It doesn’t happen often –
But Sunday was the day.
NEVER TOO LATE TO LEARN
To see my squinty-eyed silly grinning face taking up a third of the page on the Valley & State Arizona Republic section. Then to just glom into the wonderful delicious article by Dianna M. Náñez.
. This is one of the few times that I can’t find enough words to express the sky high feeling I get when I read and re-read the story she writes about my life. Graduating at 88, maybe that’s a big deal, but that just fell into place as one of the things on my bucket list. The chance to spout out about “Never too Late,” and “Don’t Give up Your Dream,” is a definite plus.
The ‘walking on air’ came about because Dianna painted such a hilarious picture of me. I’m certainly not “toothpick thin” but I will allow her the literary license and love her for it. But where my eyes couldn’t get enough, I kept going over the page to be sure it was printed correctly, her description of Evangeline and “The Alternate Safe World of Sanctuary.”
THE ALTERNATE SAFE WORLD OF SANCTUARY
Those are MY words. To see them in such a prominent place in the gigantic newspaper of the sixth largest city in the United States, wow!, a gal can go through the roof and head for the moon.
There are only a few times that a person is allowed to have such a delirious feeling in their lifetime:
When I first soloed a plane by myself and bounced that Cub six times before landing at Weir Cook Airport, I had to be tied to the ground.
When I sold my first small magazine story, phone calls cost money, but I didn’t care, I had to tell everyone in faraway places about it.
At seventeen, our three day secret honeymoon in Chicago and for weeks I had a hard time keeping my mouth downturned not to give away such flying happiness.
The wonderful fuzzy-warm feeling that overtook me when my 5 pound 11 ounce skinny un-beautiful son was put in my arms.
Actually standing up on the ski-slope and skimming down the bunny hill.
When the first copy of “The Alternate Safe World of Sanctuary” came in the mail and I danced around the room, the house, the block, couldn’t slow down.
When I walked into Ed’s arms at the age of 75 and knew that something so very special had happened that it stays part of me always.
And now – THIS. Good fortune, call it luck, call it Providence, call it my guardian angel watching over me, that a writer with the talent of Dianna Náñez would take the hours of interviewing, I don’t know how long on writing, to turn out a story that sounds like best-seller fiction but it has my name, my actions, my book, as the subject, it is unbelievable.
At this age, one thinks, “O.K., I’m on top of my world now. It would be a good time to go.” After all, one likes to leave the party when one is having the most fun, before it winds down - - - I don’t expect it will get any better than this - - - but I think I will stick around a while longer to make sure I don’t miss anything.