Theme Park Junkies

Okay, we are self-confessed theme park junkies. We were two of the many kids who grew up watching the TV show Disneyland, an unabashed infomercial for Walt Disney’s new amusement park being built in Anaheim, CA.

 

We were both children at the time, but we each went to the park (the term ‘theme park’ was yet to come) during its first year of operation.

My grandmother took my mother, brother, and me in August, 1955, one month after opening, for my birthday. None of us knew exactly what to expect, but Ron and I had been well-primed. The place more than lived up to our expectations. Since I was already in love with fairy tales, the magic captured me immediately.

Larry went first on his brother’s birthday the following March and again on his own birthday in April. He loved it as much as I. We discovered our mutual addiction when we were dating, and in fact, attended the very first New Year’s Eve Party at the park.

We continued to go through the years, and I can’t ever recall having anything but a great time.

That’s probably why when Larry was offered a job helping to build the Universal Studios Japan theme park in Osaka, Japan, he jumped at the chance. Well, being able to work on Jurassic Park, JAWS and WaterWorld didn’t hurt! The extra bonus was a job for me in Document Control once we arrived in Japan.

During our time there, we made good friends and really got to know the ins and outs of theme park construction. That knowledge merely increased our love for that form of escapist entertainment. We even wrote a book about it: 31 Months in Japan: The Building of a Theme Park.

After we returned to California, our daughter, Kim, began working at Disneyland, so we bought annual passes. We’ve had them nearly every year since.

We recently celebrated our forty-seventh anniversary. Where did we go? To Disney, of course. Although this time we chose Disney’s California Adventure since we hadn’t ridden on two of the new rides in Cars Land. And, once again, we had a ball.

How about you? Do you like theme parks, too?

Why I Love Fairy Tales

I’ve adored fairy tales since I was a little girl, and they may be one of the reasons I write sweet romances.

I had several collections of them, and my mother read the stories to me at bedtime. The only one I didn’t like was Hans Christian Anderson’s “The Little Mermaid” because it had such a sad ending. The first time I heard it, I cried and cried, and forbade Mom to ever read it again. Years later, I reread it, and still found the ending tragic. When Disney released the cartoon version, I was delighted with the revised happy ending.

Of all the stories, I loved “Cinderella” the most. It was probably because I related so strongly to her.

My father died when I was seven, leaving only enough money to bury him. Mom was left to raise my younger brother and me by herself as a single mother in an era when there were few of those. It was several years following my dad’s death before I actually knew anyone else with only one parent.

Mom had to go to work in order to provide for our basic needs, so I became responsible not only for myself, but also for my brother and many of the household chores.

By the age of twelve, in addition to the other tasks around the house, I had sole responsibility for meal planning, grocery shopping, and cooking. That had to be accomplished on an extremely limited budget.

Until I was married, I wore nothing but hand-me-down clothes, and few of them. There was rarely enough money for extras. A special meal eaten out was a hamburger from McDonalds perhaps once a month. The first real sit-down restaurant I can remember going to was when my aunt and uncle took us to dinner to celebrate my sixteenth birthday. I’d never felt so awkward. I had no idea what to do or how to behave.

I first spotted my own prince across an empty schoolyard when I was about ten. I recently shared that memory with Larry, and he immediately incorporated it into the story of Tiffany in his latest book, Lakeview Park.

He was my first date at age fourteen, but we went out with other people until I was seventeen when we began dating again. We married the week after my nineteenth birthday, and I’ve never regretted that decision. In fact, the license plate holder on my convertible reads: “DON’T BOTHER ME, I’M LIVING HAPPILY EVER AFTER.” And it’s true.

He wasn’t rich, but he certainly was—and still is—very handsome. And I never took him for granted. I was all too aware of just how tenuous life can be.

We have shared an amazing life for over forty-six years, traveling the world, making friends, and laughing a lot.

Even during the past year, filled with the loss of so many family members and close friends, I am still able to focus on the blessing of having known them.

My brother, the world’s greatest pessimist, always grumbles that I see the glass half-full. He’s wrong. I usually see the glass filling to overflowing.

How did I learn to expect happy endings? From Cinderella, of course.