Cottage Grove is home sweet home

A summer day in Orgon

3/2/16 Chatterbox
Betty Kaiser

Twenty-seven years ago on March 3, 1989, my husband and I moved from our home in California to a home in rural Oregon. We resigned from boards and committees, sold our house and business, said goodbye to our family and literally left behind everything that was familiar as we headed into uncharted territory. It was one of the best decisions that we ever made but I’m still shocked that we did it.

I’ve written about this before and I know it may sound a little dramatic to born and bred Oregonians. After all, we weren’t riding up here in an oxcart on the Oregon Trail. No, we were in heated cars, an RV with 2 dogs and a cat, behind a moving van, over the snowy Siskiyous and up Interstate 5 to a challenging fixer-upper-property. Still, for us, it was an extreme and challenging lifestyle change.

We city people were fulfilling a lifelong dream of living by a lake, smelling the fresh clean air, watching the sun rise and set, the wildlife scamper through the fields and the birds fluttering and nesting in the towering trees near our home. The fear? We didn’t know a soul in Oregon, desperately missed our children and didn’t have jobs. Anxious, sleepless nights punctured our euphoria.

The town we found had all the basics we were looking for: churches, doctors, a hospital, pharmacies, newspaper; grocery, jewelry, clothing, hardware, auto and variety stores; antique shops, covered bridges and a colorful history. It was also close to a big city—and a lake! Cottage Grove was almost too good to be true.

Of course, we had city people questions. I drove realtor Becky crazy:
Are you sure the well won’t run out of water? (No.)
Why is our lake drained in winter? (Flood control.)
Is there trash pick up out in the boondocks? (Yes.)
The neighbors live acres away. How will we get to know them? (They drive down the driveway and introduce themselves and you hold an annual C’mas cookie party.)

There were also questions we should have asked and didn’t:
What kind of weather damage can we expect from Oregon winters? (Flooding, frozen pipes, mold, falling trees and more.)
Does the electricity go out often? (Yep!)
Does it stay off very long? (Sometimes for days.)
Is it safe to leave building materials unattended? (No!)
Are there wild animals to be concerned about? (Bear, deer, cougar, deer, raccoon, deer, feral cats, deer, etc.)
When should we take the Calif. license plates off our cars? (As soon as possible!)

Our first weather reality check came while escrow was closing. The house had been a rental and the renters had vacated the premises. Something called the Siberian Express hit the region and guess what? Most of the pipes in the empty house were frozen. Of course, that led to the pipes breaking and water damage. Welcome to reality!

We dealt with all of the other unasked questions as they reared their ugly heads. Building materials were re-ordered and put under lock and key. The Calif. license plates came off immediately but other things took awhile. Twenty years into our residency we finally bought a generator to help us through power outages.

But after a quarter of a century, the sunsets are wonderfully memorable and the wildlife exciting. I am still in awe when I see a ruddy colored fox with a bushy tail run across our meadow. Bears have destroyed our neighbor’s beehives and come tumbling down the hill while we were walking the dogs. Cougars have been seen sunning on the pavement, drinking from ponds and visiting a neighbor’s dog pen. They are all an exciting reminder that we share our home with truly wild four-footed critters.

Our deer stories are legendary. We love watching them graze peacefully out in the meadow. Knowing, of course, that they are merely scoping out their nightly forage. They are voracious eaters and one year I wrote a column on the ‘Stalag 13’ fence compound that Chuck built around his vegetable garden. We have hot-wired the roses. We spray “Deer Away” on potted plants. Still they come.

Sometimes our encounters have been deadly. One year a deer was hit by a car and died outside our fence line. We called the county to have it removed. No, they couldn’t do that! If the deer was on our property…it was our responsibility. So, our neighbor came down with his front loader tractor, a deep hole was dug, the deer was picked up, dumped into the hole and given a proper burial.

Shortly after that a passing car on Reservoir Rd hit another deer. In a last-ditch adrenaline rush, it jumped our fence, ran straight for the vegetable garden and died! Again, Chuck got to bury a creature that weighed more than he does!

One morning, a large deer decided to jump over Chuck’s vintage El Camino as he drove into town. This deer misjudged and hit the left front fender, rolled over the windshield and ran away. Apparently he survived to chow down on our roses another day.

