The Adventurous Life of Alyce

Alyce Mason Walberg

Looking back, Lafayette California and pretty much the entire East Bay, was an ideal place to grow up: three little towns a few miles apart, with even smaller towns scattered around the green meadows and rolling hills. My brother Richie and I could count on swimming as early as June first each year. We could walk, and later bike, to the Park Theater alone when we were very young, then home again in the dark with nothing and no one to be afraid of.

I was the youngest in my family and the only girl at that. My brothers worked for my father from 10 or 11 years old and on. I, on the other hand, was raised to be a wife and mother, as were many girls in those days. I had no chores. My little neighbor girl friend had to rush home from school each day to take the clothes off the line and feed their chickens. I actually coveted my neighbor’s chores. I had no goals; no one had any expectations of me. I pretended a lot. Often on the walk home from school I would pretend I was in a strange town, looking for a hotel. I would find one, of course: my bedroom.

After freshman year at Acalanes I quit school and got married. I wanted my own house to tend, I wanted babies. Most of all, I wanted responsibilities. Boy, did I get ‘em. By age 23 I had four children and was, predictably, divorced. I stumbled around quite a bit, moving a lot to wherever sounded fun, dragging my children along with me. Fortunately, I met my husband, Arlin, who took me on and my kids, too. He raised all of us.

At Acalanes, my first year Spanish teacher was Mr. Donna. He would describe Mexico to the class. He used to say, “Don’t judge Mexico by its border towns. Go deep into Mexico. You will see flowers growing everywhere all year long. You will see beautiful little towns and relaxed, smiling people on burros and working in the fields.” He painted such a lovely picture in my mind and I thank him for that.

Arlin and I suddenly had a small amount of money coming in monthly for a short time. We decided to move to Mexico for awhile. Arlin would try his hand at writing and making jewelry, I would tend to the house as usual and home-school the kids. We lived near Guadalajara in a small town, Ajijic, on the shore of beautiful Lake Chapala, for four years. It was a wonderful peaceful life.

In 1969, the income was about to end and we returned to the United States. Arlin was very sick. He had rheumatic fever as a kid and was always told he would not live to see 40. His main heart valves were defective. I never let myself believe I might lose him one day. We got as far as Los Angeles, then Arlin collapsed. He had heart surgery there, one of the first valve replacement surgeries. He had many strokes after that. He did not work after the strokes. I knew I would have to do something to support us.

I took a typing class at the high school, and went to work for our landlord in his Santa Monica tax office: simple bookkeeping and tax returns. Between my job, and Arlin’s disability payments we were able to save a little money for a down payment on some property. A good friend was looking for country property all over the US and wrote to us, saying, “This is it. Come here to Summit, Oregon.” In 1971, Arlin was able to travel and we moved to Summit. It was, and still is, a beautiful Coast Range mountain settlement of about 500 people. Fir trees, rivers, a grange, community center. We arrived here on my 35th birthday. That was 38 years ago this past June.

I got a job 21 miles away in Corvallis, Oregon at a CPA firm and started college (at age 35!). I got an accounting position at Oregon State University and retired as the accountant for the OSU College of Agricultural Sciences.

There are four houses on my property here in Summit. My kids (Janis 56, Tim 54, Ken 53, and Ron 49) all live here, some with spouses, at this time. I have 3 granddaughters, three grandsons, and two great-granddaughters, all born in Oregon. Arlin passed away and will forever be missed.

I married again but have been single for 10 years. I plan to stay single.

I have been to Mexico many times since we left in 1969. I try to spend winters there on the Pacific Coast in the warm sunshine. I had planned to retire in Mexico, but things don’t always go according to plan.

The words, “Your Life”, have taken on a new meaning for me as I get older. It seems I thought of Life, unconsciously, as something never-ending. We are young for so long that it seems it will go on and on forever. It reminds me of Splash Mountain at Disneyland. You are in the little boat traveling on water and everything is so cute on the sidelines, sweet, happy-go-lucky music is playing, and all of a sudden an overhead vulture says, “Heh, heh, heh. They don’t know what’s coming.” Next thing, you are over the edge, straight down into the water.

Yes, Alyce, “Your Life” has an end. You better get to Mexico and spend some time there while you still have a Life. (I may do that.)