It Is Never Too Late to Have a Happy Adulthood – Robin Palmer Inspiring Interview with Her Mom & Her Boyfriend at 81
Mom and Herb became high school sweethearts in 1947. He was her first date, her first kiss, her first “second base.” They graduated and chose colleges in distant cities. He enlisted in the Navy and drifted away.
They reunited at 78 from Herb’s serendipitous encounter with Mom’s sister. Herb calls it, “A God thing — a one in a million chance.”
Three years later, Herb and Mom are like octogenarian teenagers. During lunch with them last week, they were both texting away on their iPhones. “Come on, kids. You know the rule - phones down at mealtime.”
They are so good together and their happiness is contagious. Their love and gratitude for each other is palpable - it feels good to be around them. They tease each other and laugh a lot, go for long walks, hold hands at the movies, and celebrate holidays and special occasions with their elated blended families. It’s as if time stood still, waiting for them to catch up with each other.
Take it from the octogenarian teenagers. It is never too late to have a happy adulthood.
I was so excited to attend Dreamforce in San Francisco this year, along with 130,000 other tech enthusiasts from all over the globe. The annual conference is hosted by Salesforce, with CEO, Marc Benioff as the Master of Ceremonies. This year’s keynotes included Yahoo CEO, Marissa Mayer, Facebook COO, Sheryl Sandberg, thought leaders Dr. Deepak Chopra and Dr. Wayne Dyer, among other luminaries.
I decided to drive, so I could include a couple of meetings on the way back. Midway from LA to San Francisco, I was startled to see that my gas tank was on empty. I had filled it up the day before my trip, and wondered how I had not noticed the low fuel indicator light. As soon as I started looking for signs of a gas station, I passed a freeway sign that read, “Next Gas Station - 20 Miles.” Yikes! I said a prayer, and exited the freeway in search of a local gas station.
I pulled over and reached for my trusty apps. I Yelped. I Googled. I Mapquested. Just like the sign said, it looked like it was 20 miles to the nearest supply of petroleum.
Surrounded by farm fields, I pulled up to the one and only building in sight. The sign said, “T & A Shipping.” My only reference for T & A harks back to my days on Broadway. In the song, Dance 10, Looks 3, from the mega-hit musical, A Chorus Line, one of the female dancers sings praises for her new “tits and ass,” and raves that her new assets are helping her to get noticed at casting calls. I hoped that T & A Shipping was transporting something else, and went to look for help.
I yelled into the silence, “Hello! Is anyone here?!”
A man with a kind face popped out from around the corner. He had his phone in his hands and had been taking photos of the huge beautiful rainbow above our heads. I hoped that the rainbow was a sign. I had just driven through a torrential downpour. At the very least, I felt reassured to know that I wouldn’t drown in a flood today.
The man asked, “Are you Ok?” I told him that my fuel indicator was at the bottom of the empty range, and asked if he could direct me to the closest gas station. “Well… it’s about 20 miles from here.” Being a girl from the big city, I smiled and insisted that we were obviously having a misunderstanding of some kind. There has to be a gas station in the vicinity!
I could feel myself starting to panic. This is the United States of America, land of oil and gas subsidies. If ever I needed payback for my busy tax dollars at work, it was now…
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