“Wandering in a garden of dreams,” she said, “and it also convinced me that after seeing such a wonderland of beauty that there was surely a mistake about there being an ugly sordid side of life.”
In the early 1990s I lived just a block off of Golden Gate Park. I used to ride my bike in the exact same spots where my family had ventured some eight decades or so prior. I would hike through Miss Ella’s garden of dreams not realizing just who had passed there before. In the open fields where the burros must have been, I had no idea my grandfather and his brothers had once gotten their nickel’s worth right there. In one sense it saddens me to have missed it, but it also makes me appreciate just how close we actually all are. Will someone someday visit the Alhambra Hills of Martinez, look out on Carquinez Strait, and marvel at the fact that Grandpa used used to hike those hills? Will someone meander through the streets of The City and note those who came before them? Will somebody remember me? I certainly pray that will be the case.
For Oscar, Ella and the kids, however, their time was not yet over …
All people, at all times, must have created myths and stories to sketch a picture of our place under the sun. As I would ask myself what is the purpose of life and what is my role in that purpose, I came to wonder who in my past sat around a campfire and asked those same questions.