You never know what will happen. While other adults preached it or (sometimes) exemplified it, Tony gifted this mantra most compellingly — always through actions, never words. Sure, he’d be the first to encourage you to book a trip to Italy but, more importantly, he showed us kids that the mundane day-to-day, like weekend errands, could become an adventure we’d talk about forever. The trick? Pay attention, be curious, and say yes. I can’t choose what my kids will take out of childhood, but if I exemplify even a shred of the Tony Philosophy … I bet they’ll carry it on.

Yesterday our collective ennui was lethal. It was day two without holiday guests. And just before dropping my sister at the airport for her flight to Rome I’d enlisted her to help me drag our quiescent Christmas tree out to the front yard where I sawed her in half and wrestled her into the yard bin. So the holiday was over. Capital O. Over. Anticipations fulfilled. Presents unwrapped. Only deep indigestion, caused by a toxic overdose of butter, lingered. So on that grayest gray of days — the non-color of late December — Penelope, Desmond, and I bickered our way into our filthy VW.

I aimed for Gig Harbor with the vague plan of “getting lunch”. Depressed felt too gentle a word for the feeling that was trying to smother me as we passed evidence of that night’s wind storm — fences and ruined decorations bobbing around waterlogged yards. I was the designated leader of these two little souls! I had to find something to do that wasn’t a week-long nap. We’d just crossed the Narrows bridge when I saw the sign for Tacoma-Narrows Airport. I remembered there was a restaurant there. Mediocre bar food, but an exciting view of the airplanes coming and going. I pulled off the exit and announced I’d decided where to eat.

We took a table at the window and ordered the nachos to split. As we cheered for the planes, our moods lifting with each take-off, a man wandered in. He ordered his regular then turned in his seat to admire how invested Desmond was in identifying the planes. Each plane that came and went was compared and classified using the collage of old newspapers pasted to our table. Desmond’s classifications were as enthusiastic and confident as they were inaccurate. The papers were obviously outdated and featured only three planes.

The man, K., and I got to talking. I learned he had been a commercial pilot for Alaska and now worked for one family, flying them between their estates and doing mechanical work on their collection of antique planes. He invited us to see them if we finished lunch around the same time. His drink arrived and he turned back around. I assumed it was an empty offer. Not to generalize, but in my 15 years of experience Washingtonians rarely follow through on invitations like these.

When we finished our nachos and airplane cheering, we got up to leave and say goodbye to, K. But as I approached he stood up, and said, “okay, let’s go!” Alright! We followed him out the door and down the tarmac. We passed little planes and one big one. Then he opened the doors to a huge hanger, and inside were the most beautiful airplanes I’d ever seen. I didn’t know airplanes could be beautiful if I’m being honest. (Also is it a hanger? Garage?) He turned on the strings of lights that had been meticulously hung high above and began introducing us to each plane.

There were at least 5 antique planes, pristine. One private jet with maybe 8 rows, if windows are rows. A handful of motorcycles. Some antique cars. Everything gleaming. Absolutely perfect. I know what went into restoring Tony’s little green MG, both years and dollars, so to see mechanical restoration of this scale of perfection … and this magnitude was staggering. Just a sliver of the collateral in there could probably pay off my mortgage.

But more priceless than that was my kids taking it in. Desmond was overcome and so he went inside his mind, filing away every detail. Penelope was overcome and so she came out of her shell, wanting to experience everything. The owners had joined us by this point, and Penelope accepted the offer to climb into the yellow plane. She focused intently with her deep-concentration-giveaway-tongue sneaking out as he showed her how to use the level to go up, down and turn left and right. She honestly looked like a natural. I could picture her flying. Which made me proud, excited, and slightly terrified.

We finished our tour and regretfully said our goodbyes. The owners shouted after us that we could come back anytime. We piled back into our car (both kids using one door as the other was stuck again) stunned by our unexpected luck. Desmond and I thanked the lucky penny we found at the boxcars, it was one of many lucky encounters we’ve had since finding it. Sharing a lucky penny is our fun little (serious) joke.

But as we pulled away, back into the grayness of the day, I caught their eyes in the mirror and said, “You really never know what will happen!”

And they laughed and answered, “We know, mama, we know.”