When we arrived in Burlingame we stashed our suitcases at the station, for S felt we had to get a present for his mother before we went to their house. So we walked up Burlingame Ave and at Benet's Drugstore we went in to buy a bottle of perfume. We smelled and smelled and finally S found one he thought his mother would like. The woman who waited on us, a woman who pretended to be English, said, May I put the frahgrahns in a bahg.
Then we walked back to the station, got our luggage and a cab and were driven to Hillsborough in a taxi where S's mother wellcomed us. They lived in a fantastic house. French looking and huge. It was fun walking around and seeing pictures of S when he was little. His father died when he was 2years old. He was born in Portland Maine. His mother remarried when he was four or five and his English stepfather took the whole family to live in England a few years later. His Mother was shy and retiring but very kind. She had one specific place to sit in the living room and above her head in the highcielinged room was a huge dark spot caused by her smoking. We went upstairs to check out the layout of the bedrooms (there were five) and bathrooms. S's older brother was in the Army in Italy, a sister was at work (Qantas Airline) and his ten years younger brother was in High School.
After a while we got into Mrs. S's car and drove to San Mateo Park where S's Aunt and Uncle lived. They deserve a whole chapter of this blog and I will do that later.
Something remarkablee happened to my wonderful husband. It must have been tied to his imagination as a teenager living in that house years ago. He insisted on showing me how much he loved me. In the strangest places. It was as if everytime it happened he said to himself: OK, one down, seven to go. It was a wonderful vacation