Bay Park Villas

Bay Park Villas
by Thelly Reahm Tidbits of Time
1951

TWO BEDROOM, 1 BATH, V.A. the sign on Morena Boulevard read. Beside the sign was a rather large stack of lumber. It was meant to give the buyer confidence that houses would be built very soon. This would be the very first tract development in Pacific Beach.

We bought our first house on a cul-de-sac for safety for the children. It was one block above Morena Boulevard, the Santa Fe Railroad and Pacific Highway (which later on become I-5). At that time, we didn't know the importance of the now famous slogan in Real Estate of "Location, Location, Location."

The men were just home from W.W. II and we all purchased our houses for less than $9,000 with three and a half percent G.I. loans. There were thirty kids on our block and several 'in the oven' as we called it then. That's a lot to know about a total stranger before you even meet. We were forced to bond quickly....we had lawns to plant, yards to fence and carpools to form. We didn't even have telephones or paved streets for many months.

We were probably the only ones who didn't have the $100.00 for closing costs. We borrowed it from Franny and Lil Wilson. Unfortunately, they didn't qualify for the G.I. loan because he was paid on commission at that time. We qualified, but didn't have the money for closing.

Our previous abode in La Jolla was furnished. We bought a used stove and moved in with nothing but our small apartment sized refrigerator, a crib and a youth bed. We chose to buy a sofa bed, so that we would have a place to sit in the living room, as well as a place to sleep. I remember how terribly uncomfortable it was while I was nursing Kathy who was only six weeks old when we moved in.

We knew nothing about landscaping and had never heard of a 'green thumb' but we had access to a friends flat bed trailer, so we hauled dirt from the San Diego River bed for top soil for our front lawn. It was great and fertile stuff, filled with every weed known to man. But what did we know? We were young and trying to save money.

The color scheme for the neighborhood was simplicity itself. If you bought a grey house, your living room was green and the bedrooms were peach. If you bought a green house, the living room was grey and the bedrooms were peach. All the floors were oak except the kitchen and bathroom. The kitchen tile was pale yellow trimmed with green whether your house had grey or green exterior. The builder, Mr. McGraw didn't have a lot of pazazz when it came to decor, but he built sturdy houses. They are still there today, and many of them have been remodeled with two stories to take advantage of the great view of Mission Bay Aquatic Park....home to the Thunderboat races each summer.

When we first chose our lot, it was on a gently sloping hillside....previously a horse riding stable. The developer built one model home and you could choose the 'other' floorplan from the architects drawings. Because of the marvelous view we chose the house plan with the living room on the back overlooking the bay. It had a small entry hall in front. I had never heard of houses having living rooms on the back before and I thought this would be terribly unique. I didn't know that the majority of a young mother's time would be spent in the kitchen that looked out on a dirt street and houses with no lawns.

A few weeks later we drove out to visit our land. To our surprise, the gently sloping hillside had been carved by bulldozers into terraced lots up and down the hill. Supposedly to give everyone a better view of the bay. What it did was chop our lots in half. Our back yard was now about 15 feet lower than the plot where our house would be. We were sick but we were already approved for loans and building permits were pulled. Now this would probably involve retaining walls and stairs.

Poppy said, "They're never going to do anything with that pile of lumber. And do you know you'll be paying $30,000 dollars for that when you're done paying for it?" I didn't understand that high finance stuff at all. At this point in my life I'd never purchased anything on credit before. What could I possibly know about compound interest.

There were no deadlines for the homeowners to landscape or for the builder to do the road improvements. We waited almost a year for Ma Bell to put in phone lines. Meanwhile we made do with one telephone booth at the end of the street. There was always a line and it was generally to call the Pediatrician. But this was our home....we weren't just throwing out money down the drain for rent like before. Our house payments were only $18.00 more than our rent had been. $68.00 a month....taxes and insurance included. You couldn't beat that with a stick!

That is until you realized that you needed a second car living out here in the wilderness and fences to keep the skunks and coyotes out. And retaining walls to keep the house from slipping into the bay. Those $5.00 per month time payments could really add up fast.

Then there were school clothes and wagons and bicycles and lawnmowers and those new fangled garbage disposers. And drapes and rugs. And pictures and mirrors. And that first coat of paint didn't last long. So we bought a little red pickup truck to haul our 'unfinished' furniture in. We set up wood-staining tables in the garage and finished furniture like we were pros. There wasn't such a thing as health insurance, so the doctor bills piled up steadily. I learned to cook frugally, to sew my children's clothes and to make do. Growing up in the Thirties had taught me well. Use it up....wear it out....make it do....or go without!

We had those old 'homeowner blues' occasionally, but this was our little corner of the world and we wouldn't have changed a thing. We were young and strong and exceptionally naive!

Corn Bread and Beans

Corn Bread and Beans
by Thelly Reahm Tidbits of Time

1953

It was Tuesday. Ever since I had been a child, Tuesday dinner was cornbread and beans, and it was a tradition or habit that I figured was well worth preserving. It meant that little or no real thought had to go into preparing dinner. Monday was washday....Tuesday we ironed and Tuesday night we ate cornbread and beans.

The steamy dishwater was fogging up my glasses as I finished up the dinner dishes. No leftovers. We ate it all. The glassware was the usual gunky mess of having had buttermilk and cornbread combined into a disgusting mush. That tradition came from my husband's side of the family....not mine. I considered dunking not quite polite.

I was checking my Tuesday list of chores mounted to the bulletin board....all done....I could relax and watch TV. Then the doorbell rang. Hmmm...I thought, we weren't expecting anyone. Who could this be?

