children

December 24, 1983

december-24-1983

Sam and I on her first Christmas.
Sam and I on her first Christmas.

By “one big pregnant blur” I meant seven more months. Little did I know it would be fourteen more months. What the hell happened?

  1. A month prior, I took a pregnancy test at Verdugo Hills Hospital as opposed to a do-it-yourself pee stick. Why? Because I didn’t trust my ability to read the results accurately. I wanted professional eyes.
  2. After the positive test, I packed on pounds like a sumo wrestler.
  3. I quit nursing Sam to ensure adequate nourishment for the new baby.
Sam contemplates munching on her rag doll some more.
Sam contemplates munching on her rag doll some more.

Let’s back up. Three children weren’t part of John’s or my master plan. We were satisfied (and exhausted) by our current two, a boy and a girl. We convinced ourselves this third child was meant to be.

Delighted CD meets his little sister Sam - two children, a boy and a girl. Perfect.
Delighted CD meets his little sister Sam – two children, a boy and a girl. Perfect.

Our childless friends mocked us mercilessly. “What did you do, mount her on the way out of the delivery room?” they taunted John. Truth be told, back-to-back pregnancies struck me as a tad trailer-trashy and unseemly but I waddled on.

John, CD and Uncle John Salter
John, CD and Uncle John Salter

In March, at my monthly appointment, my OB couldn’t find a fetal heartbeat. (This was the first time she tried.) Alarmed, she ordered an ultrasound and – surprise!

Despite looking ready to drop, I wasn’t deep in my fourth month – not even close. I was two weeks pregnant. In other words, months ago – when I fretted about how 1984 would be one big pregnant blur – I wasn’t even a little bit pregnant. Instead of giving birth in July, as everyone I knew now expected, I’d deliver in October.

Sam with Aunt Joyce Salter
Sam with Aunt Joyce Salter

How could such a mix-up happen? The hospital stood by their initial positive pregnancy test, suggesting I subsequently miscarried (without noticing it) and promptly conceived again. I thought it far more likely they screwed up the test and – under the delusion I was already pregnant – I quit nursing after which I conceived for real.

My father stands behind my sister Janet
My father stands behind my sister Janet

Ultimately, it didn’t matter. By now, John and I were fully adjusted to the prospect of three children.  The fact he or she would be a Libra rather than a Gemini was no reason to reconsider.

I have another more fantastical theory about what happened. It has no scientific basis in fact. In my myth, Alex and Sam knew each other in previous incarnations, different lifetimes. Maybe they were lovers, maybe one parented the other, maybe one saved the other’s life.  Regardless of what bound them, their connection ran deep. In this lifetime, Alex wanted to be close to Sam – this time, to watch her grow up.  The strength of his love and the sheer force of his will powered him through time and space and created that magical mishap with my pregnancy test all to bring them together again – this time as siblings.

Sam and Alex reunited in this lifetime as siblings.
Sam and Alex reunited in this lifetime as siblings.

Watching them grow up together might make you a believer too. I never want to spend two years pregnant again, thank you very much. But if I was required to be pregnant for ten years to bring Alex into the world, I’d do it. No regrets. It was meant to be.

December 11, 1993

december-11-1993 

Alex demonstrates an early interest in high finance.
Alex demonstrates an early interest in high finance.

I’m not a geneticist, just the mother of three, but watching three distinct personalities emerge straight out of the womb convinced me nature matters more than nurture. Based on my empirical evidence (Chris, Sam and Alex, to be specific) I believe we’re born with most, if not all, of our personalities intact. As the above entry illustrates, from an early age Alex appreciated the value of money and paid attention to it. To this day, Chris and Sam barely give it a second thought.

Alex playing with the bank he got for Christmas.
Alex playing with the bank he got for Christmas.
Bree, Carly and Sam dance "The Chicken". Connor, in walker, doesn't know what to think.
Bree, Carly and Sam dance “The Chicken”. Connor, in walker, doesn’t know what to think.

For a while, Alex and Sam (born 14 months apart) shared the same crib, sometimes in shifts. Sam needed to be surrounded by all of her plush animals. As soon as I placed Alex in the crib, he methodically hurled them out – he preferred a more pristine, austere environment.

All of the Knutsen cousins grouped together.
All of the Knutsen cousins grouped together.