All in all, living in our lakeside home has been a joy. It has been everything we hoped for and more. Upon arrival, the neighbors were helpful and welcoming. They showed us the ropes of country living and we couldn’t have done it without them. We each found new careers, reveled in each new day and have made countless lifelong friends. As an added bonus, our grandsons got to vacation in the country every year and learn to drive on a tractor!

 It just doesn’t get any better than this. Oregon is truly home. Thank you, Cottage Grove for making our dreams come true.

Betty Kaiser’s Chatterbox is about people, places, family, and other matters of the heart.

Winter doldrums lead to the Internet

Baby, it's cold outside!

2//3/16 Chatterbox

Betty Kaiser

I am a true Capricorn. I get up most mornings with a mental list of what I am going to do, where I am going to go and whom I am going to see. I make lists and check off the finished projects at day’s end. I like to be busy and productive. So what changed me this year?

This winter I have been more interested in being a slug than a worker bee. None of the items on my many lists have been crossed off. Interior woodwork has not been painted. Photo albums have not been dated and organized. I did get one desk drawer cleaned out but have not tackled even one closet. I have not even been tempted to go outside and weed around the tulips that are popping up.

As a rule, I am never bored but you might say that currently, I have been lazy to the point of boredom. I’ve even been considering the pros and cons of joining social media to jolt me out of my bear like hibernation. Maybe I need some of that  “face time” everyone talks about. It seems that I’m that only one that hasn’t joined “an electronic form of communication through which users create online communities to share information, ideas, personal messages and other content.” Sheesh! That's a mouthful!

Frankly, this kind of communication (Facebook, Twitter, Instagram) just isn’t appealing to me. I obviously stand alone in my thinking as all of my kids, grandkids and friends are currently profiled on Facebook. If they’re not texting one another, they’re posting friends, or sending messages, status updates, videos and photos via social media. In turn they receive notifications when others update their profiles. Why?

My friends tell me they do this to keep up with what their grandkids activities. My grandsons’ parents tell me the same thing. The grandsons aren’t talking. In fact, I don’t believe that I have ever seen my grandsons actually have a voice-activated telephone conversation with their friends. Why should they? They can knock out a 25-word text faster than I can find my cell phone in my purse!

Knowledgeable sources say that Facebook is the world’s most popular social media site. If I read my facts correctly, every month the site has over 900 MILLION visitors. That is mind boggling when you consider that the population of the United States is only about 320 million people (give or take a few thousand).

Still, this whole business of baring ones soul on social media doesn’t interest me. But Facebook is tempting. Everywhere I go, people are saying, “Did you see it on Facebook?” Magazine/newspaper/radio/TV ads request that you “Like us on Facebook.” It’s like a mysterious club and I’m not a part of it.

Now I may not be a joiner but I don’t like to be left out either. So I investigated the pros and cons of social networking. The pros are many and compelling: the ability to meet new people, re-acquaint with old friends and distant family members; bragging rights when something good happens and bringing awareness to social causes.

The cons are worrisome. The biggest is probably the privacy issue.  Ironically, this newspaper columnist with a blogspot can’t quite see herself sharing daily activities to friends and family that could be broadcast around the world. On the other hand, my life is pretty boring. Who would care if I shared what I had for breakfast or that a gorgeous gray squirrel is eating out of our bird feeder?

Some cite that Facebook is addicting and therefore time consuming. Others object to the advertising and everyone distains those users who are hateful and spiteful. Peeking at one page, I was appalled at the angry dialog over a difference of opinion. It’s just not my style.

Ultimately, I once again said “No” to Facebook and started looking around for a less public way to spend my time. A segment on  “Good Morning, America,” caught my eye. Perhaps you have seen their on-going episodes of  “Free Money.” i.e. “Unclaimed Money” that may be waiting for you and me to find. Now that’s interesting!

Depending on the source, it is estimated that over 90% of Americans have some sort of unclaimed funds or assets available. Every state in the Union, the District of Columbia, Canada (and more) have unclaimed funds and assets that have they are holding because the owner has forgotten them or the recipient is deceased.