I untied my apron as I glanced out the little kitchen window. It looked like Juke and Tee's car, but they weren't expected until Thursday. Floor waxing day. I always planned it that way so my house looked really good. Tee was an immaculate housekeeper. I was compulsive with my list making, but she was compulsive about her house.

The children answered the door and yelled "It's Juke and Tee!" Their kids and ours commingled into a noisy frenzy because they only got to see each other on planned occasions, as we did not live in near neighborhoods.

"What are you guys doing in this neck of the woods?" I asked as we hugged our hello's.

There was a rather stunned look on their faces as they said simultaneously, "Well....for dinner....what else?" Tee said noticing my confusion.

"Are we late or early, or what?" Juke asked.

"Only a couple days early," I said, "I'm expecting you Thursday," I kind of mumbled.

"Thursday?" she asked, "It's news to me!"

"You were the one who changed it," her husband said slipping unobtrusively into his grumpy mode. "Remember, you said last week at our house that your Mother was coming Thursday from Pine Valley and you'd have to change us to Tuesday."

That's the way with habits I thought. I was preconditioned to Tuesdays ironing and beans and cornbread! Thursdays was Juke and Tee's night for dinner, every other week. That's how it had been for years...not Mother on Thursday. Yikes! Did my Mother's impending visit give me that mental block, or was this friendship on shaky ground? I hadn't even included them in the quantity of beans that I'd cooked....I hadn't made dessert or anything that I would have done for a 'company supper'. Besides. I wouldn't have cooked beans and cornbread for guests. What a revoltin' development this was.

"Tee....I'm sorry. I don't know what to say. We've eaten supper and there aren't even any leftovers," I said helplessly. "I don't know how I forgot, except that I did. I'm terribly sorry. Can I fix sandwiches or......" my voice trailed off into the ice cold air that surrounded us. My dilemma was huge, because on the limited budget of our early marriage, I had no real 'extra's' in the house from which to scare up a meal. It was before freezers in every garage or super markets at every corner. There was no such thing as Jack in the Box to run out to, or the extra money with which to do it.

There stood two hungry adults and two hungrier kids, and their finances were about the same as ours. They were going to have to go clear home to eat.

As they walked out across the lawn I could hear Juke saying "With all those lists of hers you'd think she could get things straight."

He was right. I'd depended on habits to keep my life in order instead of writing down the changes. For sure, amends were up to me.

Cornbread and beans and mushy buttermilk glasses still remind me of that night and how very tenuous friendships can be.

That one didn't really survive. Oh we still saw each other at social functions through the years but we were never 'best friends' again.

Mae Smith

Mae Smith
by Thelly Reahm - Tidbits of Time

1953

There was rarely a day went by without a salesman knocking on our doors. Magazines. The Jewel Tea Man, Arrowhead Water, and Electrolux. We nearly always let them in to show their wares or listen to their pitch. It was how a lot of ex-service men made their living. And of course, we did not 'have it all' yet. I was a sucker for a down and out salesman.

This particular day, I called our neighbor, Mae Smith, across the street to sit in on the sales pitch of an Electrolux vacuum. I knew she wanted one. She was seventeen years older than me and had no children. She had been a professional dancer in her youth but had lost her leg in a car accident. She wore a prosthesis and it was barely noticeable.

"So, do you like this machine, Mrs. Gorden?" the salesman asked. He had just dumped a bucket of dirt on one of my throw rugs and the vacuum had sucked it up instantly.

"Well, who wouldn't? It picks up everything!" I was greatly impressed with it's suction power, but I had no carpets. Mae had rugs in her house. I was still just using a dust mop and I kept my hardwood floors waxed to a sheen.

"What do you think, Mrs. Smith?"

"Oh, Yes, I want one! Yes!" She was a pushover.

He got out his paper work and began to write.

"Now let's see, you must be 37. Is that right?

"Awaark!" she shrieked as she grasped her ample chest. "Yes, but what does my age have to do with a vacuum cleaner?"

"Your age?" he looked blank, then a light dawned.

"I meant your address. Mrs. Gorden is at 3336. You must be 3337, right?"

"Right!" she said, she giggled all the way home with the happy salesman carrying her new vacuum behind her.

Valentines Day

Valentines Day
by Thelly Reahm - Tidbits of Time

1955

Valentines were scattered, willy nilly, all over the living room carpet.

Bruce, in a squatting position, was pondering over each one, trying to decide who got what picture or verse. Tomorrow was the big day.

“Mushy ones are for girls,” he said.

“And funny ones for the boys?” I asked I knew he didn’t like the idea of giving boys Valentines.

“Yeh, I guess…I don’t know why we have to give Valentines to anyone.” He said wrinkling up his nose in disgust.

It was now a class rule at Bay Park School, that if a child sent a valentine to school, they had to send one to each child in the class, so nobody’s feelings got hurt.

I could go along with that. I understood, because I had been waiting for eight years to receive a valentine from my spouse. Maybe that was why Bruce couldn’t see any reason for giving Valentines. His father hadn’t been a role model for that.

I talked about the lovey, dovey sentiment behind Valentines Day, and assured him that when he got older, and had a girlfriend, he would want a mushy card to express the sentiment that came
so hard for boys.

Meanwhile, I could smell the cupcakes baking in the kitchen oven. I volunteered to make treats a lot for school parties, because I was a stay at home mom. More and more mothers were opting for jobs outside the home, and didn’t have time to bake. I baked almost every day, so it was no big deal to me.

I frosted the cupcakes white and decorated them with tiny redhot hearts and covered them ready to take to Bay Park School the next morning.

I made enough cupcakes to have one each for dessert that evening. We always had to have something sweet for after, that had always been a must in the family I came from, and I carried on the tradition like it was etched in stone.