Sam and Chris bear a strong physical resemblance – some people mistakenly assume they’re twins – although she’s much closer in age to Alex.  While Chris is close to his siblings and cousins, the seven-year plus age gap between him and them kept him out of most of their fantasy games. Of course, I’m prejudiced, but IMHO all three of my children are brilliant and beautiful, as are their cousins Caitlin, Connor, Bree and Carly. (This is not to dismiss their Fresno cousins Jeffrey, Michael, Martin, Mark and Aida – but since my sisters and I live within a five-mile radius, they see a great deal more of their cousins on the Knutsen side.)

The cousins love this "Arm in the Air" salute; it shows up in a LOT of photos. I still don't know what it means. From left to right Sam, Bree, Alex and Carly.
The cousins love this “Arm in the Air” salute; it shows up in a LOT of photos. I still don’t know what it means. From left to right Sam, Bree, Alex and Carly.

This little coterie of cousins shares a strong creative streak. Tucking scarves in back of their jeans to serve as tails for a game of cats provided hours of entertainment. One year, Sam flew home from college with a scarf-tail tucked in back of her pants. It delighted her when little kids in the airport spotted her with excitement. “Look, Mom, that girl has a tail!”  She’s more concerned with looking interesting than she is afraid of looking weird. (And by now it should go without saying, looking “interesting” does not mean fashionista-interesting. Quite the contrary.)

Not likely to be on the cover of VOGUE anytime soon.
Not likely to be on the cover of VOGUE anytime soon.

November 3, 1989

november-3-1989

Sam post operation
Sam post operation

 More than 25 years later, the details of this day stand out in my mind with startling clarity. Something about life and death situations has that effect. Five days earlier Sam saw the same doctor – he said she had the flu but every day after that she got worse. For the first time, she was too weak to trick or treat.

With cousin Carly Salter
With cousin Carly Salter
With her brothers Chris and Alex (both a little jealous of the attention she was getting - see below)
With her brothers Chris and Alex (both a little jealous of the attention she was getting – see below)
She got a lot of balloons and gifts in the hospital.
She got a lot of balloons and gifts in the hospital.

Although I’m married to a trial attorney who does some medical malpractice, we never considered suing the doctor for his failure to diagnose her correctly. This dermoid cyst thing was so unusual that no doctor would jump to that conclusion first – or even second.  It wasn’t what they expected to find when they started surgery. They were after a bad appendix (even though the problem was on her right side.) What they found shocked us all.

With her Daddy
With her Daddy

I feel so blessed to live in this century, in this country, where medicine was advanced enough to save her. A hundred years earlier, the gangrene would’ve killed her and no one would’ve ever known why. Although this was a a horrible harrowing experience, I feel nothing but gratitude she came through it safe and sound.

She bounced back fast! (walking attached to IV on Day 2)
She bounced back fast! (walking attached to IV on Day 2)

October 14, 2006

october-14-2006

Chris and Geo on stage
Chris and Geo on stage

 Before CD could apply to UCLA, he had to survive California’s community college system. PCC (Pasadena City College) is one of its best schools – but not one of the easiest. When the state cut its budget, Chris had to battle for even his most  basic courses.

playbill

For his language requirement, he chose Chinese. Unable to take Chinese 3 at PCC (due to budget cuts, not low grades) he completed Chinese under stiff competition at UCLA. This summer when we toured Russia, he astonished a group of Chinese tourists by talking to them in their language. They were so awed by the tall Caucasian speaking Chinese that they asked for his autograph and insisted on having their photos taken with him.

cdg-on-stage

His accomplishments would impress me even if I didn’t know how far he’s come. He dropped out of high school halfway through his sophomore year when he turned 16 and passed the GED. We’d exhausted every educational alternative. From private school to public school – where they whisked him into the “At Risk” program for potential drop-outs – then on to boarding school followed by another private Lutheran school.

Chris was fatally shot in the play. Note bullet hole in forehead.
Chris was fatally shot in the play. Note bullet hole in forehead.

We sent him to private therapy and participated in family therapy. I read books about how to motivate kids determined to fail. My breaking point came when I conferenced with his math teacher to supervise every homework assignment. I verified he completed every single one correctly. Each morning I reminded him not to forget his homework.  At the end of the week, his teacher informed me he hadn’t turned in a single page.

gcd-at-play

That’s when I gave up. I couldn’t read his failure to turn in completed assignments as anything but the finger. Short of going to school with him every day to ensure he handed in assignments, there was nothing I could do.

