My Grandparents’ House

My grandparents, David and Mary Ann "Minnie" Methven, purchased the house at 423 Westbourne Dr. in West Hollywood, California in 1929. They moved from the house at 4125 Hammell St. in East Los Angeles, California.

My grandfather built the first house by himself when the family moved to California in 1919. He did everything except the plumbing because his brother-in-law was a plumber. The house is still standing all these years later, although it has been remodeled to such an extent that the original house is no longer recognizable. (I could not find a good photo of it.) Mother and I used to drive by it once in a while just to see if it still existed.

The new house in West Hollywood was much larger than the old house. The family now had three daughters and needed more space.

The story I was told was that the builder had intended to live there himself, but he had to move to another state. Grandpa heard about it from a friend and purchased it.

I have this small painting of the house. Grandma told me that during the Great Depression, itinerant artists went from house-to-house volunteering to paint them for a very small amount of money. The actual painting is about the size of a postcard. It is done on a thin piece of wood and is signed “O.J. Russert” and dated ’33.

Until her death, Grandma hung it next to the front door.

At the time I was born in 1946, my parents lived in the “little house,” an ADU behind the “big house.” My grandfather built the “little house” originally when his father came to live with them. Great-grandpa later moved to the third bedroom in the main house, and my older aunt and uncle, Gordon and Muriel Collin, moved into the “little house.”

It was originally just one room with a Murphy bed with a half bath (toilet and sink) attached. It never had a shower or tub.

When my aunt and uncle moved out, my mother moved in. She lived there when my dad was in the military in WWII. They were married on October 27, 1942 at the Wee Kirk o' the Heather at Forest Lawn Memorial Park when Dad was home on leave, and their reception was held at the house.

Dad and Grandpa added a lovely, large, sunny kitchen and breakfast nook on to the “little house.” My parents still had to go to the “big house” for showers and baths, but it was a cozy place to live.

After over four years in the US Army, Dad was discharged. He first reported on April 21, 1941 and served through November 24, 1945. Since Dad passed away at thirty-seven years of age, the loss of these four-and-a-half years was significant.

My earliest memories are as a baby waking up in my crib, which was shoved against one wall of the living room/bedroom. Mom and Dad were in the kitchen with the lights on entertaining friends. Smoke arose around them (Dad smoked) as they talked. I knew I was supposed to be asleep, and I tried to be as still as possible.

I remember the yellow kitchen with its sheer curtains. These are happy memories of a time when I was safe and cared for.

Every day, when Grandpa came home from work, he walked by the “big house” and tapped on the kitchen window so Grandma would know he had arrived. However, his first stop was the “little house” to see me. He carried me around and talked to me. Sometimes, he took me to the “big house” and pointed out objects: door, table, picture, window, etc. Because of this, I had a 52-word vocabulary at one year old. (Mom wrote all of them in my baby book because she was sure no one would believe her.)

When I was a bit older, Grandpa read to me. Although space was at a premium, the bottom drawer of the dresser was filled with books. Grandma and Grandpa and my parents bought me lots of Little Golden Books. Some of my favorites are still published. I wore out quite a few. It was through Grandpa that I learned to love reading.

Dad and Grandpa loved working together on “projects.” Grandpa adored Christmas. He and Dad built lots of decorations from wood and many “found” items.

They built a whole village of “tiny houses,” most of which were based on real structures. They created a village on the front lawn, surrounded by a miniature picket fence, and covered in Ivory Snow (washing machine soap flakes). They formed street lights from tin cans and wired them to illuminate the “village.”

Later on, they added a Santa on the roof, two large reindeers, and a sleigh full of presents. In this photo, a few of the “tiny houses” are along the wall.

Dad and Grandpa both worked at the Broadway Department Store in downtown L.A. They obtained the reindeer—previously used in a window display—when the store discarded them. After my family moved to Alhambra in 1948, the deer came with us.