The next day, after I delivered Bruce and the cupcakes to school, I went to the market to buy chocolate covered hearts for my husband and my children. I wouldn’t have to bake today, because these delectable candy hearts were their Valentines and dessert.

After the children had cleaned their plates, they asked “What’s for after?”

I brought out the treats and laid them in front of each of them.

“Ooooh! Yummy Valentines!” they chorused, “with our names!”

“They also say “I love you” I said hugging them.

Just then my husband got up and left the kitchen. I thought, as usual, he didn’t get me a Valentine. I swallowed hard.

He came back in to the kitchen table and sat down. He pulled one hand from behind his back and presented me with the first Valentine I’d had since I’d gotten married. I just beamed as I opened it.

The front said “I need you…” I opened it up to the rest of the verse on the inside... “like a whole in the head.”

I faked a laugh for the children’s sake and said “Thank you,” to my husband.

I got up from the table and went to the bathroom. It was the only room in the house where I was assured privacy.

My nose was squinching up and the tears were welling up in my eyes. I flushed the toilet to muffle the sounds of my crying. For sure the card was not worth waiting eight years for...certainly not what I expected.

I knew Jackie Gleason, playing the part of Ralph Kramden, in the Honeymooners said derogatory things like that to his stage wife Alice, but I had expected more. I’d had eight long years to fantasize about this occasion. Eight years of seeing the cards my girlfriends received…mushy Valentines.

I was still young and sentimental. I wanted a mushy Valentine…one that tugged at the heartstrings. I’d just turned twenty-six and I’d never received a box of candy, a bouquet of flowers or a slurpy, sloppy, mushy Valentine.

I guess to him, the words ‘I love you,’ came with great difficulty.

I turned the cold water on at the basin and splashed water all over my face. I had dishes to do, kids to bathe and bed down, and probably my wifely duty to perform. Especially since I had received a Valentine.

No matter that it was filled with sarcasm.


Post Script: It wasn’t until many years later that I learned that sarcasm was anger coming out sideways. That made two of us who were angry, only I just turned off and shut down.

When he was diagnosed with lung cancer in September 1998, he married his childhood sweetheart, Mickey, with whom he had been living for some time. She had divorced her husband of fifty years and they tied the knot. I acknowledged to myself then that he had wanted his ‘first love’ all along.

It was true…I’d been his ‘rebound’ girlfriend after he and Mickey had broken up over some silly argument they had back in the Forties. Today in the myriad of how-to manuals you’re taught not to marry your rebound girlfriend. He did, that was his mistake.
I guess he was trying to make an ‘honest woman’ of her, by marrying her. The kids told me she was a practical nurse and that she took good care of him. By being married, she would be able to see him in ICU when the time came, and help make decisions if he could not.

Then, on Christmas day, he died.

Mickey never received a Valentine from him. I hoped that by age 73 he’d learned how to say ‘I love you’.

During his illness, I thought perhaps he would make amends to me for the hurts of the past. After all, I’d stayed with him for seventeen years. I was the mother of his children. I thought maybe he would even send a greeting card, since apologies in person were not his strong point. Even a sarcastic Shoebox card would have worked, but that never happened.

I still get my expectations up too high. That’s my Pollyana complex!

A Soap Opera

A Soap Opera
by Thelly Reahm - Tidbits of Time
1958

In the cold grey light of dawn there is no worse sound than the pulsing of water through the pipes of your house when you know that no one is up. No one is showering, the washing machine is not running and the toilet has not flushed.

I bolted upright in bed as the thought 'Water break' filtered through my sleepy brain. I ran into the bathroom first because it was closest and in my mind most suspect. We'd had a cantankerous toilet for years. Anything was possible.

It was all clear in there.

I ran down the hallway, through the living room and dining room to the kitchen skidding to a stop when I hit the water. The kitchen floor was flooded and I could see the water coming out from under the sink.

The kitchen portion of the house on Missouri Street was a remodel done by the previous owner's and the original kitchen had been made into a bedroom. Whoever poured the foundation undershot their measurements, so the kitchen was about two inches lower than the rest of the house. Today that was of great importance, because the water had not risen to reach the dining room carpet.

I screamed, nevertheless, and ran for the plumber. Fortunately he was in bed, so I wasn't going to have to pay a horrendous service fee for this emergency in the early dawn hours. No double time for this guy.

He ran back with me to the kitchen not believing what I had hysterically told him.

"This is impossible," he said in disgust, "it's a new kitchen."

"Well, you'd better get a tool and turn the water off or this is going to flood the rest of the house," I said trying to penetrate his sleepy countenance.

While he went to do that, I entered the kitchen bare footed to see if I could swish the water out the back door.

It was then that I spied the twenty five pound box of Tide sitting by the rear entrance. I had planned to carry it out to the garage laundry room the night before and hadn't. Procrastination. My worst fault.

I grabbed the handle on top of the huge box, opening the back door at the same time. The big orange and blue box went with me out the step to the patio, but the soap powder stayed in the flooded kitchen. All twenty five pounds of it! I hadn't stopped to consider that the bottom of the box was soaked from the torrent of water spewing from under the sink. As I lurched the carton out, the soap spread in a wild fan-like arc across the flooded floor. The water was still pouring out from under the sink to help the soap powder transform into slippery sludge creeping across the linoleum.

I heard the water pipes clunk to a stop as my husband turned it off at the street. By this time all the noise had awakened the children and they were standing behind me in the gooey mess, soap oozing up between their little toes.

"What is this stuff?" Bruce asked.

"Soap." I said frantically, trying to scoop some of it out the back door with a spatula.