Typically these funds were originally held in bank accounts, insurance companies, tax refunds, safety deposit boxes, etc. After an extended period of time, if the funds aren’t claimed, they are turned over to a government agency until the recipient can be located. Filing a claim is a free public service. The trick is finding the money.

In Oregon the Department of State Lands handles unclaimed money and property. According to the unclaimedmoney.org website, every year in Nov. as much as $40 million in property belonging to individuals are added to the Oregon Unclaimed Money base.

To find out if you have any money waiting you can start here at www.unclaimedmoney.com. If you’re a lifelong Oregon resident try:

http://www.oregon.gov/dsl/up/Pages/index.aspx and follow the prompts.

Every state is different in where unclaimed money is handled. So if you previously lived in Calif. unclaimed property is the responsibility of the State Controller’s Office: http://www.sco.ca.gov/upd_msg.html.

Now, a warning:  Be sure that you don’t fall for a fee scam. Look for the name of the state government in the link and the search will be free of charge. And be sure to look in all states of former residence.

At the end of this day I didn’t make any new friends nor did I find any free money for the Kaiser family. I did, however, stay warm, learned something new, watched the weeds grow and finished this column. Mission accomplished. Now back to normal.

FYI: I do welcome your comments and now that I've figured out how to access them maybe we can start dialoging. I'm a little slow at this computer stuff :(

Betty Kaiser’s Chatterbox is about people, places, family, and other matters of the heart.

My Mammogram Surprise!

Jan. 7, 2016 The Chatterbox 

"Prepare the umbrella before it rains

Life is full of surprises!"

Author unknown

In addition to protection from the rain, there are many other kinds of umbrellas. And as I count my blessings going into this New Year, I would like to share with you an umbrella procedure that may have saved my life. It was a mammogram that launched me on an unexpected medical journey for the last fourteen months.

Sentinel Columnist Betty Kaiser

On November 5, 2014, I blithely zipped into our local mammography lab for my annual mammogram. I was feeling fine and never dreamed that anything was wrong. I have had one of these every year since I turned 40 with nary a problem. The machinery for this procedure is state-of-the-art and only momentarily uncomfortable. I chat with the technician, get smashed, dressed and leave.

At home I waited for the report that says: “Everything is normal. See you next year.” It didn’t happen. Instead, I received a report that said a small mass had been detected and additional evaluation was recommended. That included diagnostic mammography, spot compression films and ultrasonography.

I was shocked. Blindsided. I couldn’t believe it. One minute I was fine. The next minute I wasn’t. What had gone wrong? I’d like to tell you that my Pollyanna side was preaching “Don’t worry, you’re okay,” but it wasn’t. Deep down, I just knew that a little cell had gone haywire and I was in for a hard ride.

My husband and I were leaving town the following week and I didn’t want to go without knowing more about this small mass. Was it malignant or benign? I needed to know ASAP. As each appointment was piled on, my heart would pound and I felt light-headed. I was overwhelmed by endless information and procedures. This was really happening-to me-and it was scary.

More mammograms and ultrasounds were performed and each time I could tell by the quiet in the room that something wasn’t right. After I got dressed, the radiologist put two sets of images up to compare. The previous mammograms were clear. This time there was a small glowing spot in the tissue. Cancer? A biopsy was the next step to answer that question. Another umbrella.

I was given a tour of the room and the machine that would do the recommended stereo-tactical biopsy. Then, the machine had a time-out (break down) and the procedure was cancelled. Next I was informed that the radiologists had “a difference of opinion.” They were now recommending an ultrasound guided biopsy and the insertion of a clip in my tissue—right after another couple of mammograms.

 “Cancer” and how to treat it became the word of the day. By then my vocabulary had expanded. Pathology reports used words and phrases like “a DCIS Solid with comedo necrosis (plugged by cancer cells); intermediate grade with estrogen receptor possibility." I added more vocabulary (and tension) after I saw the surgeon! He was another umbrella.

Finally, after all the bad news, there was good news. Definitive surgical management was recommended but only a partial mastectomy. Among other things, the mass was “in situ” (confined to the breast duct) and hadn’t spread itself around. That was good. But unfortunately, even with the clip in place the small mass wasn’t easily found. Later a metal hook had to be attached to mark the spot for the surgeon to find. Ouch!

