Brilliant, Illuminating Flashes of Gratitude

While we were on our cruise to Alaska in July, I had a moment of stunning gratitude, a revelation, one that overrode the lingering sense I've had of experiencing a lot of sad things in my life. 

We were sitting out our balcony drinking prosecco, moving through in the calm, sparkling waters off Vancouver Island.  What could be better than this? I thought.  How many people get to experience this?

 Of course, I've known that I'm very fortunate, even privileged, but I haven't felt it, really felt it,  until that day. It took me surprise, and I was really grateful for feeling grateful.

Then, on Saturday, while Jerry and I were sitting outside a very tony grocery store in Piedmont eating ice cream bars,  I had another gratitude flash: How lucky I am!   Happily married, retired, with enough money to take some adventures.  Many, many people aren't that lucky.  For all the tragedies Jerry and I have witnessed in our families, we are lucky right now.

I reported this to Jerry, ending with "don't you think?"

"Not exactly," he said.

"What? How could it be better?" I asked.

"We have old cars.  I'd like a hybrid car."

"But we could afford a hybrid car," I pointed out.  "Even two, if that's what we wanted."

"I know, but I wouldn't trust it." 

(Time out for me to hold my head.)

"What else?"

"We don't take elaborate trips."

"What do you want,  a safari?"  I asked.

"No way," he said.  He looked alarmed--he's never liked the idea of Africa.

 He thought some more. 

"We don't fly first class."

"Do you want to fly first class?"

"No.  But we don't.  We're frugal."

Boing, boing.

The reason we were in Piedmont on Saturday was to visit the intersection where my grandmother, Daisy, was in an accident between the bus she was riding and a truck.  When the bus driver swerved to miss the truck, my grandmother was thrown to the floor.  She was rushed to Highland Hospital, where she died 10 days later of a severe brain injury.

I paced off the intersection and took pictures.  A leafy, pleasant spot,  with handsome old houses on three corners and a school on the other.  It was hard to imagine anything bad happening here.

The intersection of Oakland and Bonita Avenues, Piedmont, where Daisy was in a bus accident.

Poor lady.

This morning I found some photos of the ship Daisy traveled on,  the SS St. Louis, when she emigrated from England to New York in 1912.  She was 32-years old, single, with $50 to her name.

The SS St. Louis of the American Line

These were the accommodations in steerage, which is how she traveled:

Steerage accommodations on the St. Louis.  Is it a closet?

  




Stairway to steerage compartments in the depths of the ship

 

 

And how her granddaughter traveled to Alaska 100 years later:

 

 



I rest my case.