Remembering Aunt Evie

 

Aunt Evie was my favorite relative on my mother’s side of the family. She was young and fun, and I loved her dearly.

Born Evelyn Ella Higginson Methven on August 28, 1923, she was the youngest of three girls. Aunt Muriel and my mother, Vera, were raised as good Victorian children—seen, but not heard. Evelyn was seven years younger than Muriel and six years younger than my mother. She belonged to a different generation.

Mom said they all spoiled her. She and Muriel treated her like their very own living baby doll. And she was “cute as a button.” She had a heart-shaped face and big eyes, and charmed everyone.

She was also an independent spirit. She took part in sports and had lots of friends.

When she was about five, the family moved from their home in East Los Angeles to a new house in West Hollywood, then a part of Beverly Hills. At the time, many young people who would later become film and TV stars also lived nearby, and Evelyn new quite a few of them.

Down the street lived the George family. One member of the family was of particular interest to Evelyn: Frank, the third of four sons. They dated throughout high school. Grandma always said she didn’t need to guess where Evelyn was. All she had to do was look down the street. Usually, Evelyn was draped over the front fender of a car looking down into the engine compartment while Frank was working underneath. He was crazy about cars. And they loved to dance!

Mom described how they would come home from a dance and Evelyn’s chin was raw from rubbing on Frank’s suit jacket. They danced the jitterbug and all the other popular dances of the day. He lifted her up and flipped her over his shoulder and then pulled her through his legs.

They were engaged the evening of my mother and father’s wedding on October 27, 1942. Frank and Dad were both in the Army at the time.

They were married on August 15, 1943.

She moved with Frank to Washington, DC, where his job was teaching pilots to fly, using the LINC simulator. Following his time in the service, they moved back to West Hollywood, and Frank opened his own garage. It was a lot of responsibility, but he loved working on cars, and did so for the rest of his life.

On December 1, 1949, Evelyn gave birth to twins: Karen Ann and Kathy Lee. By this time, they were living in the “little house,” an ADU behind my grandparents’ home. My family had lived there until I was two years old. By this time, Grandpa had died, so Grandma liked having Frank and Evie nearby.

Evelyn really appreciated the help with the twins as they had many allergies, both of them to different things. Karen was allergic to cow’s milk and had to drink goats’ milk. Not easy to find in those post-war days.

This was also the era when babies were put on feeding schedules. However, the twins were on different schedules: one was every three hours and the other was every four hours. Evelyn was exhausted!

Frank was working very long hours in his business, so they weren’t able to spend much time together. They met with their pastor for counseling, and he suggested they plan a “date night” once a week where they could spend some time away from the children and reconnect. Friday nights became their special time, and they continued this practice for many years.

After my father died, when I was seven, my mother was determined to raise us by herself with no help from anyone. This included family. (My mother had an over-developed sense of pride.)

Evelyn and Frank did what they could to give my brother and me special attention Uncle Frank attended Indian Guide meetings with my brother, and Aunt Evie spent time with me.

Christmas was a challenge. The three sisters agreed to give small gifts only to the kids and to their mother. They set a limit. I think it was about two dollars each at the beginning for our gifts. Later, it may have gone to five. In those days, it was possible to buy toys for that amount.

When I was about ten, we arrived at Grandma’s for Christmas Day. My eye was immediately attracted to a HUGE package. When I checked the tag, it had MY name on it! It was about 3 feet wide, two feet high, and two inches deep. I couldn’t wait until after dinner when we could finally open our gifts!

Inside was a Betty Crocker Junior Baking kit! It held miniature cake pans, cookie cutters, a mixing bowl, spoon, measuring spoons, cookie sheet, plus several mixes for cookies, cakes, and icing. I heard my mother scold Evelyn about exceeding the limit, and my aunt told her she had found it on sale. I knew it was a lie, and so did Mom, but there was nothing she could do about it.

I felt so loved, not because of the size of the gift or because Aunt Evie had dared to stand up to my mother, but more because she understood who I was and knew this would be the perfect gift for me. I baked all the mixes, but I kept the cooking items and used them for years. I still had them when I my own daughter was born, and she and I played with them. I think she may still have them!

In the early 1950s, Evelyn and Frank moved to a new house in Monterey Park, California, just a couple of miles from our house in Alhambra. We spent a lot of time with them—especially after they put in a swimming pool.

When I was about twelve, I began babysitting for Aunt Evie and Uncle Frank. Because I knew so many of their neighbors, I also babysat for their kids.

