Star Trek & “Please Stand By”

Television was big in our house. We always had the latest set and we watched pretty regularly.

“Star Trek” was a regular staple. I remember hanging out in the kitchen helping mom with dinner (I shudder to think what “helping” meant at the time, poor mom), and hearing the intro to “Star Trek”. That music will always carry with it a sense of warmth, security and the smell of frying potatoes and onions. (My favorite episode will always be “The Trouble With Tribbles”.)

Television back then wasn’t as reliable as it is now, though. Thus was born another family legend. Back then, when there was a problem with a broadcast signal, a test pattern would appear and a male voice would come on and say, “We are experiencing technical difficulties. Please stand by.” Never let it be said that I didn’t take such things seriously (and literally).

I would dutifully get up, trotting over to the television set (then a large wooden console) and standing next to it until the show returned. It took me a long time to understand why the family would giggle.

 

 

San Jose, CA: 1966-1968

The Silver Christmas Tree

We had white carpet in the sunken living room in our house in San Jose. If I’m not mistaken, there was linoleum in the kitchen and “family room” right off of it. I’m not sure skirted that living room or led to the bedrooms. Maybe wood. We weren’t allowed in the living room very often, but that’s where our tree was.

It was silver, our tree. Yep. We had one of those aluminum trees, complete with color wheel that rotated amber, green, blue and red light. (Of course, I didn’t know at the tender age of four that that was because aluminum trees are too much of a fire danger to string with lights.)

It was a magical tree to me: bright and cheery and dazzling. It’s the only time I remember having a silver tree. I don’t remember anything I got that year. But I can look back on it now and smile, knowing what’s considered “vintage” now was the latest thing then, and I had a sparkly Christmas because of it.

(Image borrowed without permission. We didn’t have one of the nice smooth color wheels shown in the picture with the tree. We had one with a metal frame like the one shown beneath.)

 

 

San Jose, CA: 1968

The Spanking on the Organ Bench

This one is a little fuzzier than some. My mom filled in some of the details, but my memory is pretty limited to being called into the house, turned over my mom’s lap and having my backside paddled with a big, round, wooden paddle (think ping pong paddle only natural, shiny wood and no rubber) on my bare behind. She was sitting on the bench to the organ that sat in the foyer (which was open to the sunken living room).

She tells me that the spanking was in response to me getting up from my nap, going out to the garage, hefting the garage door up (which included resting it on my shoulders for a minute while I rested from the lifting), and running down the street toward my friend’s house. She answered her fear with that spanking, is the way she tells it.

This is, so I’ve been told, when I trotted out a new phrase: “The devil made me do it.”

 

 

San Jose, CA: 196

The Ghost of My Other Life

In my twenties, I spent part of my life exploring the New Age movement. I had myself a Wiccan friend and was escorted by her and my soon-to-be-boyfriend-the-first to my first “Light Faire”. It was all very exotic, especially for this Chrirstian-raised girl. But during that time, I was presented with a theory I find kind of fascinating. It is the theory that babies are born knowing everything, and that they forget as they age. It resonated with me because of one of my very clear memories from San Jose.

The details are fuzzy, but I have a clear sense memory of sitting on my bed and talking to my mom. The sun was muted behind a shade over the window that was positioned over the bed frame, and I believe I was waking up or lying down for my nap.

I recall saying something, and my mom’s eyebrows raising and her lips parting slightly in surprise. “How did you know that?” she asked.

“The ghost of my other life told me,” I replied. I remember feeling a great deal of certainty in what I was saying, and in the information I’d gained from that “ghost”. I still consider it one of the things in my “foundation” of questions that help me define my faith.

 

 

San Jose, CA: 1967-1968

Birthday Catwalks

It was my fourth birthday, I think. April of 1968.

I got dressed up for my party, and when it came time to reveal my present, I went outside and found it. A giant (or so I thought then) blue and white metal swing set, sitting regally on a bed of soft bark mulch! It was awesome, let me tell you. It had a seesaw type two-seater swing, a trapeze bar, two regular swing seats, and one of those two-seater facing each other glider seat thingies. But that was absolutely not the best part. No, the best part was the catwalk that ran then entire length of the swingset on top. Sturdy and wide, with a lovely railing, I stood there to have a couple of pictures taken there. As soon as I find the one I’m thinking of, I’ll add it here.

 

 

San Jose, CA: 1968

The Carnival

(Wow. Time flies when you’re not feeling well. Too much time has passed since my last entry.)

I’m not entirely sure in what order some of these next memories occurred. I’ll just jot them down as they come to me.

I have an ancient love for little pink umbrellas made of paper. You see, we had a carnival in our backyard in San Jose benefitting the Muscular Dystrophy Foundation. I recall the festive atmosphere, watching my brothers and my father set up games (there was a dunk tank, I think), but mostly I remember the huge bags of little pink umbrellas being given out as prizes. I can still see their bright pink color that so delighted me, and the tiny little shiny wooden caps on top. To this day I’m tempted to ask for a pink umbrella in my diet Cokes. Bartenders look at me strangely.

