family

August 20, 1964

 

August 20, 1964

Joyce holding the killer canine, Lady
Joyce holding the killer canine, Lady

 My father remembered that night well. In the darkness of our tent, one by one he heard sniffles from the surrounding sleeping bags. Marion Voxland was the parish worker for Hope Lutheran, my father’s church. She took care of our pets while we were in Iowa. We had a Pekinese dog, Lady, and a cat, Princess, who recently had kittens. Abner was my kitten.

Joyce with Lady, Janet with Princess, me with Abner
Joyce with Lady, Janet with Princess, me with Abner

These were our first pets because my parents, having grown up on Iowa farms, viewed cats and dogs as animals that belonged outside. Veterinary expenses for a pet were an unnecessary expense. Spaying and neutering wasn’t a thing yet, so canines and felines (like Princess) were constantly over-populating. My parents weren’t cruel to cats or dogs. They just didn’t consider them people.

My sisters and I felt differently, and still do. Our pets are part of the family. Science might say different, but I attribute human thoughts and feelings to them. Jealousy, joy, disdain, outrage. I see these emotions and more in my pets.

"Go ahead - make my day."
“Go ahead – make my day.”

Over the years, my mother became a co-conspirator with my sisters and my efforts to welcome more animals into the house. Occasionally, she’d even drive us to the pound so we could visit them. My father couldn’t help getting attached to our pets, once he got to know them – which meant we all cried when one of them crossed the Rainbow Bridge.

August 16, 1980

August 16, 1980

Today's bride and groom
Today’s bride and groom

Watching another couple vow to share their lives forever on the fifth anniversary of the day I made that same promise to John caused me to reflect on exactly what that meant, five years down the line.  (For the record, today’s groom was the soloist at our wedding.)

“Just the Way You Are” was an excellent choice for where John and I were in our marriage, then.
“Just the Way You Are” was an excellent choice for where John and I were in our marriage, then.

Here are a few of the lyrics with my commentary. Billy Joel wrote it for his first wife; they are long divorced.

Lyric & Photo 1

The applicable lyrics are “unspoken passion – although I might not seem to care”. As the diary entry makes clear, “spoken passion” wasn’t the norm for John and me. On this anniversary, John admitted to being happier with me, lately.  So, you could say that he “might not seem to care.

Lyric and Photo 2

John and I met six months before we wed and we didn’t know each other all that well. I had a baby early in his third year of law school, adding to the overall stress when he had to pass the bar. When we got married after his first year in law school, nobody thought we’d last a year. So, I think that qualifies as times of trouble.

Lyric & Photo 3

These are the lines that matter and they’re as true today as they were on our fifth anniversary and the day we got married. We’re all looking for someone we can talk to – and I found that when I met John.

I found that when I met John

 

As of today, we’ve been married 46 years.

Married 46 years

 

July 21, 1968

 

 

July 21, 1968

 My father founded the parish in Elgin. We lived in the parsonage, flanked by a huge asparagus field, within easy walking distance of the church. My sister Joyce was born there.

Janet and I, as the sanctuary went up behind us.
Janet and I, as the sanctuary went up behind us.
Standing in front of the Elgin parsonage. I'm distraught because they keep replacing me with other children.
Standing in front of the Elgin parsonage. I’m distraught because they keep replacing me with other children.

Sometimes, my father tape recorded our dinner conversations, to mine them for potential sermon illustrations. Some of those reel-to-reel tapes survived half a century. On one, I insist I want a dog because the boy next door, PF, has a dog. My dad asks me what color of dog I want. “Blue” I reply because I’m 4 years old. Janet requested a pink dog, but she was only two.

They're tired of me and test-driving a newer model named Janet = WAAAA!
They’re tired of me and test-driving a newer model named Janet = WAAAA!
One person in this portrait is in utter despair.
One person in this portrait is in utter despair.

On the tapes, Janet, my dad, and I erupt in applause every time my mother lays food on the table. My father wanted to show appreciation – and teach us to do the same – for even mundane tasks like food preparation. Looking back, it was more about appreciating my mother, something he showed in so many ways, it leaves me breathless. Suffice to say, although I believe my husband and children love me, I’ve never received a standing ovation for dinner.