Eventually, Evie and Frank hired me to sit with the girls for their Friday night “date nights.” Even then, I recognized this as a way to give me a little extra spending money, which my mother could not object to.

Aunt Evie picked me up on Friday afternoon and took me to their house, where she had already prepared dinner for the girls and me. After they left, I fed the girls, and they watched TV until their bedtime, while I cleaned up the kitchen. Then I oversaw their baths and got them into bed.

Then, I had the TV to myself and could watch my favorite TV shows: 77 Sunset Strip and Hawaiian Eye. At home, I rarely got to choose what I wanted to watch, so this was a real treat!

Then, I locked up the house and went to bed in their guest room.

In the morning, Uncle Frank fixed breakfast, usually pancakes. (They were his specialty.) From Aunt Evie, I learned to love them with plain yogurt and fresh fruit. This is still my favorite way to eat them.

It was about this time that my relationship with Aunt Evie changed from aunt and niece to friends. I used to tease her that she was my favorite playmate!

Uncle Frank’s job took him to San Mateo, so they moved there in the early ‘60s. The first Thanksgiving break following their move, my cousin, Eileen and I took the train up to visit them.

Aunt Evie was a phenomenal seamstress. She made all her own clothes and for years, she made all of the girls’ as well. On this particular trip, I took fabric and patterns to make Mom and me dresses. Aunt Evie taught me how to make self-belts, and how to put in invisible zippers. These were two dresses Mom and I both wore until they fell apart, and we loved them.

After Larry and I were married, we went to visit them once or twice each year. Larry was an engineer and was genuinely interested in the details of Frank’s work. He would listen to Frank’s stories and ask appropriate questions. They got along very well. Evie and I frequently left them and went shopping.

Before we arrived, Aunt Evie would find fun, new places to visit with us. We also had some we all enjoyed and visited each trip. Spenger's Fresh Fish Grotto in Berkeley was a favorite as was the Alta Mira Hotel in Sausalito for brunch. We especially loved Allied Arts Guild in Menlo Park. They had a wonderful restaurant and lots of little shops. I often bought Christmas gifts there. When Evie was a docent at Filoli, we visited several times. Once she gave us a behind-the-scenes private tour.

We also went into the city (San Francisco) to sightsee, shop, and play. We spent time at Pier 39 and Ghiradelli Square, and Evie often found fun new places to shop for bargains.

In 2011, Aunt Evie had a stroke. A couple of months later, we went to see her. I was amazed at how she managed. She had gotten along well with her physical therapy. The only real aftereffect of the stroke was her issue with speech. She was sharp as ever and knew what she wanted to say, but she got frustrated at not being able to get the words out.

Their daughter, Karen, was concerned about her folks living in their big house with many steps as they got older and began to have some physical challenges She decided to ask them to move in with her so she could care for them. Before this could happen, however, Uncle Frank was hospitalized. He passed away on January 4, 2017. They had been married for 73 years.

Since the moving plans were already in place, Evelyn moved into Karen’s house. The twins cleaned out the family home (a daunting task!) and rented it. Evelyn and Frank had purchased two other homes when they first moved to the Bay Area, and those provided rental income for their retirement.

A couple of years later, Karen’s daughter and son-in-law moved to Reno. Property was reasonable, so Karen sold her home in California and moved to Reno, Nevada. Kathy was still working and living in California, but she planned to follow her sister when she and her husband retired. They visited often.

In 2023, Aunt Evie turned 100 years old. Karen and Kathy threw her a great party to celebrate. Most of the family attended, as well as many of her friends from California. She had a wonderful time and even got out on the dance floor.

Kathy and her husband, Jay, moved to the Reno area not long afterward, so she was able to spend more time with her mother.

On November 5, 2024, Aunt Evie died after a short hospitalization.

I am very grateful to Karen for her dedication and care during Aunt Evie’s last few years. She was able to provide her a marvelous quality of life, and Aunt Evie truly enjoyed herself.

We were able to see her in June of 2024, and spent a couple of days with her. We shared memories of her early life, and she laughed and we shared pictures. I loved her for my entire life, and I am grateful for all the wonderful cherish memories of her.

Here is the link to a video I put together in her memory: https://youtu.be/FFcOc25IDvg

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.

99 Years – And Counting

 

Growing up, Aunt Evie was my very favorite relative. She was the youngest of three girls. My mother was in the middle. Evie was six years younger than Mom and seven years younger than Aunt Muriel.

