Hamburgers, Tapioca Pudding & DNA

My grandmother in her fabulous hat, gloves and fur on her way somewhere.

The 1930 Census

Her grandaughter

I’ve been thinking a lot about my grandmother lately. She died when I was five years old, but she was a significant presence in my early childhood even though we didn’t have a lot of time together.

Recently, my thoughts about her have gravitated to the similarities of our life trajectories and occasionally wondering if I inherited some genetic mutation which has given me a life approximate to hers, only set in a different century. 

(Very Outlander-esque, which, of course, has me thinking about that very handsome Scotsman which is wholly unhelpful and unproductive.) 

My Grandmother was widowed in her 60s, and like me, found herself, alone, single and trying to find her way in the world. The feminist movement was in its infancy so her challenges were likely even more difficult than mine.  If you didn’t have a man, you were at risk of being labeled a spinster or an anomaly. 

Carmel was neither, and, in fact, managed to appear like she was thriving, in spite of her situation. Of course, you really never know what is going on inside of someone and I’m sure, like me, she endured her fair share of acute pain and sadness.

Nonetheless, she was clearly adored and people viewed her as exotic, interesting, open-minded, and fun - a bonne vivante.

Even as a five-year-old, I knew she was cool.  Everyone did. 

After her husband died, she traveled extensively to some very exotic places in those days – China, Panama and other foreign lands.

She had a career, working for the California State Compensation Fund and photos show she was often the only woman in the room with her co-workers, not uncommon for those days. She served as a census taker in the 1930 census, which I discovered on a visit to Filoli Gardens in Woodside, CA and recognized her signature on a census schedule displayed in the kitchen.

She had long grey hair which reached her knees and when she literally let her hair down she resembled a mermaid siren or cool female apparition -an aging Stevie Nicks.

Carmel had a boyfriend, ‘Uncle’ Chet, who showed-up to holidays and happily sat in the corner as an admirer and presence in her life.  I’m sure it was more complicated but at five years old, I had no idea what was really happening with her.

On Friday’s I was dropped-off at her set of flats she owned on Sanchez Street in the upper Mission District directly above Dolores Park.  The house had a massive deck overlooking downtown San Francisco and was shaded by an enormous 50-foot avocado tree started from a seed she threw over the side of the deck at some point, likely during one of the many parties hosted there.  

On those Fridays, we had the same dinner – a pan-fried hamburger and vanilla tapioca pudding for dessert.  While she ‘cooked’ I entertained myself on the floor, under the dining room table which was made into a fort. 

Magical things happen in kids’ forts and I remember being totally immersed in fantastic adventures with my imaginary friend Pockeey under that table.  As an only child at that point, Pokceey was my best friend and we were quite literally in separatable

No one ever disavowed me of Pockeey’s existence and one day he simply disappeared, no longer needed I suspect leaving me to carry on my childhood without a significant mental health intervention. It was the 1960s in San Francisco and most people, including my parents thought Pockeey was just groovy and far out.  Right on.

I didn’t know this at the time, but Carmel showed me, at five years old, that an older single woman can make her way in this world and live your best life without totally being defined by your unfortunate circumstances, like losing a husband.

These were all good life lessons which have now become critical to my present set of circumstances along with my daily functioning and well-being.

Stuff like…

Say yes more than no. 

Go on the trip alone.

Buy the fancy dress and shoes even when there is absolutely no place to wear it.

Drink the martini.

Love the man even though he may end up breaking your heart. The memories will outlast the hurt, and, eventually, you mend.

Adore your family and accept them just as they are because everyone else is taken anyway.

Embrace irony and don’t take yourself too seriously.

Admittedly, while there are times I feel sad and lonely I recognize how fortunate I am to have a sort of ‘third-act’ underway - completely unexpected and for which I was, and continue to be, thoroughly unprepared.

There are pity-party days and frustration with first-world problems I now face alone.  I have come to know that my perceived ‘hard things’ which require me to make difficult choices and push through fear is when I actually grow and move forward.

And, like Carmel, I have wandered the world now, alone. It has been a privilege and gift to have the personal disposition and wherewithal to travel solo. 

Tracee Ellis Ross is chronicling her solo travel adventures on the Roku Channel lugging along bags and outfits. Maybe this is a new movement?

Along the way, I have been so fortunate to meet people whom I would have never otherwise met if my life had not dramatically changed. There are a lot of us out there finding ways to enjoy what’s left of our time here and encounter daily experiences which require pushing through fear.

It truly has been an immense gift to be part of a community of strangers who are also reinventing themselves on the road and at home. I feel as if that mutant gene in my DNA may be the driving force at play here.

Because, as we all know, not everyone who wanders is lost. 

Thank you, Carmel.