1987: My sisters and brother send me a box of death-themed, life-is-over-at-30 gifts–a mug and a towel, plates and napkins… Cal and I go to San Francisco. We eat breakfast at Sears. I have a piece of sausage left, which he wraps in toast and then in a napkin. I make fun of him. Hours later, on a harbor cruise, it’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted. We walk across the Golden Gate Bridge, miss the turn to Sausalito, and end up on the highway. A policeman stops to help us. I will think of this moment every time I cross the GGB–which will turn out to be often. I’m pregnant most of the year. In June we move down the street into a bigger house. We do Lamaze. When we go to the hospital, I’m not even far enough along to be admitted. We walk the halls. I have to stop with each contraction. Natural childbirth seems unlikely. It is. As soon as they offer an epidural, I accept. Bobby is born at 4:05 am on September 19th. I like being in the hospital–it makes me feel special. A month later, the stock market falls 508 points. Each night, as I nurse Bobby, I get the jump on the Nikkei Average. When I go back to work, after a three-month leave, Cal and I alternate night duty. On the car radio, Bruce Hornsby sings The Way It Is.

30 days to 60


Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?
Mary Oliver