Bad Doggy

Django is the first dog in my life. I got him 13 years ago when he was 10 weeks old. He is a typical pomeranian, very happy and very energetic. I kept waiting for his puppy energy to wain and I am still waiting. When he was a puppy we did all the usual training. Puppy class, Adult Dog I and Adult Dog II at the Humane Society. He knows several commands and he will follow them, when he feels like it. He knows he is not allowed on the couch and he stays off unless there is a foreign object. I set my computer case on the couch and left the room, when I returned Django made himself quite comfortable. It's as if he tells himself, "Hey if that thing is allowed up there then I am too."

For years Django would escape from the yard. If the gate popped open he would escape. He always came back within two hours, but I would spend the whole two hours driving around town looking for him. We live on the main thoroughfare and he is a small black dog. I worried about him being hit by a car. Sometimes he came home after rolling around in the neighbors horse stalls. Somtimes he came home soaking wet from wading in the creek. Late in life he figured out that we live two blocks from a deli and I knew that all I had to do was wait at the deli and he would show up. There came a point though where I had secured the yard, fixed the gate, filled all the holes under the fence and he was still escaping on a regular basis.

I decided to stake him out. I put him outside and watched through a crack in the blinds. He laid on the front porch for a long time. He stood up, stretched, looked around him to see if anyone was watching and walked up to the four foot high dog fence and started climbing paw over paw. He got to the top and was balancing as he was about to jump down to freedom when I grabbed him. Bad doggy.

We're all gonna live

I do genealogical research all day, every day. I am all too aware that the people whose lives I get to know quite intimately are no longer with us. These people lived full lives. They worked, learned, sweated, cried, laughed, and loved just like we do now, but in the end we’re all gonna have the same fate. We are all going to make the transition from this world to the next. I won’t say the D word because Heavenly Father rules over the living. Our ancestors are living, just in another state right now. How do I know this? Besides my religious beliefs, I receive guidance in the course of research all the time. Genealogists of all religions talk about our ancestors letting us find them. Sometimes it seems like they don’t want to be found and then suddenly the floodgates will open.

This is the story of one family who made me work really hard to find them. One of my ancestors I was pursuing was my great-grandfather William George Vandersluys, whose daughter (my grandmother) was still living at the time. All the information she had given me over the years led nowhere. After five years of pursuing leads on William, I had nothing. The name Vandersluys is very rare in England, but I found a few pockets of the surname in Cornwall. I was determined to go to Cornwall and luckily two weeks before I did, I finally found record of William and his family in the 1871 British census, reported as living in the village of Perranzabuloe, County of Cornwall, England.

Off I went to England with this one little piece of information. My husband Jerry and I sat in our hotel room in Truro perusing a map when a name jumped out at me, St. Clement. I knew that the name sounded familiar and that some Vandersluys families had lived there. At the front desk, we were told that it was only two miles from the city center where we were staying. Ten minutes later we stepped out of a cab and back in time 200 years to a little village on the shores of a river surrounded by rolling hills. The ninth-century Norman church sat amongst thatch-roofed cottages with low doorways. The only touch of modernity in the village was the classic red British public telephone box. We walked down a slight hill covered with subtropical plants to a path alongside the river.
My husband and I walked back up the hill and passed through the lychgate of the parish church also called St. Clement. The lychgate is a small covered gate where mourners stand for a burial service if the weather is inclement. We scoured the tombstones for any sign of my ancestors’ names. The tall grass and muddy soil made walking difficult and we literally tripped over a few headstones, most worn bare by the weather. Jerry made a comment that summed up the situation, saying, “If anyone were ever going to reach up through the ground and grab your ankles, this would be the place.”

Only a few graves, directly behind the church, remained to be searched. As I walked along a path beside the church, I saw a headstone that marked the grave of a child aged two years and nine months, named William George Vandersluys. This child, my great-great-grandfather’s nephew, had the same name as my great-grandfather, who died 75 years later in Utah. I stumbled upon the only legible Vandersluys headstone in the county of Cornwall, I have discovered since. Was I led or just lucky?

The headstone reads:
Wherefore shall we make our mourn
Now the darling child is dead
God recalls his precious loan
He to Paradise is fled

California Favorites

I have lived in California for a little over seventeen years. I arrived in the San Francisco Bay Area on the evening of October 15th 1989 and two days later I rode out the Loma Prieta earthquake. What is interesting is that two days after I moved to New York City in 1985 I rode out a freak hurricane; I think it was hurricane Gloria, if I remember correctly. What are the odds? In the time that I have lived here in California I have had a chance to travel to a number of places. Here is a list of some of my favorite places:

Sutters Mill in Coloma
When I visited Sutters Mill I was surprised to see that it was in a beautiful location on the American River. I was also stunned to learn that my great great great grandmother's cousin, Henry W. Bigler, not only helped build the mill, but also was the one who chronicled the discovery of gold. His journal entry was the shot heard round the world. Henry and two other mormon men were headed back to Utah when they were hired to build the mill. These men had been part of the Mormon Battalion, which completed the longest military march in history. Bigler also chronicled the march and described some pretty horrific conditions. In the end the Mormon Battalion never saw any action. These men (and some women and children) walked across the country for nothing.