Geneva and Vance, young and in love.
Geneva and Vance, young and in love.
They're far younger than we are now.
They’re far younger than we are now.

Children of parents deeply in love all their lives are lucky indeed. My parents  treated each other with respect and kindness, no matter the circumstances. Their love wasn’t wild and dramatic, like what I saw in the movies. It was deeper and more profound. It was real. It went the distance. My sisters and I were blessed enough to bear witness.

Look how happy we were before they brought home a spare!
Look how happy we were before they brought home a spare!
Such a happy family of three!
Such a happy family of three!

Many people mistakenly believe they had the best dad or mom in the world.  I’m one of three girls who did. My father was tall, dark, and handsome, charismatic, kind, and wise. My mother was gentle and beautiful, understanding, and insightful. They found each other and held on for 66 years of marriage. I’m sad but not surprised my mother died within a year of my father. They belong together, forever.

From the beginning - King and Queen of their high school prom
From the beginning – King and Queen of their high school prom
Years later
Years later

July 18, 1974

July 18, 1974

Inga and I share a melancholy moment in San Diego.
Inga and I share a melancholy moment in San Diego.

Moving back in with my parents at age 23 was not part of my master plan, but there I was – stuck in my old bedroom in San Diego. I’d blown my first shot at the dream – being a professional screenwriter. I didn’t have a plan B.

Inga and I catch some zzzzs on the family room sofa.
Inga and I catch some zzzzs on the family room sofa.

I needed a new launching pad. Academia had been kind to me. I applied to USC’s grad school. In those days, UCLA ran roughly $250 a quarter. I don’t have figures for USC, but it’s safe to surmise you can add a couple zeros to that even in ’74 dollars.  The only way I could swing it was if  I moved in with my parents and saved my pennies.

Inga and I lounge on the floor (I have no idea about the white fluff).
Inga and I lounge on the floor (I have no idea about the white fluff).

San Diego is a beautiful city. Everyone says so. Unfortunately, my parents relocated there during my first year at UCLA. My life-long friends lived in Santa Clara. What’s an introvert like me to do? Make new friends? I don’t think so.

I refinish an old desk in our San Diego backyard. Something I would never, ever do. But I did.
I refinish an old desk in our San Diego backyard. Something I would never, ever do. But I did.

I clung to an old friend, the one who never (willingly) left my side – Inga, the dog I brought home from the LA pound. Even when I didn’t deserve it, she gave me limitless love and devotion. If you need a friend who won’t let you down, someone steadfast and loyal who quivers with bliss at the gentle touch of your hand………..

Check out your local animal shelter. I’ve never been sorry I did.
Check out your local animal shelter. I’ve never been sorry I did.

Please do check out your local animal shelter, as I did and continue to do.  I’ve never been sorry.  Let me know your story.

July 11, 1966

 

Fishing with the family
Fishing with the family

July11, 1966

Me and my sisters in Iowa in 1966
My sisters and I in Iowa with Grandpa and cousins in 1966

 My sisters and I loved these bi-annual trips to Iowa to see our relatives – we loved everything about it, except the. heat, humidity and mosquitos. We spent most of our time in the coolest part of everyone’s house – always, the basement. Even there, you could break a sweat lying still and reading in bed. In the sixties, everybody had fans but nobody had air-conditioning.

Family, then - I can't begin to accurately tag!
Family, then – I can’t begin to accurately tag!

My grandfather wasn’t a man to disagree with. My sister Joyce didn’t like candy corn. On one of our Iowa visits, I noticed her eating it. “I thought you didn’t like candy corn,” I said. “If Grandpa says you like candy corn, you like candy corn,” she replied.

Three generations together in 1966
Three generations together in 1966

Grandpa said we’d like fishing, so there we were – not liking it, which he didn’t like. He didn’t like our queasiness about worms or how we squealed at the sight of a hooked fish flopping around the bottom of the boat. We might have been born Midwesterners, but by 1966 all three of us were California city girls, through and through.

I'm the sullen Iowa girl at right - I've never been to California - By 1966, I'm a sophisticated California girl!
I’m the sullen Iowa girl at right – I’ve never been to California – By 1966, I’m a sophisticated California girl!

