Page 2 of Unexpected Adventures

One of my favorite clients for the past year, Sylvia Montgomery, comes to mind: Spirited, honest, caring. She’ll tell you how it is. Yes, sir, she’s one tough lady who is set in her ways. And who wouldn’t be, after seventy-six years of living? Three husbands. Seven children. Countless grandchildren. Sylvia lives in the Nob Hill neighborhood in the northeast corner of San Francisco. She’s currently widowed. Again. Lately, she too has been hounding me in her loving way to branch out in life, seek new activities, and explore the world.

As if living in San Fran wasn’t exciting enough.

“Yes, but all you do is tend to us old folks.” Sylvia’s words from our earlier conversation, prior to me leaving for the weekend, come to mind. “Life was meant to be lived, not to mundanely trudge through day after day. Maybe some of Denise’s spirit will rub off on you.”

“As if my mom and dad need another wild child to worry about!” I joked with her.

“Oh, now, Abby, you know Denise has done well for herself. You said so yourself. And I know you’re very proud of her. But it wouldn’t hurt to take a page out of her life and live it up a little. Go for what you want!”

“Who said I’m not doing exactly what I want? I happen tolikethis job.”

“Yes, because it’ssothrilling,” she said in her amusingly, snarky way. “Cleaning, cooking, doing laundry, and running errands for those of us who can’t. I don’t know how you contain yourself.” She sipped her tea and nibbled on the strudel I brought from her favorite bakery. “And now you’re walking other people’s dogs? Has society gotten so lazy that one needs to hire a person to walk their pet?” She’d harrumphed.

I’d tried to stifle a giggle, which earned me a bit of a glare.

Sylvia is ever the refined lady who is never seen in anything less than slacks and a blouse, with make-up done, and jewelry on. Even if it’s only to sit in her condo. Her once-raven hair has succumbed to Father Time and is a brilliant white with no strand out of place.

Warm brown eyes still filled with intelligence and spark continued to assess me.

“You were made for so much more.”

“And how do you know, Sylvia?”

“Because I just know,” she’d said, exasperated. “Now, Abigail Josephine Carter, what are your dreams?”

Uh oh, use of my full name. I thought only mothers did that?

“Dreams? As in more than one? Why do you make me think so much?” Goodness, I need a Diet Dr. Pepper. “And why are you trying to get rid of me? I thought you liked me?” I teased.

“I adore you, dear child. I’m just trying to get you to realize there’s a better calling for you in life.”

As I snagged my soda and took a healthy drink, Sylvia continued on about adventure and risk-taking. I only half-listened, as she sometimes had a tendency to go on and on.

She usually means well.For the past month, she’d been talking nonstop about the subject. And truth be told, it had got me thinking about a few things…

“Abbs?” Denise’s voice draws me back to the present, and her question of me doing anything new.

“You haven’t been talking to Sylvia, have you?” Denise knows all about Sylvia and her intent on me finding my purpose in life beyond being a caregiver and a dog walker. “No!” Denise chuckles. “Why? She still hounding you about your life?”

“Every day, in her loving way.” I chuckle as well. “Just today, our talk consisted of me finding my Prince Charming, taking up skydiving, and getting a tattoo.”

“All in that order? You wouldn’t want to find your Prince Charming only to gosplatas a result of a skydiving misadventure.”

“I know, right? I told her I’m perfectly capable of fending for myself, that I had no desire to skydive, and that she just wants to see me tortured with needles. Or, something like that.”

“You two must have quite the conversations.”

“You have no idea,” I say as I roll my eyes. “Worse than Mom.”

“Ah, but you love her just as much.”

I sigh as I realize the truth in that statement. I adore all of my clients, but Sylvia holds a special place in my heart. “She’s something else, all right.”

“Well, I can point you in the direction of a great tattoo artist if you’re feeling brave. Just think what Sylvia would do if you came back sporting some ink.”

“I’m sure she’d be thrilled. Me, maybe not so much.”

“Oh, I don’t know. They’re pretty addictive.”

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