As I was walking on the trails I discovered an old rusty square cut nail. I could not believe that such an artifact would be lying on the ground in a state park where hundreds of people must walk. I tried to photograph a flower I had never seen before (the purple one below) and I kept getting the blurring effect on picture after picture. The other picture is a small eddy on the American River just behind a big rock wall. I love the saturation of color in the foreground.




Sundial Bridge in Redding
Jerry read about the Sundial Bridge in Via magazine. We vowed that someday we would venture out to see it. The Sundial Bridge is a suspension bridge designed by famed Spanish architect Santiago Calatrava. The bridge spans the river but does not impact the river ecosystem. No part of the bridge touches the shore or the water and the footbed of the bridge is glass so as not to cast a cooling shadow on the spawning beds. We were in Redding for two days and we visited the bridge at least three times. We thought it was really beautiful. We went in the morning and again that night and we went back the next day just before sunset. it is worth the five hour drive from the Bay Area and for those with kids there is also Turtle Bay Exploration Park.






Real Goods in Hopland
While it may seem strange to suggest a store as a destination I urge you to keep reading. Real Goods is a cool store with all kinds of earth friendly products. I particularly like the windshields that have been recycled into drinking glasses. There is also a great playground for small children. I have included a photo of the crawl tunnel. I get great landscaping ideas from visiting there. They have a biofuel station and sometimes there are special demonstrations like building with straw bales.



The road to Eureka
On the way to Eureka there are some spectacular places. There is the Avenue of the Giants, which contains some of the largest redwoods. Off the beaten path is a dirt road where you can find things like these old instrument huts made to look like farmhouses used to monitor the coast during World War II in case of attack by the Japanese. As you are cruising up the road you might see herds of elk. There is so much to do between Ukiah and Eureka.

The Golden Rule

I love to watch BYU TV. I have seen some great lectures and one of my favorites was by clinical psychologist James McArthur. He talked about this great concept he called, “writing on a person’s chalkboard.” A simple example he gave was reading the same story to his granddaughter for the 200th time. He asks, “What does that write on her chalkboard?” It tells her that she is important.

I made a trip to Tracy, California this week. My brother flew in from Utah for the day to conduct a training session for Home Depot employees on some aspect of sprinklers, since he works for Orbit Irrigation. He called me the night before and asked if I wanted to meet up for an hour and I said, “No way am I going to drive 80 miles to Tracy.” So the next day I surprised him and while I have no preconceived notion about what that might write on his chalkboard I asked myself, “How would I feel if I was 80 miles from one of my siblings homes and they didn’t come see me?” Answer: Bad. So I went. We had a great time hanging out for an hour and a half. Was it worth $20 in gas and three hours of driving? It was totally worth it.

I have come to realize that my bottom line is the Golden Rule. If I expect somebody to drive 80 miles to meet me then I have to do the same when I have the opportunity. The Golden Rule is such a great motto to live by. It makes life simple. Your relationships become much clearer with the Golden Rule in mind, because you stop making excuses for others like, “She is probably having a bad day.” Whether you are depressed, angry, intoxicated, or sleep deprived if the golden rule is part of your values system you cannot conceive of causing any more damage than you yourself can handle. It’s a beautiful principle.

Preparation meets opportunity

Over the years I have been amazed by the endless hard work that musicians put in. Even the really famous ones don't have it easy. Our friend, Keith Knudsen of the Doobies, used to say, "I don't get paid to play, I get paid to travel." When we traveled to St. Louis in January we arrived at the airport minutes before they shut it down due to ice storms in the area. We were the lucky ones. Many people had to jump through hoops to get to St. Louis that weekend so that the show could go on. The dedication and perseverance that these artists showed was awe inspiring.



For the past several years Jerry has volunteered his time to play at a benefit concert for Tony LaRussa's Animal Rescue Foundation. It is always fun and always a ton of work. A couple of years ago the back up band, which usually consists of John McFee, Marc Russo and Keith Knudsen of the Doobie Brothers, Steve George who plays with Jewel, and Jerry, had to learn 20 something songs with about five days notice. For example, Vince Gill and Amy Grant withheld their selections until the night before the rehearsal, so that added about ten songs to the workload and then Amy Grant decided to do completely different songs than the ones the guys had charted out, learned and rehearsed. These guys work their butts off. When they go up on stage the audience has no idea that they don't tour and play with the artists. They are such pros.