Mom and Muriel were raised as proper Victorian children—to be seen and not heard. They had to behave, and Grandma was very strict.

Mom, Evelyn, Muriel

Evelyn on the other hand, was quite spoiled, both by her parents and her older sisters.

She was tiny and cute and was of a different generation than her sisters. She was twenty-three years old when I was born. She and her husband, Uncle Frank, were the fun relatives.

When I was in my early teens, they hired me to babysit their kids. The twins, Karen and Kathy, were only three years younger, but they wanted to be sure they weren’t alone in the house when they went out for their Friday night “Date Nights.”

I have always believed they also wanted to give me some extra spending money, and this was the only way my mother would have allowed it. In addition, they recommended me to their neighbors, and I babysat for quite a few children on their street. Another reason they were important to me.

They conspired with my cousin, David, to plan a surprise party for my fifteenth birthday. David, who was a year older, brought all his friends—several of whom were guys. They also invited my girlfriends. The party was held at their home around and in their pool. Uncle Frank barbequed. This is a very special memory.

Not long afterward, they moved to the bay area. The first Thanksgiving week after they moved, my younger cousin, Eileen, and I took the train to visit them. While Eileen and the twins played, Aunt Evie helped me to make two wool dresses—one for me and the other for my mother’s Christmas gift. Since Evie was a fabulous seamstress, the dresses turned out perfectly. (This dress was one of the few garments I ever made for myself that I actually wore. In fact, I wore mine out as did my mother.)

After I was married, we tried to visit Evie and Frank at least once a year. When she knew we were coming, Evelyn always tried to find a new and fun place to share with us.

Although I was not fond of seafood, we always went to Berkeley to Spenger’s Fresh Fish Grotto (now closed). They had halibut Florentine, and it was delicious!

My very favorite place was Allied Arts in Menlo Park. This place benefits the children’s hospital at Stanford, and their restaurant was always a delight. I often bought gifts when we visited the little artisan shops on the property.

For several years, Evie was a docent at Filoli, the former home of the Matson family. We visited several times, and once she took us on a private tour.

We often drove over to Sausalito for brunch at the Alta Mira Hotel (now closed). I have many happy memories of this place, including taking our “kids” Silvia and Kazue there.

Aunt Evie suffered a stroke in 2011. It left her with some speech and balance issues, but her mind remained sharp. I created this video to celebrate their 72 years of marriage. They loved to dance, and I think it kept them both young. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A4H05UpTFoM 

70^th Anniversary

Aunt Evie and Uncle Frank were married for over 73 years when Uncle Frank died in 2016. My cousin, Karen had planned to move them to her home because their split-level home had become too much for them to manage. After Uncle Frank died, Evie moved in with Karen.

I created this video for Uncle Frank’s memorial service. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x89KAWHlfaQ&t=4s 

On August 28 of this year, Aunt Evie turned ninety-nine. We decided to visit her. Karen has now moved to Reno, NV. So, we drove the Tesla there and spent a few days. What a wonderful trip!

We first spent a day with Karen and Evie going over several books of family photos. I may be the only one left who could identify who they were! What fun to see all the familiar faces.

Karen’s home is like a museum of my childhood memories―jam packed with Evie and Frank and Grandma’s things. So nice to see them all again.

The next day, we took our great-niece (who also lives in Reno) out for lunch. Since I had told her all about Aunt Evie, I wanted them to meet. Both Evie and Karen were very impressed with this young lady. (Of course, we are biased, but we think she is truly special.)

The next day, we picked up Evie and Karen and took them to Sheels in Sparks for lunch. Afterward, we went to the indoor Ferris wheel. Aunt Evie LOVES Ferris wheels! Karen won’t go on it with her, but Larry and I both bought tickets. I went with her first, and she was like a little kid. On the last revolution, the car stopped at the top. She gave a fist pump and laughed. Larry changed places with me, and again, the car stopped at the top. She was thrilled! Of course, we had to have ice cream before we went back to Karen’s house.

We returned home with great memories of my precious aunt to add to those we had accumulated through the years.

For her actual birthday, Karen continued with the Ferris wheel theme.

August 28, 2022

I can’t finish without mentioning Karen once more. She is one of the most loving, giving, generous people I know. She takes exceptionally good care of her mother. Both in her former home in California and in her current home, she has given Aunt Evelyn the master suite so all of her familiar furniture fits. Karen is constantly thinking of things for her mother to do to keep her engaged and interested. Her twin sister, Kathy still lives in California, but she visits whenever possible.

