My Dad, William James Reilly, was the last of his line, and the last male to pass on the Reilly name. I was his youngest child, the fourth daughter, and always felt that I'd like to keep the name going. It's always been a name I've used as part of my "pen" name when writing for a magazine, for the local newspaper, and even when I wrote little stories for the family.
About 10 years ago, I met my husband to be, and wanted to introduce him to my favorite old haunt, Capitola. We took a day trip from the bay area, and I showed him all around the little town, the beach, the picturesque Venetian Court, and had lunch at the Paradise Grill by the river. We ended up driving past the house on McCormick Ave that used to be owned my my Grandma "Diddo", a place that had so many memories for my family. My family had spent several vacations when I was young, at what I knew as The Greenhouse (it was always painted green, usually by my father while on vacation).
I slowed the car as we went by, pointing out different parts of the property, when a man who was washing his car in the driveway asked if we needed help. After telling him that this used to be my Grandma Reilly's place, he said, "Are you Pat Reilly Romer by any chance?"
Surprised, I said, "yes, sometimes I go by that." It turns out that he had found a copy of a story I wrote about life in Capitola in 1960, called Capitola Days, in the house when he bought it. He delighted me by inviting us in for a tour of the renovated house, and even asked me to autograph the book!
We then went out the back door and I spotted the wonderful Santa Rosa plum tree that was still there producing luscious fruit. He led us through a space in the hedge and we were in front of a little cottage that my Dad had helped to build. He said "just a minute", as he walked up to knock on the door. A woman answered, and he said, "Loren, guess who this is! It's Pat Reilly Romer!"
She opened the screen door and grabbed my hand to shake it, saying, "You mean from Capitola Days?"
I stood dumbfounded, shaking hands with this stranger who knew my name.
To this day, every time we go Capitola, we do all the same things....go to the beach, eat in the same place, and drive by the house recounting the story. I must say, there really is something wonderful about your very own "fifteen minutes of fame."
About 10 years ago, I met my husband to be, and wanted to introduce him to my favorite old haunt, Capitola. We took a day trip from the bay area, and I showed him all around the little town, the beach, the picturesque Venetian Court, and had lunch at the Paradise Grill by the river. We ended up driving past the house on McCormick Ave that used to be owned my my Grandma "Diddo", a place that had so many memories for my family. My family had spent several vacations when I was young, at what I knew as The Greenhouse (it was always painted green, usually by my father while on vacation).
I slowed the car as we went by, pointing out different parts of the property, when a man who was washing his car in the driveway asked if we needed help. After telling him that this used to be my Grandma Reilly's place, he said, "Are you Pat Reilly Romer by any chance?"
Surprised, I said, "yes, sometimes I go by that." It turns out that he had found a copy of a story I wrote about life in Capitola in 1960, called Capitola Days, in the house when he bought it. He delighted me by inviting us in for a tour of the renovated house, and even asked me to autograph the book!
We then went out the back door and I spotted the wonderful Santa Rosa plum tree that was still there producing luscious fruit. He led us through a space in the hedge and we were in front of a little cottage that my Dad had helped to build. He said "just a minute", as he walked up to knock on the door. A woman answered, and he said, "Loren, guess who this is! It's Pat Reilly Romer!"
She opened the screen door and grabbed my hand to shake it, saying, "You mean from Capitola Days?"
I stood dumbfounded, shaking hands with this stranger who knew my name.
To this day, every time we go Capitola, we do all the same things....go to the beach, eat in the same place, and drive by the house recounting the story. I must say, there really is something wonderful about your very own "fifteen minutes of fame."
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