As word of my diagnosis got around, friends, neighbors and perfect strangers started calling me with their stories. That was both helpful and overwhelming. But by the time I got to the hospital I had an idea of what was going to happen from the female perspective. One of my friends told me about the search for the Sentinel Node in Nuclear Medicine in such detail that I wasn't terrified and actually knew what was going on when I got there.

Prior to that I had (again!) been squished by mammography, injected with anesthetic, squirted, the mass located and the previously mentioned guide injected for the surgeon. I will tell you that it was the most painful part of the process. Tears ran down my cheeks as a sweet nurse rubbed my back. Covered with marks and bandages I was wheeled into surgery and came home that night.

In my case, follow up treatment was a little dicey. Tissue samples revealed that although the cancer was contained, its nuclear grade was Intermediate/High. That made a recurrence more likely. A decision was made to treat it with an anti-estrogen drug and a medication to strengthen my bones.

I am happy to report that as of Dec. 18, 2015 my one-year diagnostic mammogram was clear. I’m on a five-year treatment plan like many other breast cancer survivors. The medication is tolerable but not pleasant. However, I have one year down with only four more years to go. Another umbrella. I’m a grateful woman.

Now here’s the bottom line and the reason why age appropriate women must get a mammogram every year—a mass the size of mine cannot be seen or felt. It can only be detected by mammography. And the mass is always cancer at 70 years old! Think about that. If I had waited another year or two the mass would have grown and spread. Timing is everything.

My advice to you is simple: if you are a 40, 60 or 70+  year old female, make an appointment for a mammogram! Stop procrastinating. Get your mammogram scheduled and done. Do it this year and every year. I don’t care what the so-called experts say you’re never too old for this procedure. I’m a good example that it's worth your time.

Have a happy, healthy New Year!

Betty Kaiser’s Chatterbox is about people, places, family, and other matters of the heart.

Shootings: Where is the light in this madness?

12/9/15 Chatterbox

Betty Kaiser

Traditionally, December is the month of love, joy and peace. It’s the time when we happily worry and fret over how we’re going to get everything done in time for Christmas. It should not be the time when foremost in our thinking is the safety of our loved ones in their school, shopping or work place. That safety, however, is today’s concern, as inexplicable violence and mass murderers seems to be erupting all around us. The light of the season seems strangely dim.

Sometimes when I’m wallowing in the misery of this reality, I need to step back and get some perspective. While I like to see the world through rose colored glasses and believe that today’s killings and atrocities are something new and have never happened before, I would be wrong. Evil is and always has been at work amongst us.

I am old enough to remember many senseless and tragic killings in our country. I remember where I was when President John F. Kennedy was assassinated in Nov. 1963. My three little towhead babies were in the car with me as we drove down Inglewood Blvd., Calif. They were oblivious to the news but tears ran down my face as I wondered not “who” but “why.”

I remember the escalation of fear and frustration during the official Vietnam War era of 1969-1973. It was an ugly war and I marveled at the bravery of the war’s protestors. Then, on May 4, 1970, the unthinkable happened. The Ohio National Guard fired on unarmed protestors at Kent State, killing four and wounding nine others. Three years later the war officially ended. Where was the light?

The 1980s and 1990s were filled with dozens of illogical shootings. In 1984, in San Ysidro, Calif., an out of work security guard killed 21 and wounded 18 at a McDonald’s restaurant. In 1986, a mail carrier in Oklahoma, walked into his post office, opened fire and killed 14 co-workers before killing himself over a poor performance report.

About this time, a sort of pattern seemed to be emerging. Individuals disgruntled with their jobs or perceived treatment would heavily arm themselves and go on a killing spree. There was even a term coined for this mentality called “going postal.”

Twenty years ago, Americans were ushered into a new killing nightmare. Timothy McVeigh, an anti-government militant and his accomplice Terry Nichols introduced a new level of homeland terrorism. McVeigh set off a truck bomb outside the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma City, killing 168 people and injuring hundreds including children. Where was the light?