"Can we make bubbles?" Kathy asked. Her question didn't even get answered.

All I could think of was the cost of that gigantic box of soap. I wouldn't have anything to wash clothes with.

The plumber arrived back in the kitchen, toolbox in tow, ready to fix a simple water break. By that time I had found a broom and was swooshing the soapy water outside to the patio. My nightgown had acted like a sponge and I was soaked to the waist. The children tried to be helpful by moving kitchen chairs out of my way.

"What the hay...." he said in disbelief. He was very big on What- the-haying.

"Oh....I just thought I'd mop the floor while the water was here! Whadaya think what the hay!" I yelled.

He set the tool box down on the kitchen table. We were a sorry sight. Soap suds growing....soaked kids and wife. He began to laugh. The children looked up at me as if to say "Is this okay?"

"Yeh, what the hay!" I said. We all began to laugh.

It was either that or blow bubbles.

A Fashion Faux Pas

A Fashion Faux Pas
by Thelly Reahm - Tidbits of Time

1959

Growing up, I’d never had a formal gown, except to be part of a wedding. I longed to have experienced the feeling of going to some exquisite occasion with a long dinner gown.

When the opportunity came up to go to a dressy dinner dance, short cocktail dresses were the in thing to wear. Finally, I would get to go to something really ‘up-town’ as we called it. Never mind that a long gown was out and short fluffies were in.

The invitation came from a very unexpected source: The Fish and Game Department
They were having a fundraising dinner dance for Ducks Unlimited. Finally, something to include the wives. That was an unusual thing for the hunters to do.

I ran down to Evelyn Wigton’s on Garnet, but there was nothing in the way of dressy dresses. So, off I went to downtown San Diego. I searched in every store from Lion’s to Lerners, trying to find something that suited me and was also in my price range. I went from the chain of Fifth Avenue shops on up to C Street where Montgomery Ward was located. I was about to give up. My expectations were not great for Wards…they never had anything that was really in style!

Wherever I went, I always checked the sale racks first. That was a habit long-standing from the Great Depression years, and old habits die hard. Today was not any different.

Off in the corner of Women’s Wear, there it was on the sale rack. It was Green chiffon, with a small figure in it of spring flowers. It was gorgeous. I could feel my heart quicken. There were three of them all in a row. An 18, which was way too big, a size 5 which was too small and, lucky for me, a size 10. The price was $15.95! It was half what it had been. Wow! I could afford it and still have enough in the entertainment fund for the dance tickets. I probably wouldn’t be big enough in the bustline for the 10 as I usually took a 9, but I could stuff my bra! I had been known to do once in awhile, since I’d lost my voluptuous breasts after nursing two children.

I took the 10 into the bare closet they provided for a dressing room and tried it on. It had a tiny waistline with criss-cross self belt. There was no mirror, but I knew it looked good. I could feel it!

Curt and Doris were going with us. I knew Doris would be dressed to the nines, and probably sporting her mink stole. That mink stole always intimidated me, but this dress I’d found was going to run a close second. I felt really swishy in it! It showed off my small waist and had a bit of gathers in the bustline. Doris had gotten a boob job by this time and I felt intimidated by that too! Oh, well! I was much younger, by ten years than she was. That must account for something. And my hair was not grey yet.

When we got to the dinner dance, we checked our jackets and found our places at the long banquet tables. It was the usual fare of rubber chicken and tired peas, but I was out among ‘em (as my mother used to say) for the first time in my married life. This was pretty spiffy. Even the Mayor was going to be there to give a short speech. I was feeling good!

Then she walked in and I was aghast!

I didn’t know her, but she was wearing my dress! My eyes followed her to the far side of the room. With any luck at all the people at our table would not notice, but it would be a different story when we got up to dance. She could dance right past me…our twin dresses might even touch! It would be noticeable then, for sure!

That was the trouble with buying something at Wards. They bought many of the same items. They probably got car-load prices. That’s why I’d been able to afford the dress.

I longed for my jacket, but it was hung in the coat closet. I couldn’t hide.

All through dinner the food was sticking in my craw like a wad of Kleenex.

“What’s the matter with you?” my husband said, “you look like you lost your best friend.”

“Well, see that lady…over there…at the far table…she has my dress on!” I could feel the hot tears start to spring into my eyes. That familiar twitch in my nose that preceded a good cry was happening right there in the middle of the San Diego Athletic Club. Good Grief! How I wished I were dead, or at the least under the table.

The music started playing but I was not anxious to dance.

I excused myself and went to the powder room.

After splashing some cold water on my eyes and touching up my lipstick I picked at my hair a bit I decided to bluff my way through this fashion faux pas. I re-adjusted the belt line of the dress to make it tighter and walked out of the rest room with my head held high. This was the only way to handle it.

When I came out she was heading for the powder room, I didn’t even have to walk over to her table.

“Hi,” I said, my voice quivering, “You don’t know me, but I’d like to compliment you on your cocktail dress…it’s beautiful…you have great taste!” and I moved on toward our table.

I glanced back over my shoulder and winked. She was just standing there at the side of the ballroom with her mouth wide open!

I knew exactly how she felt!

A Cry For Help

A Cry For Help
by Thelly Reahm - Tidbits of Time

1960


As early as living at McGraw St. seven years into the marriage, in 1955, I sought counseling for a relationship gone sour. I went to Family Service, where Aunt Wanda was getting help. It was a beginning, but it was not enough.

My husband had absolutely no time for family. He was so wrapped up in his guns, ammunition re-loading and hunting that he had no time for us. Actually, I know now that he was totally wrapped up in himself and his own desires. For a long time I thought it was because he came from a poor family, from the wrong side of the tracks, and was just trying to make up for those years by letting hunting absorb all his time and thoughts and energy. He was either, gone or preparing to be gone on hunting trips. There was no interaction with family life, except to anticipate his next trip away from us.

