It takes something special to start a new chapter in a new town at 94 years old. Ida Mae Hurt, my grandmother, did this with an open heart, a trust in family, and a sense of adventure. Ida, adorable and adored by many, spent the last five years of her life here in Santa Barbara. It was an opportunity born out of necessity, but it carried a serendipity that I now realize was a full-circle opportunity for our grandmother-granddaughter relationship. It was a rare opportunity to rediscover and re-enjoy what she nurtured more than 45 years ago.
When my two sisters and I were kids, Grandma Ida was youthful and energetic — a “young” grandma in her middle years who could keep right up with us. We spent many weekends and sometimes weeks at a time in the summer with her. She lived in the San Fernando Valley, and the Los Angeles area became our playground. It never felt like she was just taking care of us. She was enjoying us!
Visits with Grandma Ida were filled with a beautiful blend of new adventures and delightful rituals. We went to plays, museums, local fairs, and, especially memorably, Magic Mountain because she was just as excited as we were to ride the new roller coaster. “That was FUN!” we shouted in that shared exhilaration of a good roller coaster ride. Big smiles all around!
As exhilarating as our daytime adventures were, the downtime in her apartment held unique pleasures, which are now endearing memories. Returning home in the late afternoon after a full day of fun, we would have chilled watermelon, a swim in her apartment complex pool, and maybe a “siesta” before dinner. She had a pet bunny named Whiskers, who had the run of her place. He was house-trained, which amazed us. Ida had a knack for making animal-shaped pancakes. What fun to think up different animals to request. We really could request anything, as long as it didn’t have more than four legs.
Sitting around her table, we would have engaging conversations. She was interested to know what each of us thought, how we felt, and our perspective on things. Oh, and she loved to laugh. How fun and satisfying it was to make her laugh. Once she told me I was “so witty,” which I knew was a compliment and something about me that I had not realized before.
In the years that followed our childhoods, and through the decades of twists and turns and change, my sisters and I stayed connected to Grandma Ida. She continued to grow and evolve in her life and in her career. She achieved her master’s degree in early childhood education. She found the perfect “church” in the Sepulveda Unitarian Universalist Society, a k a “The Onion.” Here she found kindred politically progressive and humanitarian spirits, sang joyfully with the choir known as the Onionaires, and led the Religious Education program. She traveled to Japan with the Onionaires and returned with a heavy heart, having seen the scars from the bombing of Hiroshima.
Grandma Ida met Chuck Hurt and said “yes” to his marriage proposal, which led to many trips around the country in their infamous Dolphin motor home. In search of a more laid-back community, they moved to Eugene, Oregon, but Chuck’s failing health eventually brought them back to Southern California. With Chuck’s passing, Ida found herself back in her old San Fernando Valley stomping grounds and reunited with her beloved Onion community.
She bought herself a “just the right size” mobile home in the heart of Northridge, and over the next several years, she thrived. She enjoyed visits from her daughters, granddaughters, and great-grandchildren. She facilitated a “Conscious Aging” group at her church, which was deeply meaningful and gratifying for her. She tended to her patio succulent garden and her cats, Cesar Chavez and, later, Monroe.
In the midst of her active life, she met Ron, who was “smitten” with her. Ida and Ron shared many good years, but sadly his dementia led to his need to be in his family’s care. Around this time, Ida herself needed supported living care, closer to family. Her lifelong wish to live near the ocean came true in her move to Santa Barbara.
My family welcomed Ida, and whenever we invited her to join us for a fun activity, in Ida fashion, she’d say, “Yes! I’d love to!” Off we went: wheelchair rides all around downtown, to Alice Keck Park for a picnic, to IHOP for brunch, rolling through Paseo Neuvo for shopping — even two Solstice parades, which she enjoyed with utter glee. Her sweet, open smile was irresistible to fellow parade enthusiasts and parade participants alike.
The thrill of the parades was second only to that beach wheelchair ride at Hendry’s. It had been many years since she had been able to walk on sand and get close to the water. That afternoon, she got to roll onto the wet sand and feel the spray of the crashing waves.
And just as lovely were the brunches and dinners at our house. She would sit near the kitchen as we prepped the meal, and enjoy our chitchat and the attention from our dogs.
Ida’s five years in Santa Barbara were as much a gift to me as I hope they were to her. They connected me back to her role in my youth and how she enriched and brightened my childhood. How she saw and brought out the best in me.
She left me and all who knew and loved her with more than wonderful memories. She left an inspiring legacy of her openness — to life and its offerings, to children and what delights and nurtures them, and to adventure from roller coasters to bumpy wheelchair rides. She was open to people and treasured her relationships that supplied deep discussions and lighthearted laughter. She was open to expressing her emotions from and angry “Grrrr!” to tears of joy. She was open to love, familial and romantic. She was open to music and would sing her heart out at sing-alongs.
Ida was open to life’s impermanence and during her last year would say with an air of acceptance, “I won’t be here much longer, you know.” And she was deeply grateful for her life and its gifts big and small. She took every opportunity to say “Thank you,” and of all the ways she expressed her gratitude, my favorite was her special way of exclaiming, “This is the nicest thing that could have happened to me today!”