It’s one of life’s miracles that while I never remember where I put my car keys, I never forget anything pertaining to my grandchildren. Joshua is sixteen now, but the telephone conversation we had that day over a decade ago is as clear as a shiny penny. In fact, it’s all about pennies, and love, and lots of other things.
What is it sweetheart?
My mom sent me upstairs. She said I’m a spoilt boy. I’m not a spoilt boy, he says, wailing in indignation.
Twenty-five years ago, in 1991, the world wide web was born and we were all invited to join. I didn’t do it right away, but in 1997 in an absolute leap of faith at the age of 57, I launched my website, JourneyWoman.com. My dream was to connect women travelers around the world and someting in my gut told me that cyberspace was the path to take. When my children heard what their mother was up to, they rolled their eyes and said, "Mom, you’re 60-years old and you’re digitally deficient.
A few years back I was invited to the Yukon by the Canadian Tourism Commission to moderate a panel of bloggers. At that event I was introduced as ‘The Grandmother of Women’s Travel’ for the work I’ve done on behalf of female travelers.
After the event, a blogger from Beijing came running up to me, huffing and puffing and asked: "Are you really Evelyn Hannon?"
"Yes," I answered.
"Can I have a photo with you," he asked, barely able to catch his breath.
I grew up in the 40s without television to distract me or CNN to scare me. News didn’t travel as fast back then, so my parents and I were not traumatized by horrendous tales of kids being murdered or kidnapped when allowed outside unattended.
Over the last few months I’ve been preoccupied with emptying the home my late mom and aunt lived in. I've donated their personal belongings to charities, paid to have things carted away, sold some objects online, and held more than a few garage sales. There were photos, sofas, pot and pans, dishes, jewelry, odds and ends. In some cases I had remote connection to the objects. In others, I felt more than a pang giving them up.
I’m 74 years old, a travel journalist and a photographer.
Some women my age won’t leave home without putting on their single strand of cultured pearls. I feel the same way about my bright red granny glasses. Not only do they help me to see, they are my absolute best fashion accessory. They truly make me happy.
I looked in the mirror yesterday, and at 74, I smiled at what I saw.
I'm beginning to look so much like my mother and I think that's pretty darn good. She was graceful and lovely until the day she died at 94. She also had lots of grandmotherly wrinkles, yet I never once heard her say I wish I looked the way I used to look.
You know how little kids tie a towel around their neck to fashion a magic cape and become superheroes? Well secretly, in my mind's eye, I am a super hero, too, with a bright, tomato-red cape and an undercover badge that announces in bold, embossed silver: URBAN WOMAN.
If only in my imagination . . . I am fearless as I set out each morning to right the wrongs committed by selfish, arrogant city dwellers.