Revenge was McVeigh and Nichols motive. Their hatred against the way the U.S. government handled a standoff with Randy Weaver that ended with a firefight was one of many grudges they held. In return McVeigh decided to bomb a federal building and destroy both it and its occupants.  Until Sept. 11, 2001 it was the worst terrorist attack on U.S. soil and is the worst act of domestic terrorism in our history.

Suddenly, multiple school shootings came into the headlines. In 1998, Kip Kinkel, a disturbed young man, was suspended from Thurston High School for carrying a loaded, stolen handgun. That afternoon, he shot and killed both of his parents. The next day he returned to school wearing a trench coat to conceal his weapons.  He fired 50 rounds, killing two and injuring 37. His fellow students eventually restrained him and he is serving a life sentence.

In 1999, two students put Columbine High School on the map when they opened fire at school, killing a dozen students and a teacher plus numerous injuries to others before they killed themselves.

Just two years later on Sept. 11, 2001, our country was introduced to global terrorism. Everyone remembers where they were when they saw the Twin Towers taken down in a coordinated series of attacks. We remember the ash-covered survivors running for safety. We remember the towers collapsing. We remember the heroism of First Responders. Thousands were killed. We were shocked to learn of an enemy dedicated to the destruction of the United States. A fatwa or declaration of war had been issued by Osama “Who”?

And the list of horrors goes on. I think that CNN reporter Brooke Baldwin spoke for many of us when she said, concerning the Roseburg and San Bernardino shooting …”I’m sick of speaking the words ‘active shooter situation.’ I’ve been covering too many of them…I’ve become too familiar with this. It’s sadly become a routine.”

So where is the light in all this madness? That’s a good question.

It saddens me to put out a column of remembrances like this in an attempt at perspective because I have no answers. I can’t just pretend that evil isn’t happening in my happy little corner of the world. The truth is, evil doesn’t take a break. Not even for Christmas. And now, more than ever, we must be vigilant. Now is the time to be alert, know our neighbors and put our fears in perspective.

One answer is to look around and find pockets of light. Random kindnesses are being practiced daily. Every-day life goes on. Good people are at work everywhere. Law enforcement is working to protect us. Babies are being born. Birthdays are being celebrated. Families are flourishing. The poor are being fed. The homeless are being sheltered. We are becoming united against the darkness.

In the Netherlands during the dark days of World War II a church minister was trying to convince his people that God would eventually destroy their enemies. He said, “It can take time but good will always win over evil...For the time being I can only forecast a dark night but the dark night will be followed by a bright dawn.”

These are dark days. But the gift of Christmas and the angel telling us to “fear not” is just around the corner. Let us pray for and work towards a bright dawn. Shalom.

Betty Kaiser’s Chatterbox is about people, places, family, and other matters of the heart. 

Veteran's Day: Honoring those who serve in the military

11/11/15 Chatterbox

Betty Kaiser

IN FLANDER”S FIELD

John McCrae, May 1915

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

Today is Veterans Day and the above World War I poem will be quoted extensively around the world. In 1915, Major John McCrae, a battlefield doctor, penned it during the Second Battle of Ypres, upon the death of his friend Lieutenant Alexis Helmer. In a few short words he sums up the brevity of life when nations quarrel. One hundred years later, his words have not been forgotten.

For centuries, the world’s nations have struggled to put their wars into perspective by remembering the bravery of those who have gone into battle. Here in the United States, we have two legal holidays to celebrate our military personnel. Both days are set aside to honor those who have served their country in the military with parades, speeches and the laying of wreathes. But there is a difference between the two.

Memorial Day was originally celebrated on May 30. According to the US Dept. of Veteran’s Affairs, it is a time to remember and honor military personnel who died in the service of their country—either in battle or as a result of wounds sustained in battle.

There are many versions of how and when Memorial Day began. All agree that it started after the Civil War and each one has its merits. The most popular is that in the late 1860s, the ladies of the South would decorate the graves of Confederate dead. Then someone suggested that they also decorate those of the Union soldiers as a reconciliation gesture and the tradition spread around the country.