The applicable cliche here is you can lead a horse to water but you can’t make him drink. CD’s will to fail was stronger than our will to prolong this futile battle. We felt like we just failed parenting. When friends bragged about their kid’s early admission to Yale, then asked about CD’s college prospects,  it painful to admit he didn’t get through his sophomore year.

ucla-film-class

Given all this, we didn’t expect him to perform in a college play or speak Chinese, let alone win a place in UCLA’s Film School, graduate first in his class and give a speech as Valedictorian.

valedictorian

I claim no credit for his miraculous transformation. He figured out how to change his life and followed through. His father and I always believed he was smart despite his early academic performance. Much like he opted to learn Chinese instead of Spanish, CD chose the hard way to obtain his education and succeeded against all odds.

Forgive me for bragging; I waited a long time for this. I couldn’t be any prouder of his unique journey to become the man he is today.

cdr-valedictorian

August 16, 1982

August 16, 1982_edited-1

 

THE LATE GREAT BRILLIANT WRITER & MUSICIAN, DAVID ACKLES
THE LATE GREAT BRILLIANT WRITER & MUSICIAN, DAVID ACKLES

 

CD&GA

Chris met his future BFF when he was two; he and Geo Ackles both attended the Church of the Lighted Window’s Montessori School. I noticed that whenever I picked CD up, he was with the same boy who – at that time – bore a striking resemblance to CD.  Unfortunately, one of them (I don’t remember which) moved to another pre-school. As these two-year-olds lacked the social skills to exchange phone numbers or arrange play dates, a beautiful friendship almost died before it began.

But fate intervened! My in-laws stopped on their way to Temecula and took CD and me out for lunch at Bob’s Big Boy.

By miraculous coincidence, David Ackles was there with his son George. Our two-year-olds were delirious with joy. They leapt across the restaurant to greet each other like long lost brothers.  David and I exchanged phone numbers and promised to get them together.

Twins

I assumed we’d facilitate play dates but otherwise pass like parental ships in the night. I was astonished to learn David was a fellow WGA member as well as a talented singer/songwriter who recorded for Electra (check out Road to Cairo – my favorite of his songs – if you haven’t heard it).

DAVID ACKLES SINGING HIS SONG,"ROAD TO CAIRO," IN 1967
DAVID ACKLES SINGING HIS SONG,”ROAD TO CAIRO,” IN 1967

 

Not only that, he was witty, charismatic and just plain delightful – and although it almost seems impossible – it gets BETTER!  His wife, Janice, was just as quick, hilarious and fun as David.

Before long, we were dressing up and role-playing mystery games with Joyce and John Salter, Terry McDonnell, Matt Rowell, Anne Kurrasch, Jake Jacobson and others. I wish I’d had the foresight to tape or film a few of those sessions. We laughed until it hurt.

The world lost a great artist and we lost a great friend when David died of lung cancer on March 2, 1999 but his music lives on – as does the friendship between Chris and George.

PLAYING A MYSTERY GAME - Top row: Joyce Salter, John Salter, Anne Kurrasch, Terry McDonnell, David Ackles; bottom row: me, Janice Ackles
PLAYING A MYSTERY GAME – Top row: Joyce Salter, John Salter, Anne Kurrasch, Terry McDonnell, David Ackles; bottom row: me, Janice Ackles

July 27, 1977

 

July 27, 1977

Looking for my calling
Looking for my calling

This was a transitional time in our lives. John had finished his last year of law school but wouldn’t know when or if he’d be licensed to practice until after the bar results. When we married, I was working for Len Hill at NBC. I quit to take a job at USC that gave both John and me a break on tuition. I quit that job for more time to write and immediately got pregnant.

New Mom
New Mom

Christopher was seven months old at the time of this entry. John and I shared a car, which he drove to USC and work, so I was marooned in the Hillside Strangler’s killing fields (bodies were piling up in circumference around us).

70's Fashion
70’s Fashion

I had no idea whether or not I’d succeed as a writer. My identity was in flux. When I look back at photos taken then, I hardly recognize myself. I’m dressed like I thought a new mother or future Jr. Leaguer should dress. (On the other hand, 70s fashion didn’t do me any favors.)