 

 

July 8, 1976

 

July 8, 1976

Inga and me
Inga and me 

In the summer of ’76 I was pregnant, so we had to move out of our first apartment, within walking distance of USC (no babies allowed).  To call our second apartment “gorgeous” is a gross exaggeration.  It looked like every other apartment in the 70s.  Outdoor stairs led to five or six apartments, ours included, on the second floor.  Even though it was long ago and we lived there for only two years, I remember it in vivid detail.

Pregnant in our Windsor Rd. apartment
Pregnant in our Windsor Rd. apartment

I pity Los Angeles millennials – well, anybody who wants to rent in LA.  One hundred and seventy-five dollars seemed like a fortune to us (our previous rent was $125) but it was do-able, even though John earned about $200 a week as a part-time law clerk (he was a full-time law student at USC).  Imagine a couple renting a 2-bedroom LA apartment today on one partner’s part-time salary.

John in those days
John in those days

What we didn’t know was that we were within walking distance of Angelo Bueno’s auto upholstery shop – you know, the one where the Hillside Stranglers tortured and killed all those women with long brunette hair. One of the victims was abducted from the small hospital at the end of our block. The murders hadn’t started when we moved in, but it wasn’t long – October 1977 to be specific – and they lasted until February 78 (we moved out in the summer of 78).  As the bodies piled up in Glendale and La Crescenta hillsides, it made for some jumpy times.

Directly outside our Windsor Rd. apartment with CD, '78
Directly outside our Windsor Rd. apartment with CD, ’78

As for Inga, she lived a long and happy life with my parents in San Diego. I think she liked having a house and a yard to play in (as opposed to our apartment) plus my sister Joyce’s dog, Kuala, as a companion.  My parents never particularly wanted dogs, but they fell in love with our dogs once they got to know them, and we all cried when Inga (and later Kuala) crossed the Rainbow Bridge.

July 3, 1986

 

July 3, 1986

Tata & Anni, as they called each other. Tata loved to perch on counters - and pianos.
Tata & Anni, as they called each other. Tata loved to perch on counters – and pianos.

This is one of those entries in which nothing significant happens – but I’m so glad I wrote it down! Thirty-five years later, these are the entries I love to discover – and I do mean discover – because I have no conscious memory of any of it.

Sharing a stroller.... or a horse
Sharing a stroller or a horse

Far too many of my diary entries describe phone calls I made or received, the writing I did or didn’t accomplish, the bill from a run to the Price Club (Costco), my weight and what I ate that I wish I hadn’t – all of it meaningless now. Instead, I should have documented those precious, fleeting moments with my children.

Tata insists on driving the car Anni got for his birthday or a bath in the kitchen sink - note Anni's one-arm salute.
Tata insists on driving the car Anni got for his birthday or a bath in the kitchen sink – note Anni’s one-arm salute.

It all went by so quickly. Sure, I’ve got pictures – lots of them. They illustrate exactly what 2-almost-3-year-old Tata and one-year-old Anni looked like, but they’re only glimpses, frozen in time.  The funny things they said and did, the emergence of their unique personalities, the way the two of them interacted – unless I wrote it down, all of that is lost forever. Videos could have preserved some of it, but home movies in 1986 were beyond my area of expertise – and my budget.

This should've been a video!
This should’ve been a video!

Anni  tried to copy Tata, even when he hadn’t a clue what she was doing. She’d place one hand on her back, one on her tummy,  and bow deeply to each corner of the room.  Where did that come from?  Tata copied Anni too, notably by joining what would become his signature arm-in-the-air salute (two-arms, for extra emphasis).

Tata & Anni both salute
Tata & Anni both salute
Tata doubles down on the salute.
Tata doubles down on the salute.

Still, even in infancy, distinct differences between their two personalities emerged. Tata mobbed  her crib with plush animals. Anni methodically tossed every one of them out. Tata fearlessly jammed her mouth with marbles, pennies, anything handy and lethal. Nothing entered Anni’s mouth without scrutiny and informed consent. Tears streamed down his cheeks when I made him taste chicken.

Tata's idea of the height of hilarity.
Tata’s idea of the height of hilarity.
Anni learned to carry his bottle between his lips as Tata usually did (to keep her hands free)
Anni learned to carry his bottle between his lips as Tata usually did (to keep her hands free)

I thought these day-to-day moments weren’t important. I thought I’d remember them all. How could I be so wrong? Thank God for the times I wrote these things down.