“You can’t just wait until the kids are sixteen to take up with them. If you do that, they won’t have time for you. The tables will be reversed.”

It fell on deaf ears.

By 1960, shortly after my hysterectomy, we went together to Pastor Garman for counseling, (Christ Lutheran) who said *we were beyond his help* and he suggested we see Dr. David Lester in Hillcrest. One of the reasons *we were beyond his help* was that I’d been told by my husband that after the hysterectomy I didn’t feel the same physically. A lot I could do about that after the fact. Here, my mother had told me the surgery was due to sin in my life, and now he was telling me it had ruined anything we had together, which was not a whole lot. I was devastated.

Ben refused to go to the Psychologist. I went for 18 months to two years. I nit-picked my way through most of the sessions, blaming Ben for everything that went wrong in my life. What I couldn’t come to grips with was that I had made an error in choosing him in the first place, (see my story Pretenders to The Faith) and then I could not accept the fact that he killed my love for him with his actions. Angry outbursts over nearly everything I did.

I believed that marriage was a sacrament and vows were forever. For sure, I heard enough from my mother of the old proverb ‘You made your bed…now lie in it!’ Meaning…you made your choice, you’re stuck with it. Power Over or verbal abuse, is a killer. It kills the response of affection or sexual drive. It kills respect for the other person and respect for yourself in ‘taking it’. It kills the will to go on struggling in the situation.

After muddling through counseling for what I thought was eternity, because the verbal abuse was getting worse, one day I jumped up from my chair in Dr. Lesters office and shouted “I hate his guts!”

“That was a long time coming, but you’re going to get better now that you’ve admitted it.” Dr. Lester said, folding up the piles of papers in my chart.

“What? A Christian girl hating someone? I married my mother! This has just been more of the same!”

The flood gates had opened, and I consider this a good thing, otherwise, had I continued to stuff my feelings, it would have ruined my life totally. It was only the beginning. The rest is confidential.

One other good thing that came out of the counseling was that Dr. Lester gave me a barrage of tests and I came out with the educational equivalent of three and half years of college. I had continued to go to Adult Ed through all those years, honing my skills as a bookkeeper, a writer, a political activist (see my story 1990 Book Larnin’) But, due to the verbal abuse I had been brain-washed into believing that I was no good for anything. It is amazing to me that even though you know a thing is not true, if you hear it enough you begin to believe it, it’s insidious, but that’s a fact of life.

Whether my cry for help was too little too late, or whether the old adage ‘It Takes Two To Tango’ figured into it, it takes two people working and striving at marriage to make it a succeed.

The marriage dissolved in 1963. It died a slow death.

Due to a healing of memories, I no longer cry over the past. I cried for help back then. I got it. I no longer beat myself up over the past. Whether memories are good or bad they are to be learned from. Hopefully I have learned from the past and I have moved on.

If you ever find yourself crying out for help, do whatever it takes to get it. That’s why it’s important for us to leave a road map for the next generation. That’s why my stories have value…not just as memories, but as help in learning about our family. You have our DNA…and as my family practitioner Dr. Salley says, “You’re only working with about 20%...the rest came through your genes!”

Remember, a cry for help is a good thing…it means if need be you’re willing to change!

Barnum and Bailey

Barnum and Bailey
by Thelly Reahm - Tidbits of Time
1960

I hadn’t worked at Dr. Malin’s office very long when I realized I had a very hard time remembering names. Patients would come in for their eye exam and after filling out many forms with their name on every page, by the time they came back a few weeks later to pick up their glasses, I’d totally forgotten their name completely! The face I remembered, but the name…not!

Mrs. Bailey, a wiry little old lady confronted me about this.

“I’d think that you could connect my name with Barnum and Bailey Circus…that’s easy to remember.”

“Thanks. I’ll try that!” I assured her nodding my head up and down as if that would help her advice to sink in.

About a month later Mrs. Bailey came in to have her glasses adjusted. Each time a patient came into the office I had to pull their chart and write down the event…whether it was major or minor, that was one of Dr. Malin’s idiosyncrasies…he could look at the last date and chat about something relevant to it.

“Hi Mrs. Dallas, what brings you in today?” I asked cheerfully.

“Mrs. Dallas! How in the heck did you come up with that name? I told you to remember Barnum and Bailey Circus. Was that so hard? Dallas? Where did you get that?

I stood there at the reception window a minute just totally dumbfounded. I thought I was getting better at remembering patient’s names by the association system she had taught me.

Barnum and Bailey Circus. Her name was Mrs. Bailey. Where did I get Dallas?

Then it clicked in. Dallas Barnum was in Miss Kleinburg’s Kindergarten Class back in Brea. I’d plowed through twenty-five years of names to come up with Dallas as the name to remember for Mrs. Bailey.

After I told her the story, she forgave me and actually got a chuckle out of it.

As she left the office she called back over her shoulder “I’m afraid to suggest that you remember me by Bailey’s Irish Crème…that would just confuse you by giving you two more choices.”

I gave her a blank look, “What’s Bailey’s Irish Crème?”

Dr. Malin could look at a pair of glasses and tell who they belonged to by the prescription. I was guilty of calling people by the name of the frame they chose or worse…like Mrs. Bailey…a name from my childhood!

I wondered if I would ever get better at the name thing. Probably not…I stored too much trivia in my mind for that!

Checks and Balances

Checks and Balances
by Thelly Reahm - Tidbits of Time

1964

At the time of my divorce from the father of my children, it took one year for the final decree. That meant, unfortunately, that I did not get any financial help or final settlement for a year either. It meant a very difficult time for a single mom with two teenagers to feed and house.