I’m sure there were much better prizes but these…well they might be responsible for my lifelong love of the color fuchsia.

 

 

San Jose, CA: 1967

San Jose Night, Holy Night…

The strongest–and probably the most physically painful–memory of San Jose was Christmas Eve, 1967, when I was three. Church was a big thing in my family. (Boy will that become clear in future posts.) That night, we were getting ready for Christmas Eve services and I wanted to be near my brothers. In fact, so much did I want to be near them that I tried to get into their room. Repeatedly.

Best I can remember, during one of these attempts one of my brothers tried to keep me from getting the door open at all by slamming it shut, as you do. Unfortunately my little three-year old head was just at doorknob height. You know what they say about head wounds bleeding a lot? Yes, well, they’re right. I still have the scar. In fact, I still have the sense memory of how it felt, having something slammed into my skull that way, and it comes back to me whenever I touch that small indentation on my forehead.

So the first part of that Christmas Eve was spent in the ER. I remember the very, very nice doctor. I also remember peeing my pants. :-/ I remember the cold tile of the ER bathroom, and I remember being afraid. I didn’t need stitches, thank heavens. Just a bit of a butterfly bandage and a lot of reassuring my mom.

We went to church, anyway. My parents dropped me off off in the nursery while they took my brothers to the service. I’m not sure how to feel about that, really. The whole “cutting open my head” thing was pretty traumatic (then, it isn’t now), but I was left in the care of strangers shortly afterward.  Hmm…

Strangely enough I have an even clearer recollection of that night.It was the occasion of my first “temptation”. There was a tiny, plastic animal I found to play with that night. I wanted to take it home very badly. I remember very clearly, even at that tender age, weighing the rights and wrongs of keeping it. It’s interesting to me that I can recall the details of that internal conversation. It sort of makes me wonder if there’s something to the New Age belief that children are born knowing everything and forget as they grow. More about that in the next memory.

San Jose, CA: 1967

San Jose – More Food Memories

I have more memories of Cali than I thought. Two of them are food memories.

Shake-a-Puddin’. My mother doesn’t remember it. I remember it distinctly. Standing in the kitchen, in front of the refrigerator, and shaking that container until it felt like my little arms were going to fall off is one of those very clear, movie-like memories. I can’t remember what it tasted like, probably not very good, but I still remember the little song that went with it.

The second memory is of the amazing cakes my mother would painstakingly make for my birthday. Each year we were allowed to choose our birthday dinner, and–for me–her very girly daughter, she would ask me to choose the cake I wanted from the Coconut Cut-Out Cakes book. There were many cakes from which to choose. I’ve pictured the ones I remember her making for me here:

Recently for reasons I may go into later, I’ve had the word “privileged” shoved down my throat quite a bit. It started to chafe and lose its meaning. But as I write these memories, I’m beginning to appreciate just how well it fits.

 

 

San Jose, CA: 1967-1968

San Jose – Memories in No Particular Order

I was two when we moved to California, and four when we left. I have very strong images in my mind of things that happened, but I have to admit I can’t really remember in what order they occurred.

I know one of the things I remember most happened April 27, 1968. It was the year I got the huge swing set with the catwalk across the top. Somewhere in family pictures that I have yet to find, there’s a picture of me looking down from that catwalk in my party dress. It was huge and blue and dad had put down a bed of soft bark mulch underneath. I was the toast of the neighborhood kids for a while, until someone down the block got an above-ground pool.

My first memory of a pet is Skipper, our white dog of undetermined origin. I remember him as being big, but my mom and dad have told me over the years that he really wasn’t. Skipper was the first dog I recall who went to live somewhere else. We had a lot of those for various and sundry reasons. In Skipper’s case, it was because he lived outside and wouldn’t stop barking at the neighbors. Who reported him. Despite the fact that they came in at all hours of the day and night and taunted him through the big six foot redwood fence.

There’s also Star Trek. Yep, what they call now The Original Series. Back then it was just Star Trek, and when the distinct music started playing, I would be sent to the kitchen to hang with mom. The music will always remind me of linoleum and a raised kitchen (two steps down into the family room), and my dad lounging in front of the TV on the rare occasions when he was home. I guess it was my brothers watching when he wasn’t.

 

 

San Jose, CA: 1966-1968

My Third Memory Is of Being Molested

I was visiting my friend in the orchard behind our house in San Jose. Her father was watching us. We were playing with our dolls of the “feed a bottle and wet herself” variety. My doll had blonde hair, and a plastic see-through dress with green polka dots. I think there were pink polka dots as well, or they might have been yellow. I’m not quite sure.

He had a delicate face and longish hair. Not long hair, but longer than the clean-cut guys were wearing it back then, not as long as the hippies were: about mid neck length. He had a mustache.

We were on a concrete stoop with two or three steps. He kept telling me that I was “such a pretty little girl.”

My mom later told me it was during this period of time in my life that I began eating all the time. She said I would say it was so I could “grow up big”.

I visited my friend regularly, I’m pretty sure. I only remember the once.

 

 

San Jose, CA: 1966-1967