Golden Gate

The Golden Gate Strait is the entrance to the San Francisco Bay from the Pacific Ocean. The strait is approximately three-miles long by one-mile wide with currents ranging from 4.5 to 7.5 knots. It is generally accepted that the strait was named "Chrysopylae", or Golden Gate, by John C. Fremont, Captain, topographical Engineers of the U.S. Army circa 1846. It reminded him of a harbor in Instanbul named Chrysoceras or Golden Horn.

Kiahra asked me why a red bridge was called the "Golden" Gate Bridge. Immediately my mind rushed to a symbolic interpretation of this famous structure, but despite my love of symbolism my research reveals the reality isn't nearly as imaginative. It is merely a captain "borrowing" a name from his travels, and the orange vermilion ("international orange") color of the bridge was very intentional--to aid navigation. Though they did take into consideration the natural landscape and selected a color that blended with the terrain. Pragmatic.

The symbolism arrived throughout the years as people lived, navigated, and visited the bridge. Thus emerged the poetry of life.

The Golden Gate Strait welcomes weary sailors and goods from around the world. A gate into a famous city offering hospitality and market vitality.

Ironically, we too will be journeying to San Francisco, though we will come by land...all 2,700 miles..to respond to the market vitality for a tunnel! Since my attempt at symbolism failed, I am reaching for irony :) I love it too. I love John Steinbeck too. Now I can "see" the world that inspired some of my favorite short stories.

In the meantime, I will become a "relocation specialist". Despite my experience, this is always a challenge, and I will be relieved when the pieces begin to come together. Negotiation. First the job. Then the kids. Then the house. Then the new house. Then the movers. Then the schools. I always laugh when Ron reminds me how savvy I was at negotiating a sweet deal on goods in the Bahamas. I do love to negotiate...for fun; hoewver, all the responsibility in these negotiations somehow makes the fun elusive.

Nonetheless, it will be a golden opportunity for our family...again (whew...finally...symbolism!). Thankful for opportunities in our current economic climate. Thankful for new journeys in life. Thankful for all the special people we have had the opportunity to share Pittsburgh with. A part of each place travels with me everywhere in my heart...in who I am and who I become each day. There are bittersweet moments, but the moments always eventually become sweet.

Yesterday, I was asked to identify a mentor and write a letter to him or her. At first, I struggled. I couldn't focus on just one person. Then I immediately thought of family members, but then I realized that the context of mentor was someone outside of the family in this setting. Still struggling, I started to make a list (lucky for all my extensive training and expensive education...I can now brainstorm under pressure :). Then the names began to come quickly. Pausing, I tried to recall my first English professor as a college freshman. She was a spunky lady. She loved literature. I loved her class. I read voraciously for her. I wrote my analyses dutifully. She took me aside one day, and introduced herself to me. I was tucked quietly into her large class at SDSU, so I am sure it took her a few days to figure out who I was. She asked me where I was from...what I was studying...how I was liking college... I answered shyly...scared to death that I was not performing acceptably. Finally, she began talking about the novel we were reading, and I began to open up a bit more. As she listened quietly, her eyes studied me intently. Finally, she said, "Have you considered a degree in English?" My heart stopped. She continued, "Your work is excellent in my class. You have natural talent. I would like you to consider it. I would also like to introduce you to the head of the English department here to explore your options." Stunned I walked away.

My head buzzed. I was flattered that she noticed me, let alone complimented my ability. Of course, I had secretly entertained the notion, but the idea completely intimidated me. My grammar skills were not strong. I struggled with the pragmatics of English. I doubted I could successfully pursue a degree, but I did love literature and writing.

I cannot remember her name. Suddenly, I realize that is does not matter. I remember her gentle eyes and passion for English. Her kindness. Her words of encouragement.

Years ago I would have questioned if she would even remember me, but I know she does. She may not remember my name, but teachers remember their students.

I wish I could express my gratitude to her, though I know she had a heart of a true mentor and never expected it. Instead, I can take the tool she shared with me and slowly hone my craft with it. Write. Love. Live. Share.

As I journey again, my daily writing focus may shift as I navigate the circumstances, but I will continue to write and share. Some day my novel may be printed...after all I have four years in California. It is a golden opportunity for me.