Eye of the Storm
A time-honored family tradition
Robbis Storm

A former Lampasan, Robbis Storm is a world traveler and restaurateur. He can be contacted via e-mail at RStorm453@aol.com.

It all started back in January 1991, when my mother decided she wanted something special for her 80th birthday.

All her life she'd heard about Enchanted Rock, but never visited it. So as a way of celebrating an important milestone in her life, she decided to organize a combination rock climb/picnic.

Two or three carloads of family and friends met in the parking lot near the base of the granite dome. We drank soft drinks, ate pimiento cheese sandwiches and pecan brownies.

Then a number of us began the climb. From the bottom, it looked like a fairly long haul to the summit, but what was surprising was how fast we were able to go. We were in no hurry, but I'd guess we made the top in not much more than half an hour.

I'll never forget the look on Mom's face when we got to the point where you can see the horizon in all directions. She had prepared for a full day's climb, and after only half an hour she was barely warmed up.

"Is this it?" she asked. "Is this the top? It looked higher than this."

On a clear day, you can see miles and miles in all directions. And that particular January day was as clear as only a high-pressure winter day can be. I never stopped to ask anyone exactly how far off the distant horizons were, but they certainly reached out far enough to stretch your eyeballs perhaps 25 miles.

The view soon took her breath away and she stood there in awe, forgetting any disappointment that the climb had been shorter than expected. For a few seconds she drank in the scenery, then reached inside her backpack and pulled out a surprise -- a small flag she had created for the occasion. She waved it repeatedly from the sum- mit until those of our party who had remained at the base noticed her, and waved back.

Somehow the flag made it seem official -- as though she were claiming the big rock as hers. I thought of her as "Queen of the Mountain."

She had another surprise for us. If she were now "Queen of the Mountain," the first official act of her reign was to lead her subjects in child-like play. She reached back into the pack and pulled out several bottles of bubble-making fluid. Mom has always had a knack for bringing out the playfulness in those around her.

For the next quarter of an hour, all of us became 5-year-olds again, shouting with joy as we watched bubble after bubble ride the slight breeze off into the distance toward Fredricksburg.

The climb had been so much fun that it became an annual event. The accompanying group might change, but Mom always led the charge up the slopes. On or around January 26, a group of us would make the climb every year.

But not this year. It started back in August when she suffered a moderate heart attack. I asked her cardiologist for a prognosis. "At age 96," he said, "every day you live is a good day." And she's had a lot of good days since then.

At first she resisted moving into a nursing home. My guess is that none of us would want to make such a move, especially away from a home where we'd lived for over 53 years.

But living alone can get lonely, and after a few months in the nursing home, I think Mom seems to be getting into the swing of things -- visiting with her neighbors, and actively participating in group activities like shuffleboard and bingo.

So this year we didn't visit Enchanted Rock. We didn't pack a picnic lunch. We didn't wave any flags.

This year's celebration was far more conventional and sedate than the preceding 16.

But come this spring when the days are a little warmer and bluebonnets and firewheels paint the Hill Country in vivid colors, then maybe we'll make the drive to Gillespie County.

We'll eat our pimiento-cheese sandwiches near the base of the rock. Miriam will bring along a batch of her special brownies. We'll enjoy the sunshine and the fresh air without attempting a climb to the top. It will be belated, but it will still make a good 97th birthday party.

Who knows? We might even blow some bubbles.