My favorite Memorial Day story is that former slaves started it on May 1, 1865, in Charleston, So. Carolina. They dug up the bodies of 257 Union soldiers buried in a Confederate prison camp and gave them a proper burial as gratitude for their freedom. They then held a parade of 10,000 people led by 2,800 black children as they marched, sang and celebrated.

By the end of the 19^th century, Civil War Memorial Day celebrations were being held around the nation. It was not until after World War I, however, that the day was expanded to honor those who died in all American wars. The date was also changed to the last Monday in May, as were other federal holidays. Later, a nationwide moment of silence was added at 3 p.m. as a Moment of Remembrance.

Armistice/Veterans Day came about as a result of World War I, also known as “the Great War.” It began with the shooting of the Archduke Ferdinand of Austria and launched a global war that killed untold millions between 1914-1918. Finally, a temporary cessation of hostilities was declared between Germany and the Allied nations on the 11^th hour of the 11^th day of the 11^th month of 1918. Commerations began the following year. Nov. 11 became a federal holiday in 1938.

Now here’s where things get tricky. Veterans Day is a day set aside to thank and honor ALL those who served honorably in the military—during war or peace. It is largely intended to thank LIVING veterans for their service and acknowledge their contributions to our national security. So if you know a veteran, today is the day to shake their hand, give them a hug and say “Thank you!”

The national Veterans Day Ceremony is held every year on Nov. 11 at Arlington National Cemetery. It begins precisely at 11 a.m. with a wreath laying by the President (or his designee) at the Tomb of the Unknown and continues inside the Memorial Amphitheater with a parade of colors by veterans’ organizations remarks from dignitaries.

Other countries also celebrate veterans in Nov. Today, Canada and Australia will join us in observing “Remembrance Day” in a similar manner to the U.S. Many Canadians wear red poppy flowers in honor of their war dead in reference to the above poem.

Great Britain observes “Remembrance Day” on the Sunday nearest to Nov. 11 with church services and parades leading from London’s Parliament Square to Trafalgar Square. Wreaths of poppies are left at a war memorial in Whitehall, built after the war. A two-minute silence is observed at 11 a.m. to honor those who lost their lives in war.

Now, here are a few bits of miscellaneous trivia for you from the 2013 V.A. census facts. Some of these veterans overlapped and served during as many as three eras.

1.    There were a total of approximately 21.5 million living veterans.

2.     9.3 million veterans were 65 years or older.

3.    1.6 million veterans were younger than 35 years.

4.    1.6 million were female veterans.

5.    7.0 million Vietnam-era veterans

6.    5.2 million served during the Gulf War era.

7.    1.3 million were World War II veterans.

8.    2.1 million were Korean War veterans.

9.    4.7 served in peacetime only.

10. The last surviving World War I veteran was Frank Buckles in West Virginia. He died in 2011 at the age of 110 years.

These are sobering numbers and the individuals worthy of our praise and respect. May God bless you all and peace be in your hearts and homes. God bless America!

Betty Kaiser’s Chatterbox is about people, places,

 family, and other matters of the heart. 

REMEMBERING WHEN...

HOW I MET MY HUSBAND IN THE FABULOUS FIFTIES!

BETTY AND CHUCK AT A SORORITY DINNER

PEPPERDINE COLLEGE

LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA

1958

The 1950s were a great time to be a teenager. By now, everyone knows that era was characterized by hot rods and rock and roll. Elvis Presley was shaking things up for teenage girls and my friends would swoon at the mention of his name. The sound of revved, souped-up engines was a battle cry for high school guys. Naturally, our parents thought our clothing, hairstyles and fads were awful.

Moms were mostly the stay-at-home variety. While taking care of the kids, they did the housework, cooked the meals and helped out at the school’s PTA. Sometimes, they took a break in the morning to buy a jelly donut from the Helm’s Bakery truck and have coffee with their nearby gal pals. In the afternoon, they often watched “Queen for a Day” on TV until the kids got home from school. Thus the middle class was born.

I was one of the products of that era—a baby boomer teenager. I wore sweet little sweater sets and plaid skirts to school with white buck shoes. On really special occasions I wore one of the infamous poodle skirts with a starched petticoat. I was a serious student and Concert Mistress of the orchestra when I wasn’t talking on the telephone (AX-13756), listening to the radio or reading movie magazines about actors like James Dean and Grace Kelly.