Grandpa died of a heart attack at the Broadway at closing time on October 27, 1948. He was just fifty-five years old. I was twenty-six months old, but I still remember him. And I remember the night he died.

I have a memory of standing at the screen door of the “little house” waiting for of his footfalls on the driveway and the sound of his voice. They never came.

Unfortunately, most of the “tiny houses” were lost in a fire in Grandma’s garage a couple of years after Grandpa died.

Ironically, my father also died of a heart attack in the Broadway on February 16, 1954 at opening time. He was only thirty-seven years old.

My grandmother passed away on the 26^th of March in 1969, while we were on the road driving to Illinois, where Larry had a job. When we called to let our parents know we had arrived, we learned that they had just attended her funeral. The house was sold a year later, before we returned to California.

I am grateful to have these photos of my grandparents’ home since it was the site of many lovely memories.

Discovering Dana Point

 I doing research for our book, The Memory Keeper, I found photos of a statue called “The Hide Drogher.” Drogher is a word for the slow, clumsy coastal ships, which stopped in Dana Point to trade foreign-made goods for hides. The statue shows a sailor tossing a hide. I remembered seeing the statue many years ago, but when we were doing our research, I couldn’t find it.

I looked it up and discovered it was on the top of the bluff along the Bluff Top Trail. It used to be visible from the road along the bluff, but now, large homes have been built there.

 Today, after a stop at the post office, we were on Amber Lantern. I asked Larry if we could stop and take a walk on the trail.

The view was gorgeous from the gazebo-structure at the end of the road.

To call this a “trail” is a real misnomer. It is a concrete path with series of stairs, all with handrails.

Not far along the trail, we saw the arches from the 1930 construction of the original Dana Point Hotel, which was never completed because of the stock market crash and the Great Depression.

A plaque describes the wall and the circumstances.

Not far beyond the arches, we spotted the statue. It is now enclosed in a wall of concrete. (It used to stand alone on top of the bluff.)

The plaque describes the statue.

On the way back, we were able to see the old trail, which used to zigzag down the cliff to the beach below. Larry remembers hiking up the trail in the 1960s. Of course, much of the old trail has been washed out over the years.

The trail was lined with rock walls, some of which can be spotted below the new trail.

 

We took some photos with Larry’s phone, but they didn’t come out well. So, we went back and retraced our steps later on. Two hikes in one day! What a gorgeous time to enjoy our hometown!

Now that we know where the statue is, we may visit it more often.

 Are there places in your hometown you haven’t explored? So glad we discovered this one!

Giving Thanks

 A few years ago, I began a practice of gratitude. I’ve always been aware of my blessings, but this was different. Each day, I looked for something specific to be grateful for. And I have posted this on Facebook each day—with very few exceptions.

After all this time, I can assure you it makes a difference.

Sure, I get frustrated and angry just like everyone else. But by forcing myself to “count my blessings,” as the song says, I am able to find the balance in life. No matter how bleak things look, there is ALWAYS something to be thankful for.

I believe we humans are stewards of all the earth. What is a steward? According to the dictionary: someone who manages or looks after (another's property). Whose property is the universe? Bottom line, I believe EVERYTHING belongs to God. We are only temporary caretakers.

How does this play out in real life?

In 1984, we purchased a condo in San Juan Capistrano. We used it on the weekends, but for the first year, it sat empty during the week. (After her high school graduation, Kim lived there and attended Saddleback College. We still came down for the weekend.)

One of the first things we did after we moved in was to invite our friends in the area for brunch and a “house blessing.” How did it work? The pastor went from room to room and asked God’s blessing on all those who visited there, slept in the beds, ate at the table, cooked in the kitchen, etc.

It truly became a place of peace and rest for many―including us.