Karen’s daughter, Heather, and the grandchildren live around the corner and spend quite a bit of time with Karen and Evelyn. I can’t imagine a lovelier way to live at her age! Many thanks to Karen for loving your mom, my very favorite relative.

TODAY MARKS A MILESTONE

 August 31, 2021

One year ago today, my life changed irreparably. I was scrolling through Facebook when a private message popped up: Call Officer R____ at the Covina Police Department ASAP. A phone number followed.

My first reaction was: This must be a joke or a prank. But even as I replied, “Why?” I realized it wasn’t.

I made the call, and the officer confirmed my brother, Ron Lund (known as Rockin’ Ron to his friends), had passed away.

Since our father had died in 1954 and our mother in 2011, we were the only ones left in the family. Now, he was gone, too.

Larry and I immediately set out for Covina—over an hour’s drive from our home in Dana Point. This was in the middle of a heatwave with temperatures in Covina between 110 and 120 degrees. Wildfires raged nearby, so the acrid smell of smoke permeated the air. And it was also during the first COVID peak…

Once we arrived, we were met by Ron’s best friend, Bud, and another friend, Joe. Before too long, two of his other friends arrived. Several of his neighbors also came out—in the heat and smoky air—to tell me how much they had appreciated him.

Their stories of his kindness helped me deal with the initial shock.

We spent the next month cleaning out his mobile home and taking care of the matters of his estate. The busyness helped, but it also allowed me somewhat to avoid dealing with my feelings about losing my brother.

Among his possessions, we discovered a slim, spiral-bound notebook filled with his handwriting. I knew what it was immediately because about ten years earlier he had told me he was writing a book. I promised him I would edit and publish it when he finished it, and he even sent me a chapter so I could show him what it would look like edited. We discussed the title and some of his ideas.

Following his death, several of his friends asked me about “Ron’s book.” Since I hadn’t heard anything more from him, I figured he had given up the idea.

Now, here it was. Not a book, really, more of an outline, and only a few chapters. However, I had made him a promise…

I transcribed it and showed it to Larry. I felt I had to finish it, and he agreed to write the rest with me. (Once I had transcribed it, I gave the original to his best friend since he was the first to ask me about it. After all, I still had the words.)

We began with Ron’s original story, but added a great deal of detail: dialogue, descriptions, feelings, etc. (His words ended at the beginning of Chapter 11, and much of the previous chapters contained our original writing.)

After about four months, we finished the manuscript. He hadn’t told us his intended ending, and I’m glad. As we worked on it, we agreed it could only have one ending.

Dominic Drive was published in January of this year.

The cover image is a photo of an actual sign from the street where we grew up. Ron had retrieved it when they changed the signs from white with black letters to green with white lettering, and he had kept it all these years. Larry changed the name to the name of the book.

It has received wonderful reviews, and many friends have sent me private notes about how much they liked it.

On his birthday, May 31, we had a nice luncheon here at our house where his friends shared more of their memories of him.

Between the book and the stories, I have been able to piece together a more complete picture of my little brother. I am grateful he touched so many lives. And I feel as though I have done everything I could to honor his memory. Not everyone is so fortunate.

50th Anniversary Celebration - Lorna’s Thoughts 9/5/2015

I recently went through the photos of our 50th anniversary and created a video of the celebration and party. (September 5, 2015. Most photos by Heather Taylor)  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qeuEBcKPNXg 

I also found the audio recording of the ceremony. I have now transcribed each of our speeches, and I'll share them with you for the next three weeks. Here is mine. Larry's was last week.

It was a gift to marry into Larry’s family. It truly was. They knew how to do love, and they demonstrated it freely. Like he said, there was never an outsider—ever.

He’s not the only one with a history of long marriage. Today with us, are my aunt and uncle, Evelyn and Frank George. My aunt is my mother’s youngest sister. Two weeks ago, they celebrated their seventy-second wedding anniversary. So, I had some really good modeling, too.

Frank & Evelyn – 75^th Anniversary

About the time I was thirteen, Aunt Evie and I went from niece and aunt to good friends, and she is one of my favorite playmates. We have always had the best time with them.