That said, it might be more understandable that I ‘went off the deep end’ when I got my settlement check. My ‘pay’ for seventeen years of marriage amounted to $200.00 per year. It was pretty slim pickin’s considering my rent was triple what the payment was on my home, had I been allowed to stay there.

The first thing I did was responsibly go to San Diego Trust and Savings Bank where I opened a checking account, ordering 500 checks to be mailed to me. That seemed sensible to me at the time.

The second thing I did was go to Saks Fifth Avenue in La Jolla where I purchased a jade green chiffon dress and a white fox sweater.

The third thing I did was go to the beauty shop and have my hair dyed Coppertone red and styled in the latest bouffant look that was so popular then.

I had pre-arranged to meet Dick at Mississippi Room that night for a date.

When I walked in, he was sitting at the bar waiting for me with his RCA friend Gene Smith.

“Check out the chick coming in the door,” Gene said.

Neither of them recognized me floating across the room.

It was a special moment in time. I felt like Cinderella at the ball!

When I got over to them, I did a pirouette and said “Guess who?

That weekend I bought a bedroom set for Kathee, because I didn’t get custody of her furniture. I purchased two sharkskin suits for Dick, who was badly in need of decent clothing for his many trips to Home Office.

Then I placed a down payment on a four bedroom house in Clairemont.

By the time the checks came in the mail about six weeks later, I had zip, zero money left in the account at San Diego Trust and Savings Bank, having used up all the ‘temporary’ checks on the above transactions. But, “Oh, it left a lovely glow!”

The three day spree still brings joy to me because it gave us a new start in life.

The following week we were married.

Please see our professional cleaning services in Edgware.

Courting

Courting
by Thelly Reahm - Tidbits of Time

1964

The Laundromat up on Turquoise in 'Baja La Jolla', formerly known as Pacific Beach, became our night out. When you're in the process of 'blending' five children into a second marriage, the laundry doesn't wait. Consequently, many of our dates seemed to either begin or end with the laundromat.

My friend Beverly was concerned about this. She knew of our tight financial times, the lack of fun dates or dinners out, or privacy to talk and make plans for our wedding. Unlike many friends, she put her concern into action.

"I'm going to Palm Springs next weekend," she said "How would you guys like to use my apartment. You could have candlelight and wine....cook some steaks and have a quiet evening by yourselves."

"Sounds too good to be true," I said, not even having a premonition that when things are too good to be true, that they are too good to be true.

Friday night after work we headed for Beverly's apartment armed with steaks, pre-baked potatoes, a can of mushrooms and a bottle of Chianti. The kids were all set up with a pizza and Kathy and Linda for babysitters.

"The key is under the doormat," I said, lifting up a corner of the coco mat at Beverly's front door. She lived upstairs and toward the back of the complex on Hornblend Street.

"Nothing's here!" I was shocked.

"Maybe you mis-understood," Dick said, looking under a potted plant.

"No," I said frantically, laying down the package of meat I had picked up at the supermarket. I looked along the balcony railing, underneath a deck chair and another piece of pottery. I felt along the window ledge. Dick reached up above the door casing.

Nothing. The key was nowhere to be found.

We walked down the stairs dejectedly in the dark, dodging patio furniture as we headed back to the car.

"What do you think happened?" I asked as we got out to the street.

"Do you suppose she just forgot to put the key there?" Dick asked. “Is she like that? Is she kind of scatterbrained? I don't know....she's your friend." he said helping me into the little aqua Volkswagen bug that he drove.

"No....she's not like that....she's detail oriented. She's an Escrow Officer, for gosh sakes!" I said defending her, "she's no ding-a-ling!"

Dick looked up at the building before he got into the bug. Then he got right out again.

"Wait a minute....wait right here," he said half running to the back side of the apartment complex.

I waited in the dark. A couple left the building, their voices muffled in the cloak of darkness.

The car door opened and Dick got in, huffing just a little bit. His office job left him physically a bit out of shape, even at age thirty-five.

"There's a ladder back by the garages. I set it up on the side of the building. It's really dark back there. I think I can make it up to her bedroom window and go in that way....then I'll open the front door. You stand guard out here on the street....if you see a patrol car or anyone else....come back and stop me."

"This is crazy," I said, but getting a little charge just thinking of the break in. "What if you get caught?" I shuddered to think of what that would involve. It wasn't our apartment. How would we explain our need to come through a window? How would we explain to a cop our desperate need to get away from the kids and laundromat dates?

Dick took off into the darkness. I began to shiver uncontrollably. I was really getting scared. No cars were coming either direction and nobody was leaving or coming to the apartments. I just kept walking back and forth in front of the complex like I was waiting for someone. Adrenalin surged through my veins. I looked up to the balcony to see if he had gotten through.

Nothing.

What could be keeping him I wondered? It couldn't take this long to go up a ladder and in through a window. Could it? I started to shiver again. I walked to the back side of the building and peered into the darkness. I couldn't see anyone. It was pitch black and the grass was tall and wet against my legs.

I walked back out to the front to stand guard again.

Suddenly Dick emerged out of the darkness. Running. Full blast this time. It must have gone badly.

"Get in the car," he hissed. I didn't know he could talk so harshly in a whisper. I jumped into the Volkswagen and he started it up and sped off without headlights. He turned the first corner and then parked the car in front of a truck.

"What happened?" I asked as calmly as I could.

He was still breathing really hard. Between his gasps for breath, I pieced the story together.