• ·         My mother and her sister and a couple of her friends spent days there enjoying each other’s company and exploring the area.
• ·         A young couple (friends of Kim’s) became pregnant and married suddenly. They had no money for a honeymoon, so we handed them the keys. They spend several days enjoying a real honeymoon they never expected.
• ·         Several friends needed a place to get away, and the condo became their retreat.
• ·         The choir director needed a place to shower and change his clothes after he ran. He lived too far away to go home. We gave him a key.
• ·         Our neighbors in Arcadia had their parents here for a visit. They had never seen the ocean, so, of course, it was on their agenda. We invited them to take the family to the condo. They were able to go to the beach every day. One evening the grandparents babysat, and the parents went to Swallows Inn for dancing. They had a ball!

In 1987 we bought our current house in Dana Point. Of course, we had a house blessing here as well. Our friend, Tony, grew up in Japan. Buddhists believe salt repels evil spirits. The same in the Shinto religion. During their housewarming ritual, salt is usually sprinkled in front of the house to keep evil spirits away. So, Tony spread salt on the threshold and repeated some words of blessing in Japanese.

Then we entered, and the pastor repeated his blessing of every room. Afterward, we enjoyed brunch.

In 2007, we tore out our whole yard and redid it—including adding a waterfall.

Once again, we held a blessing ceremony. The yard is now overgrown, but the sound of the waterfall is still soothing and joyful.

I have always loved the idea of a mezuzah, the Jewish holder for a blessing placed on the doorpost. It serves as a reminder of the blessing of home. I found one with and angel. (My house is filled with them. I have collected them since I was a child.) When we replaced the front doors, I forgot to remove it. But a few years ago, I found another. It is back in its place next to the door.

Once again, as we approach Thanksgiving, I am convinced we should give thanks every day. We have much to be thankful for.

Wishing you and yours a blessed Thanksgiving Day.

I Hate Moving

I hate moving. No exceptions. Maybe this is the reason we have been in our current home for nearly thirty years. Even when we lived in Japan for three years, we were able to leave much of our “stuff” in the house. (This photo is several years old.)

We owned our prior house for seventeen. We rented it furnished to a friend for nearly a year while we lived in Denver, CO. (I don’t think I’d do it again because of the amount of damage.) Larry’s cousin bought this house when we moved to Dana Point, and she still owns it. Maybe long-term home ownership runs in the family.

I keep saying we should downsize because “someday” we will probably have to move to a one-story house. Larry says he’ll install a chair lift or small elevator rather than move. I can’t say as I blame him since we live in a wonderful neighborhood with the best neighbors in the world. However, all the issues with my knee during the past two years has proved to me how vulnerable I am. (Of course, aging has nothing to do with this…) I haven’t convinced him, but periodically I purge excess “stuff.” I don’t look forward to the day when we really have to get rid of our surplus—and we have far too much.

Our daughter, Kimberly, has lived in Texas for nearly twelve years. She has been in three different apartments. Whenever she moved to a new place, we visited to help her unpack, arrange furniture, and hang pictures. A week ago, she purchased her first home, a condo in Plano. The timing of this major life event couldn’t have been more difficult for her. Three days before escrow closed, she started a new job. This was a promotion with an appreciated raise, but making the change at this time was a challenge. In addition, she sings in the choir at Prestonwood. The first two weeks of December, the church presents “The Gift of Christmas,” an over-the-top production. She had to sing in thirteen performances while trying to move in.

As always, new homes have issues, and she hasn’t been here to address them. Fortunately, we are.

The major challenge is lack of storage space. Her last apartment had huge closets throughout. This one has small closets and few of them. We bought her a new queen-size bed for her guest room since we are sleeping there. We chose a firm memory foam mattress with a metal platform. There is room under the platform for several plastic bins for her linens and other items for which there is no other room.

We are nearly finished, but we have worked harder this week than we have for a several years. Our muscles are sore, and we’re very tired. We look forward to returning home to get a rest.

Two days after we get back, Kim arrives for a couple of weeks as she does each Christmas. We’ll probably all try to get lots of rest. And I don’t plan to move for a LONG time.