A lot of life is an exercise in the improbable. You marry someone because of that look. You buy a house because the seller is desperate. You get a dog because it seems like a good idea at the time. You adopt a child because you think you see the stars lighting up a “now is the time to do this” message in the night sky. You quit jobs and tell people off and burn bridges and start new friendships and work harder and succeed, sometimes.
It’s all been an utter accident. That’s my story. I’ve never had a plan that extends beyond the project I’m working on this moment or the next holiday to muddle through. Well, I take that back. I did get a Ph.D. – a feat that required more stamina than actual planning – but some would say that was a goal-setting/planning kind of thing. At the time, though, it was something to do so I didn’t feel so crummy about being divorced and broke. Kind of a hobby like how people now go to the gym all the time. I went to class.
Anyway, the point is this. How could I have these beautiful granddaughters?
All of my bumbling around, running up on curbs, getting lost in the dark and being overdrawn in the bank of life (put country music twang here) led me to this. Standing on the sand at Coronado Island in San Diego watching the two of them running in and out of the surf and grinning with all their little might.
That’s no accident. That’s somebody’s plan.