He had gone up the ladder easily, took out his little pocket knife and pried off the window screen . The window was open. He slid it back very quietly, lifted the venetian blind and crawled through, falling gently to the carpeted bedroom floor. He got up and walked to the hallway door, opened it and started toward the living room of the apartment when he heard voices. He peered down the hallway into the kitchen and there was a couple sitting at the kitchen table having dinner. A little poodle was curled up at their feet. He froze in his steps, then began quietly retracing his path back to the bedroom, back through the venetian blinds, the sliding window and down the ladder again, through the tall grass and back to the safety of the Volkswagen.

"I must have mis-counted the windows, because I was in the Manager's apartment next door to Beverly's and they were having dinner! Can you believe it? And I lived to tell the tale!" Dick started to laugh and we both laughed hysterically over what a mess this escapade could have been.

"Oh, my God," he said really slow.

"What now?" I gasped.

"My little pocket knife....I must have dropped it on the floor of the bedroom when I came through the window."

"Well....that's no great loss is it....you're alive and well....you can get another pocket knife!" I said hugging him.

"The knife has the RCA company logo on it," he looked really worried, then with his usual good nature, he laughed and said, "We give those knives to all our customers as advertising....nobody could pin that one to me....let's go have a drink someplace!"

We stopped at the nearest bar, calmed our shaky nerves with a drink and headed to my place up in Clairemont with our special steaks.

"We'll have a late supper, just the two of us after we put the kids down." I should have known that apartment deal was too good to be true.

Richie

Richie
by Thelly Reahm - Tidbits of Time

1964

When I met Richie, he was working for RCA Service Company as Manager of the San Diego branch. He was six feet tall, 195 pounds and sported a salt and pepper grey crew-cut. I was working for Southland Electronics at the time (see my story Crossing Paths for more detail) as assistant bookkeeper.

He was born to Harry and Eliza Ethel Reahm in Detroit, Michigan, June 30, 1929. They moved to Nebraska and then to California by the time he was five. He grew up in the San Fernando Valley like a true "native" Californian. Glendale, first, for elementary school, then Tarzana for Grammar School and Canoga Park for High School, where he played clarinet in the band. He also went as far as "Life Scout" and "Order of the Arrow" in Boy Scouts.

He graduated mid-term and joined the Navy in 1946. He went through U.S.N.T.C. in San Diego, then was sent to Electronics School at Del Monte Hotel (now a Naval Post Graduate School) in Monterey. He served on the U.S.S. Boxer and cruised the coast of California for the duration of his enlistment.

On the G.I. bill, he entered University of California at Berkeley studying electrical engineering for a period of just over two years. During that time he married Shirley Sims.

He began with RCA Service Company installing television antennas on roofs, to help pay his way through Berkley....just a temporary position! He bought his first V.A. house in San Lorenzo, but was transferred to Honolulu, Hawaii before the house was built, so never moved in. Linda was born in Oakland, but spent most of her first year in Honolulu. There were only three major hotels on Waikiki Beach at that time. Due to Shirley's female health problems in the Islands, he transferred back stateside to the Hollywood Branch on Linda's first birthday.

His next transfer was to Burbank where he rose to Chief Bench Technician. Later he was promoted to Training Administrator at Hollywood Regional Office. This job entailed traveling from branch to branch teaching technicians how to repair RCA TV's He and his family lived in Van Nuys, where Jimmy and Danny were born. He was there several years, then promoted to Branch Manager in San Diego, where he bought a house in Bay Park Village.

His wife stabbed him in the back with a kitchen knife after an evening of bar hopping. This precipitated a divorce shortly after moving to San Digo. His children were 4, 7 and 12 when I met them.

He gained custody of all of his children which was unheard of at that time.

When he proposed to me, I decided that it was probably not wise to give a firm answer until I knew whether his children and mine could get along. So, very unceremoniously, he rented a large house for me in Clairemont, moved all the children (plus Joyce Baird, a niece of mine) and me in for a test run. I quit my job at Southland Electronics, because his youngest child was not in school yet. Richie lived in North Park in a rooming house, but took his evening meals with us, so that the children would not miss him too much. Every night at 10:00 p.m. when the News came on, he went home. We were very concerned that the neighbors would not think he lived there.

This was a year for the U.S. Census. You can imagine their consternation when I started giving information on all these children from various and sundry families. It sounded like I was running a group home or a half-way house. Especially when I got to the part where Dick lived at the Mortuary in North Park, and that if we laundered his sheets we could save a dollar a week!

A year later, we were married at the Reformed Church of America in Clairemont on Sunday, May 15, 1965 with all the kids on the front row and both sets of our parents attending. We had a small reception at the church and later, after our wedding trip and buying a new four bedroom house on Birkdale Drive, we had a housewarming party for our rowdier friends and co-workers. We had very little money at this time, and he devised a drink for the party that he called Richie's Ravaging Rejuvenator. We served it from a five gallon water cooler and it was the hit of the evening. Unbeknownst to our friends, it was cheap Red Mountain Wine and 7-up!

We were there just a year when he was transferred back to Regional Office in Hollywood to be the Training Administrator again. His territory covered all states west of Denver so he traveled a lot.

We sold the Clairemont house and moved to Canoga Park, the girls attending Dick's old Alma Mater. We were just a block from an elementary school for the boys. Bruce by this time had joined the Air Force and was stationed in Florida.

In 1969 Richie underwent the radical amputation of his lower jaw (see The Swinging Sixties....an overview). He also turned 40 that year and had to get bi-focals! It was not a fun time for him, so for his Over The Hill party, I invited a whole bunch of my girlfriends to pamper and pet him for the evening! It was cheaper than hiring a Belly Dancer! It was a patio party and he danced 'til the world looked level and got thoroughly bombed besides.