Tata was once a full head taller than Anni. Not anymore. It ticks her off.
Tata was once a full head taller than Anni. Not anymore. It ticks her off.
They've still got a special connection. They always will.
They’ve still got a special connection. They always will.

 

 

May 2, 1965

May 2, 1965

 A PK?

A spoiled 13-year-old wrote this. Reading it today, I realize how incredibly lucky I was to be my father’s daughter even though as a PK (Preacher’s Kid), I felt pressured to be an “example” to others. The pressure didn’t come from my father. If anything, he urged me to be exactly who I was. Don’t act religious to please him. Don’t go Satanic to rebel. Listen to your own voice.

My dad, my mom and the three PK's
My dad, my mom and the three PK’s

I didn’t get any static when I chose UCLA instead of a Lutheran college. He made no effort to direct me toward a more practical major than film writing. He was even fine when I married a Catholic.

I think the idea that PK’s should be held to a higher standard is a commonly held, rarely challenged belief. That’s why a casual observer like Jane’s mother could say, “Somehow, we thought the pastor’s daughter would be different.” It’s why Dusty Springfield sang about being despoiled by “the son of a preacher man,” not “the son of a plumber.” It’s just the way it is.

Standing proudly next to my father
Standing proudly next to my father

Growing up PK was a challenge I didn’t choose but in retrospect it was a privilege. I wouldn’t trade a minute of being Pastor Vance’s daughter to be anyone else.

 

April18, 1992

April 18, 1992

Happy Birthday John
 
A lot changed between J’s surprise 30th birthday party and this one. When he turned thirty, we both smoked and drank (he quit smoking forever the following day; I didn’t wise up for a few years). By his 40th, neither of us smoked and we hadn’t had a drink for almost seven years.

J with future law partner Jack Denove
J with future law partner Jack Denove

I’m slightly older than J, so I had to face the formidable fortieth birthday first. Birthdays that usher in new decades feel so much more significant than regular birthdays. Gail Sheehy’s Passages, originally written in the 70s but since updated, offers a road map for the stages of adult life broken down by decades. My summary is an extreme simplification of her work.

Me with J's law school pal Anne Kurrasch.
Me with J’s law school pal Anne Kurrasch.

The twenties are about finding your path in life – do you please your parents or please yourself? Typically, people feel the pressure of a deadline in their thirties. They redefine their priorities as well as their expectations.  The early forties frequently bring a sense of stagnation – is that all there is?  It sounds depressing, but opens the door to self-discovery – what Carl Jung would call “individuation.” We are who we are, and that’s okay.

Bennett Traub, another law school pal, in bg.
Bennett Traub, another law school pal, in bg.

Sheehy includes a quote from Willa Cather: “There are only two or three human stories, and they go on repeating themselves as fiercely as if they had never happened before.”

Over the Hill

 

April 1, 1966

April 1, 1966

Believe it or not - there is a Snow Cone Emoji - so I guess people are still craving them.
Believe it or not – there is a Snow Cone Emoji – so I guess people are still craving them.

Funny, how the only test I identified – mechanical reasoning – was the one I tanked. It’s a safe bet my high scores were in English or another humanities/social science subject where vocabulary and reading skills can conceal a vast lack of knowledge. On the other hand, since mechanical reasoning didn’t appear in Santa Clara Unified’s 6th grade curriculum, perhaps they were testing something other than what we learned in school. Who knows what areas they were testing and why?  And – half a century later – does it really matter?

My family circa 1966
My family circa 1966

The phrasing in this entry – “I remember back in the fifth grade” – makes it sound as if this happened eons ago, not a year and a half.  Eighteen months was a lifetime, then. A moment, now. I haven’t been to Santa Clara – or driven down the El Camino Real – in at least a decade. Is it still a street or is it an expressway? Is the Moonlite Center still there?

The Moonlight Center as I remember it with the big iconic "M" sign.
The Moonlight Center as I remember it with the big iconic “M” sign.

Is April Fool’s Day still a big deal?

All dressed up - but not going to the Jr. Prom
All dressed up – but not going to the Jr. Prom