When I was going through our wedding book a week or so ago, I found this really terrible poem. And I have to apologize. It I got it in a contest today, I’d throw it out. But it was there, and it’s what I wrote when I was eighteen. So please forgive me, but I thought it was fun to find it, so here it is.

Two young people at Alhambra High,

He was a junior. A freshman was I.

We dated awhile, and then no more.

I thought we were parted forever, for sure.

But two years later, by accident,

It seemed as though we were heaven-sent,

We met one day at the Miracle Mart,

And on February thirteenth, our romance had its start.

A ring on the phone

For a Valentine’s dance

At Cal Poly School,

And my answer was, “Yes.”

Now just two years later,

His ring I am wearing,

And after September,

His life I’ll be sharing.

This was from July of 1965.

About a week ago I heard from my—I won’t say “oldest” but “longest”―friend. (I’ve known Kathleen since I was two. She was my maid of honor.) She asked, “How did that sequence of stuff go when you met? She was there for all of it, but it was hard to keep it in order. So, I wrote it down for her, and I thought maybe some of you would be interested. So, here it is.

Larry and I saw one another and knew who the other was at Marguerita Elementary School. He used to deliver Avon on his bicycle for his mother, Letha, so my mother knew him, too. She was in love with him from the time he was a little boy and stayed in love with him until the day she died.

The summer before I started Alhambra High School, we were at Crestline at Club St. Moritz at the same time. My mother formally introduced us there, but at that time, Larry had a girlfriend.

In the fall of 1960, my freshman year in high school, I went to a football game with my best friend, Kathleen. She really wanted to sit with Tom Dixon, who was a guy she was kind of going with at the time. So, we met him there since he didn’t drive. At the game, Kathleen sat next to Tom, and I sat next to her.

At halftime, Larry joined us in the stands, and he sat down next to me. My hands were really icy, so he put them in his jacket pocket and kept them warm.

I’d had a crush on him since I was about twelve, but he had no idea who I was. His mother knew I had a crush on him, but he was clueless. Now that I was fourteen, he kind of caught on. (He has admitted the Collins men are kind of clueless.) it took him a while.

We all decided we’d go out for cokes after the game. Of course, both Kathleen and I had to call our parents. This was in the days when there were pay phones, and there was one at Moor Field where the game was held. My mother only agreed to let me go (keep in mind, I was only fourteen) because she adored Larry, and Kathleen was going to be along.

So, we went to a burger place called Yankee Doodle’s and we had cokes.

A couple of weeks later, the guys asked us to go to the drive-in to see Swiss Family Robinson. Since Tom and Kathleen sat in the backseat, I’m not sure whether they actually watched the movie or not. I can tell you those of us in the front seat did. Part of it is because Larry, by his own admission, is kind of cheap, and he didn’t want to pay for a movie he didn’t see. So, there we were.

A couple of weeks later, we all went to the San Gabriel Theater to see Cinderfella. After we dropped off Tom and Kathleen, Larry walked me to the door, and he asked if he could kiss me goodnight. Of course, I said yes.

He attended my family’s New Year’s Eve party, and when we came home, he started to kiss me, but I stopped him. That was because my grandmother was sleeping in the living room, and my grandmother was kind of an enforcer. I figured she was probably looking out the window, and I knew there would be heck to pay if she saw me kissing a boy. But he didn’t know why. I thought I’d really hurt his feelings.

I didn’t hear from him for a while, but I heard from friends he’d actually gone back to his old girlfriend. It turns out, she’d gotten sick, and he felt she needed him. It’s a pretty good recommendation for him as a person, but I wasn’t happy. In fact, it took me months to get over losing him.

Fast forward to February of 1963. Kathleen and I walked over to Crawford’s Miracle Mart, directly behind my house. It was a great store. They carried almost everything. We ran into Larry. I’d heard his girlfriend had broken up with him a few months earlier because he wasn’t exciting enough. That was good for me. I was going with someone else at the time, but we were fighting a lot, and I could see the handwriting on the wall.

Larry bought us ice cream and then drove us home. He dropped Kathleen at her house and then accepted my invitation to come in for some fresh chocolate chip cookies I’d baked earlier. See, even then I knew the way to get his interest was through food. Hasn’t changed at all.

Over tea and cookies, we talked until after dark. (My mother joined us.) When he left, I knew something important had changed.

At about nine, he called, and we talked for another hour. He finally asked me to the Valentine’s Day dance at Cal Poly, Pomona, where he was a student. I said yes, of course. Later on, he told me he’d picked up the phone several times before he actually made the call because he sensed it would be important to his future.

