I’m taking a break from politics to write about my trip to beautiful downtown Riverside. Riverside is actually a rather pretty place, and one I’d never been, except to drive through on the 10 freeway. It’s about 60 or 70 miles east of my usual haunts, but my uncle and aunt moved out there a few years ago, so my dad and I took the girls out there to see them and their son, my one and only first cousin. We met at the Mission Inn, which is a national historic landmark, and really very beautiful.
I hadn’t seen my cousin in more than 20 years, but hope it’s a lot sooner that we see him again. The little blond boy had grown into a slightly less blond man who captured my daughters’ hearts so completely that all the way back home it was, “When can we see Cousin Harry again?” and “Why can’t we stay with Uncle John and Cousin Harry?” and even “Can Cousin Harry come and live with us?” Cordelia thought the fact that Harry has a wife, a house and a job in New York was a stupid reason for me to say he couldn’t. I let them call and pester him with their girlish giggling once on the drive home, but had mercy and refused permission for additional calls.
From Riverside we went to Redlands to meet one of the very few friends I’ve kept in touch with from high school. Her three children are a lot older than my four, since she was smart enough to have hers at a more fitting age than I had mine, but we all enjoyed the visit. It had been more than 15 years since I’d seen her, though we e-mail fairly regularly. When I talk to old friends about something and one of us says “20 years ago” or “25 years ago” it occasionally strikes me that we’re talking about things we did as adults a fifth or fourth of a century ago.
Tempus fugit, as Vergil (or was it Horace?) wrote. Either way, ain’t it the truth.