How fast time flies.
It’s one thing to say that, it’s another to entirely embrace it.
Take, for instance, this moment as I sit at my computer and let my fingers fly over the keyboard, composing this column. I am listening to the first San Francisco Giants spring training baseball game broadcast on my favorite summertime radio station, KNBR. The Giants came from behind in the bottom of the ninth to win, 6-4 over the Reds, meeting up in Arizona. Yes! Baseball is back. Hopefully the Bay Area will dry out a little before the Giants break camp in the desert and head west.
Not that long ago the Cubs and their fans were celebrating the end of futility with a World Series banner, the biggest ‘W’ of all, and now we are back to square one, with everyone having a chance to take the crown in 2017.
We shall see what happens.
And speaking of time, another milestone has occurred in my life.
My daughter has turned 21.
No, I have no clue how that happened so fast. Seems like just yesterday she was leaving for sixth grade Outdoor Ed camp or we were heading out to buy another pair of soccer cleats because her old ones were falling apart from so much use.
This year was the first that we were not together at all on her actual birthday. She was with her fiancé and his family in Santa Cruz, dodging raindrops and high wind gusts for a long weekend. She and I are planning our own mother-daughter getaway for a little later in the spring to mark the occasion, though it did feel a bit odd not to have her here on that special day.
It has been a momentous few months for her; able to vote in her first Presidential election in November, getting engaged in December, receiving her first summons for jury duty in January … then the big 2-1.
Her jury summons came quickly on the heels of her Presidential vote. I neglected to tell her that’s one of the side effects of stepping into the voting booth; having to step into the courthouse.
She opted to not request the one time postponement, wanting to get it over with. I tried to be optimistic, since most times I have had to call in the night before, my group and/or juror number has not had to report at all. She wasn’t quite that lucky; she did the after 5 p.m. call in to the automated line, put in her juror number and was told by the electronic voice that she had to report by 9 a.m. the next day.
It was quite the experience, from finding the right parking garage to navigating her way to the courthouse basement (good thing I told her to leave her pepper spray in the car, she didn’t set off any alarms at the entrance) and then having to wait. And wait. And wait.
I had encouraged her to take a book to read. She pooh-poohed that idea as she left the morning. After a few hours in the basement, waiting for her number to be called, she understood the reasoning behind my logic.
When she and some other potential jurors went to check in with their number, the person in front of her finally read the fine print and discovered that if you are a convicted felon, you can’t serve on a jury. That was their ticket out, apparently, the person indicating that ‘it paid’ to be a felon in that instance.
She texted me that tidbit and I was just hoping she wasn’t thinking of something felonious to do to escape potential juror-hood.
No reason to worry; after they let them break for two hours for lunch, she returned and waited some more. Three different juries were selected for cases and she was not among those tapped. With only one case remaining, it was determined after another hour of waiting that they wouldn’t be able to pick a jury that day; she and the others awaiting the call were instead free to go. One trial or one day; just another joy of adulthood.
Marg Jackson is editor of The Escalon Times, The Oakdale Leader and The Riverbank News. She may be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org or by calling 847-3021.