Valentine’s Dance 1963

During the evening, I marveled at how at ease I felt with him and how much fun I was having. The dance definitely confirmed my relationship with the other guy was over.

Two and a half years later, we were married.

Santa Pictures – Part 2

Last week, I posted some of my photos with Santa. This week, I’ll show you the rest of them.

This was taken when I was five. I’m wearing the same dress I wore on the first day of kindergarten. I loved Santa, but I don’t look thrilled here. I assume my brother, Ron, has a separate picture. He would have been two. (I gave him all his photos years ago.) 

My mother loved bonnets on me. I hated them. Here, I'm wearing another one.

The next one was also taken when I was five. Apparently, I liked this Santa better, or maybe my cousin David (six-years-old) gave me more courage. (This is a better-looking Santa than the other one.)

Note the scrape on my leg. I was painfully clumsy as a kid and fell down a lot.

At age six, I look happier with the guy in the red suit. (He looks like the same one with me in the first five-year-old photo.) I still don’t know where my brother was.

When I was seven, I finally took a picture with my brother (aged four).

This one is bittersweet. By the next Christmas, my father was dead. (He passed away the following February.) This is the last real Christmas of our childhood.

I took Kim to see Santa when she was little (as well as the Easter Bunny a couple of times). I have the photos to prove it. As I recall, she generally liked Santa and looks happy in her photos.

These pictures represent the best times during my childhood. Do you have any of these? How do you feel about them?

Closure

Almost nothing is more frustrating than losing a dear friend and not knowing why. This happened to us a number of years ago.

Our dear and valued friend, Lynne, simply disappeared. She moved without sending us her new address. Her phone number and email address changed. We were left frustrated and missing her.

I found a new address for her, and sent her cards every few years. We never received an answer, but at least, they were never returned. Still, we often thought of her and hoped she was doing well.

We received word last month that she had died while on a cruise in November. We probably shouldn’t even have known about it except a friend’s step-daughter went to school with one of Lynne’s relatives. She let her step-mother know about the funeral, and she let the rest of us know.

Larry was ill the day of the funeral, but I went. We had been given the wrong address, and I drove around for a while before I located the church. Even though I left very early, I was a few minutes late for the service and sat in the back.

I loved hearing from her family about her more recent years. I felt as though I had caught up with her life. And I was glad and thankful I had gone.

A couple of weeks ago, we received a phone message from “Lynne’s relative” asking to speak with us about her. We played phone tag until last Monday when we finally connected. What a precious gift!

He said he was going through her things and came across the letters and cards we had sent over the years. This told us a great deal. She had kept them because they were important to her! And we knew she knew we cared about her.

We talked for about an hour sharing Lynne stories. Many of them made us laugh, and her relative enjoyed hearing them as much as we enjoyed sharing them. He told us a bit about her life after we saw her the last time.

We all felt she had cut herself off from her old friends in order to protect his privacy. (He is a very public figure, and she lived with him and took care of his children.) He expressed his surprise and dismay that she had made the choice. “I never would have asked her to do it, and I would have objected had I known.”

We had looked for closure to this relationship, and his thoughtfulness provided more than we could have imagined.

We still miss her, but now we feel satisfaction knowing she knew how we felt about her. She kept our messages, and it told us we mattered to her as well.

Have you ever lost a friend and felt the need for closure? How did you handle it? Did you ever find a satisfactory ending?

I’m grateful we did.

