San Diego

August 26, 1969

8-26-1969

 

MY PARENTS CIRCA 1969
MY PARENTS CIRCA 1969

This entry is a perfect illustration of the tricks memory plays. I would have sworn that my father came to LA to inform me of the call to San Diego and that today was the first time I was aware of the possibility. I was even more certain that it was on this day, at LAX, that he dropped the bomb – it was a done deal, they were committed to moving and I had no say in it. This, too, is apparently false. Who am I kidding, apparently? If the battle for truth is between my diary and my memory, the diary scores a knock-out.

SNEAKY FAMILY PREPARES TO ABSCOND
SNEAKY FAMILY PREPARES TO ABSCOND

If I hadn’t written everything down in my diary, I’d buy my own fiction in which, not so coincidentally, I am cast as the hapless victim. Until I came across this particular entry, I believed my version was 100% accurate. It turns out none of it is factually true.

In my defense, my version was emotionally true  to my feelings about abandoning  Santa Clara for San Diego.  I felt blindsided and betrayed. When I left to attend UCLA, I expected to return to Santa Clara every Christmas and summer – where else would I ever want to go?  I didn’t remember any other home before Santa Clara.  The shocking realization that – aside from a quick dash to box my earthly possessions for a move to a city I’d never seen and where I knew no one – aside from that, I could never go home again. The house I grew up in would be occupied by strangers.

Inverted Hurt

 

Good-bye

If I ruled the world, my family would never leave Santa Clara (or age, for that matter). My parents would live in our old parsonage which would look exactly like it used to – but that hasn’t been true for 47 years now.

And I’m still not completely over it.

DEL MONTE THEN – We didn’t own our house; Hope Lutheran owned the parsonage, we just lived there. The new pastor thought it was too small (no duh) and the church sold it in October, 1970, for $27,700. It was your basic three bedroom two bath Lawrence Meadows tract house. My thanks to Lester Larson who posted this 1956 Lawrence Meadows brochure, below,  on Facebook. The floor plan depicted in the brochure was ours; I think that may even be our house in the picture.

Lawrence Meadows

 

OUR HOUSE IN LAWRENCE MEADOWS IN SANTA CLARA
OUR HOUSE IN LAWRENCE MEADOWS IN SANTA CLARA

DEL MONTE NOW – This is what our house looks like today.  Apparently it now has six bedrooms and three bathrooms and the estimated value is (gulp) $1, 308,597.

House Now

 

July 8, 1970

 

july-8-1970-edited
Let’s just say, I don’t have piles of “Employee of the Month” awards hoarded in a drawer – for starters I was rarely employed for a full month. Outside of academia, I was successfully challenged by the concept of a work ethic. I tried to get the hang of it, kind of, but I am what I am, I can’t deny it. I’ve got a real affinity for sloth.  My mother complained I was lazy and inept about helping her with housework. (An effective combination. It was easier to do the dishes herself than enlist me.)  Exasperated, she warned me to get rich because I’d need a maid. She intended it as a threat but I heard a swell idea.

Get Rich, you will need a maid!

During my high school and college years, I worked at various part-time jobs. Bulletin-folder for my father. Neighborhood babysitter. Corn dog cashier at the Santa Clara County Fair, salesclerk at San Jose State bookstore and UCLA bookstore – perfect, except when I had to wait on customers.  Paper slicer for two days. UCLA Med Center OB/Gyn ward clerk. Typist at the naval base on Coronado Island.

Been There Done That

When I graduated, I figured my days of dead end jobs were behind me. I was eager to launch myself into a fun career like Mary Tyler Moore did on her show. Something in the entertainment business with a warm family atmosphere and witty supporting characters like Mr. Grant and Murray.

At my first employment agency interview, I took a typing test and dazzled the room. (I was not Outstanding Typist of the Year at Wilcox High for nothing.)

TypingI’ll never forget what my recruiter said next.

“Honey, if you learn shorthand, you can rule the world.”

Hmm, a lack of shorthand didn’t hurt Mary Richards. Why is it a problem for me? In a moment of clarity, the illusion of living Mary Richard’s life dissolves. I face a future as a secretary in a coma-inducing office devoid of wise-cracking curmudgeons.

I know what I have to do. There’s just one place I function slightly better than average instead of below the mean and I can stay there forever if necessary. Grad School, here I come!