Chuck, my soon-to-be boyfriend, lived on the other side of town. He drove a cool 1949 Ford with a full-race engine that sported several different coats of primer. He and his buddies were the forerunners of the Fonz. They had gelled crew cuts and dressed in rolled up Levis and white tee shirts. They were way more interested in hot rods than school. On weekends, they took their dates home by midnight and headed out to the Lion’s Drag Strip in Long Beach or Hollywood & Vine to listen to the latest records while watching the parade of cars.

We girls were not allowed to date until our 16th birthday. We all thought it was a cruel rule but no one ever challenged it. My first date was with an “older” man (a high school graduate!) and he took me to the Hollywood Bowl in his father’s nice car. Wow. Did I ever feel grown up! I’m still amazed mother let me go with him.

I met Chuck at a big inner city church. He and his buddies came for the gymnasium basketball court. It was a little slow but he finally asked me out after I had dated all of his friends. Today’s teens have Facebook. We had church socials. In the summer we had pool parties or went to the beach. In the winter, one of our favorite places was the huge roller skating rink in Culver City. At school there were football games and proms. We went to them all and Chuck will tell you that he knew more people at my school than he did his.

Outside of church, we did a lot of double dating but they were nothing like you see on TV. No “Dirty Dancing” scenarios. Early on, getting to know one another included a long drive (no freeways!) up to a drag race in Goleta. To this teenage girl, the event was loud, dirty and boring. That was my first and last official drag race event. Ever.

One of our first and most expensive dates was in 1956. That was the summer after Disneyland opened. Three carloads of us headed into Anaheim from L.A. along surface streets to Firestone Blvd and a day of fun. Remember, there were no freeways.

We rode rides non-stop until it was dark. As soon as the fireworks were over, we quickly left to get me home by midnight. Of course, Chuck’s car broke down. This was a common occurrence! He pulled over by the side of the road under a street light. The other guys jumped out of their cars and they all went to work repairing the Ford’s carburetor. Soon we were on the road again and I made it home in time to beat my curfew.

Otherwise, our dates consisted of picnics at the park, going to the movies and once in awhile a restaurant for dinner. He was always a working teen and saved his money in one of his dad's cigar boxes. I knew he could afford a car and me while going to school as long as he delivered the L.A. Times!

The Yum Burger was our favorite diner. Located on Manchester Blvd. it was famous for its logo of an American Indian brave—a cultural icon that would now get it shut down! Nickels and dimes powered the jukeboxes on the tables. The burgers, fries and ice cream shakes were about 35¢ each. The walk-in movie’s comfortable, rocking loge seats were 50¢ and ice cream at Scrivener’s Drive-In was about 24¢. My, how times have changed.

Ultimately, we graduated from our respective high schools. Chuck proposed marriage with a cigar band and promptly joined the U.S. Army Reserve. I worked at the Broadway Dept. store as an elevator operator to save up for our wedding while attending Pepperdine College. Finally, on Nov. 1, 1958, we married at St. Mark’s Methodist Church in Inglewood, Calif. And the rest, as they say, is history!

Those early days are the times that memories are made of. But my love for the 1950s has nothing to do with Elvis or hot rods and everything to do with the man I married.

Happy Anniversary to my loving, faithful, talented, one-of-a-kind, car crazy husband!

Betty Kaiser’s Chatterbox is about people, places, family, and other matters of the heart.

Making Memories as we turn life's corners

Kaisers and Bigfoot on the Colombia River 2015

10/7/15 Chatterbox
Betty Kaiser

There are certain defining moments in life when you know that you have “turned a corner.” When you’re young, those corners are usually exciting. They are monumental moments that happily change you forever: Becoming a teenager. Graduations. Celebrating your 21^st birthday. Falling in love. Getting married. Starting a family. Discovering a career path that makes the difference between subsisting and thriving.

As we get a little older and retirement nears, the corners get a little sharper. For those of us who loved parenting, the empty nest experience is a bit of a jolt. We have questions. What happened to my fit body? What’s with all this gray hair that makes us look like Q-tips? Why am I so tired at the end of the day? And what in the world is happening to this current generation?