Doobies with Michael McDonald and gospel choir (awesome)
Doobies with sixteen year old Lara Johnston (dad is lead singer Tom Johnston) what an opportunity for her


The week leading up to ARF Jerry usually has to spend a few hours each day going over the songs. This year the travel was a bit of a hassle, our early morning flight was cancelled and by the time we arrived at our hotel in St. Louis that evening we were worn out. The next day rehearsal all day and then the day of the gig sound check, back to the hotel for a shower and then back to the venue for the show. After the show off to a restaurant in the Hill District (wherever that is) and then the bus forgot to come back and get the last bunch of us. So at 3:00 a.m. we are standing around the bar of Dominics on the Hill, a goodfellas hangout if I ever saw one, telling jokes and waiting for a ride. Finally, our taxi driver, Tony LaRussa, shows up and seven of us squeeze into his Denali for the ride back to the Hilton at the ballpark. Tony is a revered figure in St. Louis now that he won the World Series for them. He was taking liberties with the traffic laws on the way back and I asked him about the likelihood of getting a ticket. His reply, "Not gonna happen in this town."

Tony and Jerry


Tony had to be super prepared to win the World Series. The musicians who show up and make it look easy for his benefit every year had to practice alone in their rooms for years. All this preparation, work, sweat, travel, money, and fun for a 45 minute set. It got me thinking about all the little moments in life and how other people work tremenedously hard to create these little moments for us. Jerry did all the hard work to get to St. Louis. I just had to show up and have fun.

A Room with a View

Kathy and Carol

Carolyn's Last Lesson

Jerry has been teaching guitar for 26 years. If I had to guess I would say he has taught about 1500-2000 students. There are a handful that standout and Carolyn is close to the top of the heap. Her mom called Jerry a year and a half ago to ask for lessons for her seven year old. Jerry does not usually want kids younger than nine. There is a developmental stage for each instrument. Violin- age 3, piano-age 7, guitar-age 12. For some reason kids motor skills at age 3 allow them to do well with violin. You want a great musician start them out on violin at three, introduce piano at seven and let them start messing around with guitar at ten or twelve. I digress. Carolyn's mom asked Jerry to give her a chance saying something to the effect of, "You won't be sorry." Jerry relented and, let's see how can I sum up Carolyn. She can burp the entire alphabet. She plays a mean blues. She will sing at the top of her lungs for anybody (except her parents). Every week she and Jerry make up a new song and she creates lyrics on the fly while Jerry plays for her.

Well even though we are not moving for a while Carolyn's parents decided to beat the rush and switch to another teacher now instead of waiting until 30 people are looking at once. A couple of months back when Jerry told Carolyn that he would be moving, she kicked him, hard, and then she kicked him again.

Today was the last lesson and they both got a little teary eyed at times. Carolyn drew Jerry the cutest picture of the two of them standing under a rainbow. There were a few special moments, but as they were saying goodbye Jerry told Carolyn that when she gets older she and her brother (a drummer) should form a band. He said, "I will fly back to see you play." Carolyn responded back:

"No offense, but you will probably be dead by then."

Needless to say she brought several nearby adults to the point of tears, they were laughing so hysterically. Jerry will miss Carolyn and I will miss the weekly stories.

Beautiful Saratoga Springs

This photo is taken at the marina about a one mile drive from our house. The view is across the lake towards Provo Canyon.


For years we saved our pennies and then we were led to this house. We are still wondering how we ended up in such a spectacular location.

The Woodacre Years

When I met Jerry at Lou's Pier 47 in San Francisco I had no idea how fateful that brief encounter would be. Jerry knocked on the ladies room door and asked to wash his hands saying, "There is no soap in the mens room." I continued applying mascara and Jerry looked at me in the mirror and said, "This is so charming. You putting on makeup and me washing my hands just like we're at home," I giggled and left the ladies room. Four months later I happened to be at Lou's Pier 47 on the same day Jerry happened to be playing (back then he gigged there about once a month).

Jump forward a couple of weeks to my first visit to Woodacre. Jerry and I spent a nice day hiking on Mt. Diablo and he asked if I would like to see where he lived. By the time we arrived in Marin County the sun had disappeared and there was no moon. We drove west along Sir Francis Drake Blvd, climbed over White's Hill and turned left onto San Geronimo Valley Drive. During the day this road is a pleasant meander among the redwoods, but that night I thought I had been duped. As soon as we turned off the main road we entered a thick forest with no lights penetrating from any direction. It was only about a mile before we emerged in the bucolic town, but for a moment I thought I was being driven to my final destination on a road to nowhere. If you knew what a nice guy Jerry is you would laugh at the idea, but I had only known him a short time and anyone can be nice for a week or two.

I have now lived in Woodacre for sixteen years and it is hard to imagine life elsewhere. We have a deli, a post office and a fire station and that's all. I can walk my dogs anywhere, anytime. If my pomeranian, Django, runs away I know I will find him at the deli, looking sweet and innocent (he knows begging doesn't work). There are no sidewalks and NO streetlights and light pollution from the nearby town of Fairfax is minimal, so the night sky is an astronomers dream. I have many precious memories of Woodacre. Most nights I walk the dogs to the post office and the cat follows. If the dogs and I get too far ahead of the cat, he lets us know quite vocally. At times the spectacle of two small dogs and a cat walking shoulder to shoulder along the side of the road literally brings some drivers to a screeching halt.