New Mom and Dad and Son
New Mom and Dad and Son

The part of my psyche that never changed – my constant – remains in my worry about the impression I made on Gailya.  From the time I started writing in diaries (age 12), whenever I spent any time with a friend, I second-guessed my performance in my diary – “I’m sure I bored her” was my most common review. Maybe everybody critiques their social interactions and inventories their mistakes. Even if true, I suspect most people grow out of it.

Am I any better now, 40 years later? Maybe a little. Not enough.

June 4, 1966




June 4, 1966_edited-2


4 Musketeers

Three days before she died, I received a letter from Natalie. Uncharacteristically, I wrote back immediately.  I don’t remember what I said but at least I wrote back. Her brother found my letter, unopened, on the kitchen counter, when he arrived in Ukiah after she was dead. My name was on the return address. That’s how he knew where to contact me and let me know she was gone.

Say CheeseFall, 1961. “A family with a daughter your age is joining our church,” my father says. Natalie is  short and round with blue eyes and blonde hair in a Prince Valiant cut. I’m the fourth grade giraffe, tall and skinny with wavy brown hair. She’s an outdoor-oriented extrovert, a born entertainer. I’m a sullen sedentary introvert longing for center stage despite my lack of talent.

Obviously, we’re destined to be best friends.

Natalie far left. Me next to her. Probably.y at Mount Cross Bible Camp.
Natalie far left. Me next to her. Probably.y at Mount Cross Bible Camp.

January, 1967.  Natalie and I are sophomores at different high schools. We claim to be cousins and people believe us despite how little we have in common. Natalie’s in Choir and Pep Squad. She’s secretary of the Future Teacher’s Club and wins a speaking role in the school play. The Beatles reign on my stereo while she remains loyal to the Beach Boys and Jan and Dean.


K & N in Photo Booth


We graduate from our respective high schools in 1969. She and her future first husband Bobby are voted Cutest Couple and featured on a full page in Fremont’s yearbook. I leave Wilcox as anonymously as I served my time. She goes north to college, first Pacific Lutheran in Washington and then Chico State. I head south to UCLA. Natalie majors in PE and Education, I choose Film Writing. We get together briefly every summer but during the school year we forge new friendships.


K & N

Natalie and Bobby divorce.  The next time I hear from her, she’s engaged to the man of her dreams. She doesn’t ask me to be a bridesmaid in either of her weddings. The outdoor ceremony takes place on a blistering August day at the Ukiah ranch where they live


Wedding Day

Summer, 1988. Natalie, her husband and their daughter spend two days with my family on their way home from Disneyland. Natalie’s jumpy, a restless bundle of uneven edges and darting eyes, nothing like the laughing Natalie I remember from childhood. She smells the same, a summer collage of rose-scented soap, saltwater or tears, sunblock, healthy sweat and new mown grass. She tries to hide the small scaly patches engraved on the skin on back of her hands and elbows.  She isn’t any smaller, but in some profound way she is fading before my eyes.

JOYCE AND NATALiE DOING RECORD ACTS LIKE IN THE OLD DAYS
JOYCE AND NATALiE DOING RECORD ACTS LIKE IN THE OLD DAYS

Not long after, she gets divorced again. In the spring of 1994, Natalie’s mother – in many ways her anchor – dies. Natalie spirals down, then goes into freefall.

NATALIE AND I WITH HER MOTHER AND HER DAUGHTER
NATALIE AND I WITH HER MOTHER AND HER DAUGHTER

While at work as a kindergarten teacher, she passes out, drunk, in the ladies room. She’s fired from her dream job. Next, she loses her driver’s license. After that she loses custody of her daughter.

Fall, 1995. I hate it when she calls late at night. She rambles, repeats herself and slurs her words. I make excuses to get off the phone.

Omen

March 26, 1996. I open Natalie’s last letter. She never learned to type so it’s handwritten like all the others. The round, precise cursive lines of blue ink on the first page remind me of the tight, controlled perfection of her record acts.


Ddear Kath

Her writing deteriorated with every line, crazily sloping out of control by the time she signed her name.  I wanted to believe her but I didn’t. Even so, I never thought alcohol would kill her at 44.
I hope she knew I loved her. I know you can’t save people who don’t want to be saved but I wish I’d tried harder. Whenever her name is mentioned, I still tell people she was my cousin. She’s buried next to her mother in Massachusetts instead of Ukiah. I’ve never been to Massachusetts but one of these days I’ll go.