 Retirement age is a different story. IRAs and 401Ks were not common until the 1990s. That was too late for many of us to accumulate sizeable chunks of money. So I think that most of us wondered how we would ever afford to retire. We thought we going to have to work until we died! Nevertheless, one day we turned a corner and realized that we just couldn’t cut the 9-5 job any more.  So we figured out how to make the finances work.

But after retirement there are more corners to turn. I learned that from our neighbors Sallie and Jim. They were already “elderly” (at least 70 years old!) when they moved into our California neighborhood but boy, were they active. They mowed lawns, painted the house, planted a garden, drove to Texas to visit family and volunteered at church where Sallie's Sunday School classes were standing room only.

As the years went by they slowed down and we started helping them keep things together. Jim would regularly knock the lamppost down as he backed out of the driveway. He often showed up on our doorstep, head bleeding, after he fell off a ladder. Sallie’s driving became so erratic that one day a school bus driver stopped her, got her name and license and reported her to the DMV. Eventually, both of them had their driver’s licenses taken away and they were dependent on others for transportation. Now that's life changing!

One day I stopped to see Sallie after work. She and Jim were now well into their 80s. As I walked in the house, she burst into tears, threw her apron over her head and said, “Betty, I’ve turned another corner.” General housework—cleaning and cooking their meals had become too difficult for her. As we commiserated...both of us cried.

Ever the problem solvers, Chuck and I put our heads together and decided that we could help. We brought in meals three times a week from Kaiser’s Country Diner’s daily specials. Our neighbors weren’t big eaters (two dinners was enough for two nights) and they went out for Sunday supper. One problem solved. (Later, when we moved, I signed them up for Meals on Wheels.)

It’s amazing how these past memories come back since Chuck and I have aged and started turning unwanted corners. When we were 50 years old we gutted our house and rebuilt it ourselves. In our 60’s, we were still working jobs, planting gardens and ceaselessly manicuring our six acres. Now in our 70s we have turned some major health issue corners and have slowed down considerably. To keep up the property we hire helpers but other corners are not that simple.

I was born with a passion for travel. Our family’s yearly travels began at Catalina Island and expanded from there to primitive/RV camping in state and national parks across the USA. Along the way we flew around the world and checked off places we had dreamed of visiting. I thought we would always be able to go and do. Wrong!

At this age and stage of life we have turned a sad travel corner—flight fatigue. A flight across the United States is still doable—barely. It all depends on connections but if it takes all day…we don’t go. Any place “across the pond” or beyond is now definitely off the want-to-go list. We were always going to go back to Johannesburg, So. Africa but a nearly 22-hour flight would do us both in.

Our current travel destinations are a little closer to home. They are what I call “Do-over’s.” They are places that we’ve been and want to see again. Having “been-there-and-done-that,” we are comfortable returning. Once there, our anxiety level drops. We know where there are places to stay, good places to eat and things to do. Time slows down, we don’t have to rush around and we can explore nooks and crannies that we didn’t see before.

We just returned from one of those slow-go places at the foot of Mt. Hood outside Sandy, Ore. I would guesstimate that we have stayed there in our RV at least a dozen times in the last decade. Every time we go we find something new to do. We have ridden our bikes to garage sales, eaten at the Tollgate Café, talked to the locals, ridden the Mt. Hood ski lift, sailed the Colombia, shopped till we dropped and stopped by the Guide Dogs for the Blind on the way home.

For us, no trip is complete without getting out into the woods. One of our favorites is the nearby Wildwood Cascade Streamwatch Trails. It’s a fabulous place to get out in nature and not break your neck! In addition to the sound of the rushing river that leads to outlooks, there are paved paths down to the river and slightly steeper gravel paths for the more adventurous. Everywhere you look, the scenery is fabulous. There are fish for underwater viewing and crafted benches that are works of art along the way. Signs make sure you don’t get lost. We love it!

Turning the corners of aging is not always fun. But “Do-over’s” are bright spots in the making memories process. Is there some place within a days drive that you’re longing to go? You can do it! Make a plan and find a way to make it happen! 

Betty Kaiser’s Chatterbox is about people, places, family, and other matters of the heart.