More Music Memories

I have several favorite memories tied to one specific hymn: “How Great Thou Art.”

~~~

In 1958, I went to summer camp for the first—and only—time at Forest Home in the San Bernardino Mountains. I went with my three best friends: Peggy Boone, Joyce Thomas, and Cassie Parker. My mother was told I had “won” a scholarship, but I always secretly suspected one or more of my friends’ parents had paid my way.

Each night, the campers gathered around the campfire in the outdoor amphitheater to sing Christian camp songs. Usually the last one sung was “How Great Thou Art.” When I was there, we sat on logs arranged around the fire pit. Today, the area boasts concrete walkways and seats.

I will never forget the sound of the song echoing off the other side of the valley. It had become the theme song of the camp in 1954 when Dr. J. Edwin Orr, from Fuller Theological Seminary, introduced it at the start of a conference, and it was sung each day. It soon became the most popular hymn in the country. And it remained a part of the camp for many years.

O Lord my God, When I in awesome wonder,

Consider all the worlds Thy Hands have made.

I see the stars. I hear the rolling thunder,

Thy power throughout the universe displayed.

Chorus:

Then sings my soul, My Saviour God, to Thee,

How great Thou art, How great Thou art.

Then sings my soul, My Saviour God, to Thee,

How great Thou art, How great Thou art!

When through the woods, and forest glades I wander,

And hear the birds sing sweetly in the trees,

When I look down, from lofty mountain grandeur

And see the brook, and feel the gentle breeze,

Chorus

And when I think, that God, His Son not sparing,

Sent Him to die, I scarce can take it in.

That on a Cross, my burdens gladly bearing,

He bled and died to take away my sin.

Chorus

When Christ shall come, with shout of acclamation,

And take me home, what joy shall fill my heart.

Then I shall bow, in humble adoration,

And then proclaim: "My God, how great Thou art!"

Chorus

The second verse always conjures up images of camp, the mountains, the music, and my friends.

I lost track of all of them for quite a few years. Then, in 2012 after we retired, we planned a month-long cross-country road trip. A week before we left, I was able to connect with Peggy’s brother and sister-in-law on Facebook. They gave me her contact information. I called her immediately and made arrangements to visit. We took a detour though Deming, New Mexico in order to spend a day with her. It felt as though we picked up right where we’d left off. She was the same and so was our friendship.

We continued to exchange email and track each other on Facebook. I had hoped to see her the following summer when she was to come to California for her nephew’s wedding. Unfortunately, she wasn’t well enough to make the trip. She passed away several months later, but I felt enormous gratitude to have been able to spend one last day with her.

I couldn’t locate Cassie, either. I finally contacted her sister, Cindy, who was just a year older and often joined us for activities. Cindy told me that Cassie was being treated for cancer, but she would give her sister my contact information. I never heard from Cass. She died about a year later, but I took some comfort in the knowledge she knew I was thinking about her.

Joyce and I are friends on Facebook. Her mother spent a couple of years in a retirement home near me and close to Joyce’s brother, Jerry. I visited Mrs. Thomas there a couple of times. I tried to get together with Joyce whenever she came to California, but we were never able to connect. Joyce’s mom died a couple of years ago, but fortunately, the two of us have remained in touch.

~~~

About twenty years ago, a fine gentleman named Don Miller, who was at the time a tenor in our church choir, told a story about flying alone in his jet plane high enough to see the curvature of the earth.

Don Miller

As a young man, Don had been a professional singer, at one time substituting for an ailing Perry Como. Right after high school, he sang with Pinky Tomiln’s swing band at the Biltmore Hotel in Los Angeles.

Because of Don’s experience as a pilot and willingness to step into the unknown, he flew the acceptance tests for the first pressure suits to be worn by fighter pilots. The suit had been tested in the laboratory but never under real-life conditions. So, Don wore the suit to see if a pilot could successfully work in it. Don’s flew an F-104, which he took to the 70,000 ft. level. At that altitude, he could see the curvature of the bright earth, the dark sky, and the vast universe of stars and planets. As a singer, his only response was to sing:

“O Lord my God, When I in awesome wonder,

Consider all the worlds Thy Hands have made...”

That Sunday morning, he told the story and sang the song again, a cappella, just as he had in his long-ago cockpit. No one who heard him could have remained unmoved.

~~~

My mother spent the last six years of her life in a nursing home, fading away from us as senile dementia stole her memory. In the last year or so, she had stopped talking. We went to see her in the hospital every Sunday after church. We fed her lunch as she was no longer able to do so for herself.

Me, Mom, and my cousin, Margaret, about two months before Mom died

After lunch, we wheeled her into the large living space/reception area, where a baby grand piano stood in one corner. I sat down and began to play her favorite old hymns. Although she had lost the ability to speak, I’d watch her mouth the words to each song as I played it. They were buried deep in her memory banks, and she brought them out whenever she heard the familiar melodies. Others—patients and staff—often arrived to listen to the impromptu “concerts.” Many sang along.

Usually, the last song I played was “How Great Thou Art.” As Mom mouthed the words, she often began to cry. One day, a caregiver asked if she was all right. I explained that the song was one of Mom’s favorites and had been my grandmother’s favorite, as well. Something in that particular song reached a deep place in Mom and connected, even if for only a short time.

Today whenever I hear it, all of these images and more return.

Do you have a song with multiple memory connections?