah called frequently and focused the camera on our beautiful new grandchild so we could watch him sleeping, nursing, bathing. Then, as the months dragged on, we saw him learning to crawl, learning to walk, speaking his first words. But we were unable to hold him in our arms.

Larry and I tried to repeat certain rituals so that our grandchild would know us. Each time we connected, I would sing “The Wheels on the Bus.” As the months progressed, I went beyond blinkers going “left right stop” and coins going “clink clank clink.” I introduced dogs barking and ducks quaking and pigs oinking and cows mooing, “Isn’t that crazy?” I would ask him 3000 miles away. “Ducks and pigs and cows on a bus??”Larry, meanwhile, would move two fingers against his lips and say, “Bu bu bu ba!” 

By the time our plane landed in SFA in mid-June, Larry and I were beyond excited and also a little nervous. How would our grandchild  react to these two people whom he had only seen on a small screen. Would he cry? Turn away? After hugging my daughter-in-law Sarah until she couldn’t breathe, Larry climbed in front of the Honda Civic with Sarah, and I tucked in the back next to our grandson’s car seat. He looked at me as if to say, “Who is this lady?” I gently touched his arm, but he pulled it away. I softly started singing “The wheels on the bus go round and round, round and round, round and round…” His eyes got big, and he burst out into a huge smile. And Larry? As soon as we got out of the car, Larry lifted him out of the car, held him with one arm, and with the other hand, did his “Bu bu bu ba! routine.”The baby laughed and, for the first time ever, imitated Zayde perfectly. Our grandchild knew us both.

Our visit has been Grandparent Heaven. It has been  filled with hugs; “besos for bebe” (kisses for baby!) in honor of his Hispanic caregiver; beautiful smiles; hours reading Go Dog Go and Brown Bear, Bear, Who Do You See?; innumerable playings of songs by Rafi; multiple trips to city parks;a special day at the San Francisco zoo; and a few very precious baby sitting stints. As promised, I even pulled off two Shabbat dinners with fresh baked challahs and candle lighting via Zoom with the rest of our family. 

Soon Larry and I will be heading for our second “farklempt” moment. We will be flying to Colorado to be united with Julie, Sam and our granddaughter, again over fifteen months in the making. Yes, we have spent hours and hours on FaceTime with our Rocky Mountain family, but I will be overcome with emotion when I can finally hold them in our arms.

Through the past year, Larry and I have said again and again how grateful we were for our physical, financial, and financial health. But again and again, what we missed most was family. The next step will be getting all eight of us under one roof. That moment will be for me the end of this long, difficult time. Until then, I will savor our time with our family, time that has become even more precious, more important, and more cherished after so long deprived. 

A version of this article originally appeared in the Jewish World News, a bi-weekly subscription-based newspaper in upstate New York.