Happy Birthday Daddy

My dad would've been 70 years old today. That's very hard for me to imagine because he was only 25 when he died. In my mind, he will always be the handsome young man he was when he died back in 1968.

My dad was very handsome. I think he was quiet and a little shy. I think I was a "Daddy's Girl." I have a few memories of him. He used to take me for a walk along the breakwater in Santa Barbara. It's a man-made wall between the harbor and the ocean and during certain times, the sea spray can drench you. I used to laugh when we'd get sprayed.

I also remember him coming to my birthday parties. We had them at a park near where he was an assistant manager at Jordano's grocery store. He'd walk to the park during his lunch break and spend a little time with me. Thankfully, my mom and dad had purchased a Super 8 movie camera and filmed my birthday parties, among other events, so I can now view them and see my dad and that helps with my memories.

He loved my mother. He wanted to make our lives wonderful and he was ambitious and that's why he took another job in a town about an hour away. Unfortunately, I also remember that he used to get speeding tickets. And it was that speeding that got him late one night, just before Christmas.

I used to wish I could go back in time and change things, that I could stop him from speeding or stop him from leaving that morning. I've missed having a dad. I missed out on getting to really know him. I have few memories of him. But it does no good to dwell on what happened or what might have been. All I can do is look forward and to live my life so that someday I can see him again. Someday, I will be able to know him and spend time with him.

Someday, I hope to lose myself in his hug and spend eternity with my daddy.

A Time Capsule from My Mom?

I'm on pins and needles . . . .

My mother was part of the first graduating class of San Marcos High School in Santa Barbara, CA in 1961. She was very active in her class. She was a cheerleader and a Homecoming princess. This weekend that class is celebrating its 50th year reunion. In addition to the regular reunion activities, they will be opening a time capsule.

My mother passed away in 1973 when I was a little girl. I never had the opportunity to really know her. I remember that she was beautiful, something I can see in photos. But, I never knew her personality. Was she funny? Compassionate? Kind? Silly at times? Strong? Sensitive? Did she believe in God? I honestly don't know.

Since my father had passed away in 1968, after my mother's death my sister and I lived with our maternal grandparents. I often asked my grandmother to tell me about my mother but her memories were more about surface things like how she wore her hair and what clothes she liked. Grandma never really shared much about what my mother was like inside, the kind of person she was. As a result I've yearned for information about my mom, wondering through the years if I'm anything like her.

This time capsule has me very intrigued. I wonder if my mother put anything in it. And, if she did, what she put in there. Will it give me a glimpse into her life? Into her personality? Will there be a letter? A photo? I'm so curious, almost ridiculously so, because I feel like after all of these years without her, I might have some communication from her. Of course, it wouldn't be to me because I was born a few years after the time capsule, but maybe she left something that will give me some insight into her.

I don't even know how I'll find out about the capsule. I have contacted a friend whose mom was one of my mother's friend and who is in charge of the reunion and I'm hoping she'll let me know if there's anything in the capsule from my mom. Until then, my mind is racing with all sorts of possibilities.

This is a family photo when I was about 6 months old.

My mother and me when I was about 7 weeks old.

Christmas. Grandma had a flocked tree with the same decorations for years and years.

We're in the backyard of our house close to the beach in Santa Barbara.

Grandpa's Christmas Music

We've now collected enough Christmas music that I can turn on the CD player and listen to it all day without repeating a CD. I love Manheim Steamroller. I can listen to that music over and over and over again.

With all the great Christmas music we have, including some new favorites like Alan Jackson's "So Let it Be Christmas," my ultimate favorite music is what my grandpa used to play. Most of the songs are from the Big Band era. My grandpa was a DJ of sorts, back in the day. He used to play music for wedding receptions and parties. He built these enormous speakers--5 ft tall by 3 ft wide--and he had at least 1000 albums. We've inherited all of that. Grandpa had hoped my husband would carry on the DJ business, but we simply didn't have the time.

Grandpa loved music. He didn't play any instruments and he didn't sing, but he loved to listen to the famous bands of the day. And he loved Christmas music. He created a reel-to-reel tape of his favorite songs and that's what he'd play during the season, especially on Christmas Day. Before we could open any presents (I lived with my grandparents) he'd start the "Christmas Tape." Then we knew it was officially Christmas.

We now do the same things with our kids. We make them wait to come downstairs until we have Grandpa's music playing because it isn't really Christmas without that music. I'm sure it's because of all the memories that are wrapped up in those songs, but I never tire of hearing them. I'm thankful we were able to capture all of those songs from the reel-to-reel so that each year I can enjoy the music that was such a part of my childhood and I can share that with my kids.

A Moment Longer

We spent last week in CA visiting family and going to Disneyland. The first part of the week we were in Santa Barbara where I grew up. No matter how long I visit, it's never long enough. I love being there. Yes, it's a gorgeous coastal city with perfect weather, but, for me, it's where I feel connected to my parents and grandparents. It's almost as if I'm in a dream state, caught somewhere between the past and present.

My parents have been deceased more than 37 years. I was a small girl when my father died, but I remember walking with him, hand in hand along the walkway known as the breakwater, a cement barrier between the harbor and the Pacific Ocean. As I walked along there last week with my family, I thought about how my father had once been there, with me, and I felt closer to him.

We drove past the homes where I grew up. I haven't been inside my parents' house since 1973. Every time I visit, I wonder if maybe that house will be for sale and I can walk through it again. Sometimes, I fantasize that if I touched a wall in that house I could transport back into the past and spend a little more time with my parents, tell them that I love them, immerse myself in the love they shared when we were a young all-American family before tragedy changed our lives.

Yes, I know they are in a better place and I know I'll see them again. But, when I'm in Santa Barbara I can't help but feel more connected to them as I walk where they once walked, sit where they once sat, and touch what they once touched.  SB is filled with memories of a time that I wish I could capture and hold onto for just a moment longer.

Selective Memories

I was born and raised in Santa Barbara, CA so I spent summer days at the beach. I loved to chase the waves and see if they could catch me as they lapped their way back to the shore. I'd collect shells, investigate the tide pools left between the big boulders, and build sandcastles. One of my favorite things to do was ride my pony along the sand with the ocean spraying my feet and the breeze sifting through my hair. I spent countless hours at the beach.

As a teenager, I attempted to surf. My teacher, who was also one of my closest friends, patiently tried to help me find my balance so I could ride a wave. All we ever accomplished was a good laugh. I could body surf, but on a board, no way.

I always loved the scent of dried sea water on my skin and the salty taste on my lips.

I'm sure many of my memories suffer from a bit of selective amnesia. After all, I used to collect plenty of sand in my swimsuit, find my feet covered in tar, and experience more than one sunburn each summer. I can also remember opening my eyes underwater and feeling the sting of the salt water. But, as I recount my childhood at the beach, those less pleasant memories are replaced by the idyllic world I've created for myself.

Isn't that what's so great about writing? We can create whatever world we want. We can dream it and make it whatever we want it to be because it's our own. We aren't shackled by what actually is, only by what we can dream.