1972 found us transferred to the Monrovia Branch of RCA, as Richie no longer qualified for the teaching job due to his inability to be a public speaker any more because of the surgeries. On the first day he was at Monrovia Branch, his father died of a massive heart attack. We were now out of the social orbit of RCA or our friends from the Valley and moved geographically to what we considered to be the end of the world. We purchased a mobile home in Charter Oak, hoping that this would only be a temporary thing. Meanwhile, Mrs. Reahm purchased a mobile home in the same park and moved from Vista so that we could look after her, because she had Parkinson's Disease.

Our next transfer was to Orange County Branch in 1973. We purchased a four-plex in Huntington Beach for 10% down, which launched us in the apartment business and eventually into real estate. Meanwhile things were going downhill for Richie at the OC Branch where he had enormous conflict with the Branch Manager. He quit in 1974 after 24 years. He would have had to stay until age 60 to retire. That was when he became interested in buying a business and we purchased a Copy Boy Print Shop. (This is covered in another story.)

We sold the print shop in 1978 and traded some apartments in Anaheim for the twenty units in Tempe, Arizona. We also purchased a condo at The Lakes in Tempe with the full intention of retiring there, however 120 degree weather changed our minds and we decided to retire in Cardiff by the Sea, where we already had a small rental cottage on Summit.

He spent most of 1982 remodeling Summit House and making a wonderful woodworking shop out of the original garage behind the house. His thinking at that time was that he had always wanted to be a woodworker all his life, so now was the time to do it.

He established himself in a small handyman business, doing repairs for property management offices and building entertainment walls for private customers. He enjoyed working at his own pace and traveling back and forth to Arizona to tend to the apartments. His rules for the business were:

1. Don't call before 9:00 a.m.
2. He doesn't work in the mornings.
3. He doesn't do windows or painting.

With all those "don'ts" he has a loyal following of people who think his work is wonderful and who will put up with all his idiosyncrasies.

In 1990 he discovered that he loved working with computers....in front of the screen....not behind as with TV sets....and has collected all kinds of programs to keep him occupied. Due to back problems, the wood shop has been relegated to second love and the computer is his main interest. He does his bookkeeping system, his own income tax work and has a whole conglomeration of games for escape.

For someone who could hardly be budged from Orange County, he is perfectly content at Cardiff by the Sea. He has very little interest in travel. In fact he thinks you have to have shots and a passport to get out of North County.

After twenty eight years of marriage, he's now white haired and full bearded to cover the scars of his jaw surgery. He has a little bit of a paunch where his chest slipped down below his belt. But, of all men I know, he is the only one who is content with life exactly like it is.

All things considered, that's quite an accomplishment!

Because

Because
by Thelly Reahm - Tidbits of Time

1965

I was a lonely only.

I always wanted a big family of my own.

From the time that I remarried I tried with everything that was in me to blend our two family’s into one. It was not an easy job trying to raise three more children, much less three of someone else’s children. I did the best that I could with what knowledge I had going for me at the time.

I always said, “We have five children,” I did not say, “He has three children from a previous marriage and I have two.” I thought that if I said it that way, it would make it so. It didn’t. No one else in the family said it that way....nor did they want it to be that way.

I am painfully aware that I did not succeed in what I was trying to do. Wishing doesn’t make it so, no matter how the fairy tales go.

For this reason, I am dividing the book into two sections.... Tidbits of Time and More...Tidbits of Time.

The first book is a history of my growing up years and my first marriage. 1929 to 1963. Seventeen of those years were spent in the first marriage.

The second is a history of my growing up years (maturity wise) and my second marriage. 1965 to the present.

And I’m still writing the memories of my life. I don’t know if I’ll ever be finished. When I am, I’ll let you know, and we’ll have the book printed and bound together...just like I wanted our lives to be.

Chunking It Down

Chunking It Down

MoreThelly

"The skill of writing is to create a context in which other people can think."
-- Edwin Schlossberg

As you write your stories ask yourself if you create an atmosphere within your story that causes the reader to think:

Did they chuckle over the same memory?

Did you perhaps cause a tear of remembrance in that person?

Did they feel that their time was well spent reading your piece?

If your stories aren't fulfilling this purpose, you probably need to *chunk it down*

"Whatever you're working on, take small bites. The task will not be overwhelming if you can reduce it to its smallest component."
--Richard Russo, Writer's Digest - February 2003

"Substitute 'damn' every time you're inclined to write 'very'; your editor will delete it and the writing will be just as it should be."
--Mark Twain

I don't know if you tend to *gild the lily* like I do...sometimes my writing is just *wordy* and and I need to cut the fat.

I call it *chunking it down*

I read this in Writers Digest.

Got padding? Nancy Kress tells how small-scale surgery can transform your draft into lean, salable fiction:

"Words that add no new information or aren't repeated for emphasis are just padding. A sentence may carry three or five or eight of them, each one as unnoticeable as an extra two ounces on your hips but collectively adding up to a large burden of fat."

"Ridding your prose of padding will pick up the pace considerably, since pace just means how much new information a reader receives per each, say, 100 words. Fat-free prose is cleaner, crisper, quicker."

"Here are four tips to help you write a healthy story:

1. Only give pertinent information once unless you're using repetition for literary effect. Redundancy undermines your authority and annoys readers.

2. When deciding whether or not to include explanation, trust your readers to know as much as you. Over- explanation is insulting.

3. Pick up the pace by cutting any word, phrase or sentence that doesn't offer new information or emphasize a crucial aspect of your story.

4. Cut out important connections to create suspense, surprise and increased reader involvement."


Write on, (More) Thelly