Growing Up Rich

My family, 1963

My family, 1963. Brother Bill, Dad, Mom, sister Vicki and me, the shrimp

Being a weekend of remembrance, I drove by my childhood home, taking the familiar road I ventured down for 44 years until my parents died in 2004. Our once tan and brown home is bright blue now. Concrete sits where plants once grew and our paneled wood door is painted white and harbors a metal security door that screams STAY AWAY.

Parked in front of a house that holds special memories for me (but today looks almost unrecognizable), I realize it’s not really about the house but the people inside who made it a home.

I grew up in Santa Venetia, which sits in an unincorporated section of Marin County, CA. Situated along a canal, the small community was originally planned to resemble the water roadways of Venice. That never happened but some winters seemed to prove otherwise.

Santa Venetia in 1914

Santa Venetia canal in 1914

You see, whenever it stormed, sections of our neighborhood flooded, especially during high tide. Since our home sat near a dip in the road, my parents bought a sump pump they shared with our neighbors. In hindsight, a rowboat might have been a better investment. That’s because during severe storms, water often seeped into our dining room, ruining the floor and staining the grass-cloth wallpaper. Both needed replacing more than once so every winter Mom worried herself sick.

Our family home from 1950 to 2004

Our family home from 1960 to 2004

When my parents bought our home on Galerita Way, it was intended to be our “starter” house. But we never left. And thank goodness for that. Now don’t get me wrong; it was a modest home for sure; not much to look at and not in a desirable neighborhood. But what a spectacular upbringing.

Day at the beach

Day at the beach

I grew up back when kids played outside until way past dark, grudgingly coming inside only when summoned. Money was tight even though both my parents worked, yet each year they managed a 2-week family vacation to Lake Tahoe. That was our big treat. And most Sundays during summer we skied at Lake Berryessa with friends. It was bliss.

dad in boat with us

To us kids, new shoes were a big deal. Just going to a drive-in movie caused my sister and I to dance excitedly in anticipation. We lived in a tiny house with bedrooms the size of matchboxes but that didn’t matter to us. We’d never heard of a family room and didn’t care that our dining room was once a bedroom.

I grew up in the 60s with orange shag carpet, a one-car garage and an above-ground Dough-boy pool neighborhood friends helped us erect. We had block parties and dinner parties; on weekends the adults often gathered in front yards to visit. It was a simple, innocent time. At least it seemed that way to me.

The day we got a color TV, neighbors piled in to watch; it was quite an event. I remember the first time I saw the colorfully bright NBC peacock.

NBC peakcock

Sunday evenings after dinner we gathered in front of the TV. I’d sit on that orange shag while we all watched Walt Disney’s Wonderful World of Color.

I still recall many of my neighborhood friends, which is pretty amazing considering my pathetic memory. My young life was filled with ping pong games, carefree days of swimming and countless summer BBQ’s. I tell ya, I couldn’t have asked for a better childhood.

Remembering those days now, I wouldn’t change a thing; not the community we lived in or our tiny tan and brown house on a street that flooded. Although we didn’t have much, we had what we needed.

Celebrating my birthday

The truth is, I always knew I was adored. And if you’re blessed enough to have that, you somehow know you have all you need.

My family

My family, 1985

 

I haven’t been able to post anything new the last couple weeks. Just got my internet back today, so here’s a post from May, 2015. I’ll be back next week tho!

Please Don’t Steal My Stuff

Since we’re having a sudden rash of thievery in my cute little, normally safe, Leave it to Beaver neighborhood, I thought I’d reprint this posting from 2015.

I’ve been violated.

Let me rephrase that. I feel violated. And a little stupid, if you want to know the truth. I’m assuming you do since this is a non-fiction blog. So here’s the scoop:

My vehicle was broken into a couple nights ago. Technically, it was entered without my permission because it was unlocked. That’s the stupid part. Both my cars were unlocked in my driveway.

Scene of the crime

Scene of the crime

I live in a safe neighborhood, or thought I did, so I got complacent concerning diligence toward thwarting thieves who count on my complacency. But if you’ve ever had someone steal your property, you know how creepy it feels. That’s the violated part.don't steal

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Meeting the Boogeyman

I don’t know, maybe I watch too many of those true crime programs that feature crazies committing horrendous murders. Or worse, seemingly sane individuals who murder. Not even the gal next door is safe. And that gal could be me. For instance, one night not long ago, I was in my office on my computer around 1:00 a.m. when I heard a car pull up.making a murderer

As you know, when we’re in a lighted room looking out into the night, we can’t see anyone. But they can see us. Spooky, huh? That night I saw only head and tail lights as the car idled in place for seemingly several minutes. That’s when I imagined the occupant of said car was likely plotting my demise.

Pretending not to notice, I kept typing when I heard the car door slam shut, meaning someone exited the vehicle. Trying to discern what was going on without telegraphing panic, I caught a glimpse of a figure, illuminated by the moonlight, walking up the edge of my lawn toward my house. My heart raced and for a moment I wondered why it is I don’t own a gun. Just then, my home security alarm went off…meaning my 4 dogs went ballistic.

Taffy and Wally playing2

Wally and Taffy

Skip and Callie in kitchen

Skip and Callie

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Jury Duty? Say It Isn’t So

jury duty joke

A couple months ago I received a jury duty summons and immediately panic set in. Now don’t get me wrong; I don’t advocate shirking our civic duty. I actually think I’d be a good juror, open-minded and fair. Except, that is, if you’re charged with abusing an animal. In that case, my friend, I’d be the last one you’d want on your jury.my jury summons

In my 64 1/2 years, I’ve only been summoned 4 times. I have no idea why and hopefully I didn’t just jinx my run of luck. Hey, life is busy and finding time to sit on a 2-week jury would be difficult. There are ferals to be trapped and sterilized, others to be re-homed. But I’m guessing that wouldn’t exactly sway the judge.

judge

This is what unswayed looks like

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10 Things I Find Ridiculous, Chapter 1

You might think this particular post is similar to my “Pet Peeve” posts. But my peeves are totally different than what I find to be ridiculous. Peeves annoy me; ridiculous things baffle and sometimes amuse me. So here are 10 things I can only describe as being simply…

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