Recently, I heard the song, Beyond the Sea, sung by Bobby Darin in 1959.

Instead of that song taking me to the beach, I was reminded that Bobby Darin was married to Sandra Dee, the first Gidget and beach bunny.  While I loved Sandra Dee, I also loved the television version of Gidget with Sally Field.

I thought they both personified the perfect teenager, but Sally Field, especially, reminded me so  much of my sister, Karen, who turns seventy-one, today.  My little sister.

She was my “little” sister not only in years, but in stature — petite, but also wiry and fit — just like those other Gidgets.  She definitely fit the “cute” profile.

My late Aunt Marcolina confirmed that when she said to me at a large family reunion, “Let’s face it, Gloria Jean, Karen was always the cute one.”  May she rest in peace.

Because I was first — first child for my parents, first grandchild and first niece on both sides of the family, I was the test case.

I toed the line and was well-behaved at all times.  Because I passed the test, Karen, consequently, had free rein to do almost anything she wanted.  Let me re-phrase that:  She definitely had more freedom to do what she wanted than I did.  “Free rein” would have never been accepted by our mother.

She could stay out later, on more nights, date more, ask for new clothes in the latest style and not get in trouble for that!

All that, and she was as cute as Gidget.

How I got from Bobby Darin somewhere beyond the sea to my sister and the wrong Gidget, I’ll never know, but that’s where it took me.  In the back of my mind her 71st birthday must have been looming.

Oddly, I wasn’t jealous of Karen — just objectively aware the rest of the family would look at her and think, “Boy, that Karen is such a cutie.”

She’s still cute.

Following is my birthday present to her.

Love you, Karen.

THE LAKE

The two little girls loved to ride along with their father up to Lake Arrowhead during summer vacation from school.    The Rim of the World Highway was beautiful and scary at the same time, but they loved hanging their heads out of the window to drink in the fresh, cool mountain air.

Their father worked for a man who was a wealthy vintner from Italy, but besides making the wine at the winery owned by his boss, he was a jack-of-all-trades overseeing many things for him, including the maintenance of his mountain home in Lake Arrowhead.

The boss owned three homes in southern California, but the lake house was the best.  It was built in the Swiss chalet style in a compound with three other very large homes, also owned by wealthy Italians; mysterious homes because they rarely saw another human being in attendance at those other homes. The girls once overheard their parents speculating as to whether or not the owners of all the homes were connected to the mob.

The house was four stories tall, the bottom floor primarily a garage and storage area for boat equipment, but there was also a room tucked away in the back-corner which housed a perfect, though small, bar; its own fully-equipped pub with a beautiful, highly-polished wood bar with red vinyl-covered barstools and four sets of tables and chairs.

There were various vignettes and caricatures painted on the walls depicting the more famous, or more likely “semi” famous guests – mostly wealthy businessmen that had been guests of the boss during hunting or fishing seasons.

It was a special treat for the little girls to be allowed in the bar – which sometimes happened even when the boss was in attendance.  They were usually served Coca-Cola in small glasses that had the burgundy-colored winery logo written in script on them.  Somehow even the ice seemed perfect, cold and clear like the lake.

The path from the compound led through the woods and down to the lake and the boss’s personal dock with a boat moored in each of the two slips – one a fishing boat with a fringed canopy on top and the other a Chris-Craft speed boat.

Both boats were gorgeous, but the girls especially loved the speed boat.  Their father took them on some high-speed rides in the Chris-Craft. If their mother was there, he waited until they were far away from the dock before he opened the throttle all the way.

On this particular day, while their father was immersed in things needing attention at the house, the girls decided to walk down to the lake and dock, when they noticed an offshoot of the main path they had never noticed before.  Had it always been there?  Their curiosity got the better of them, and they decided to deviate from the more familiar path.

They soon found themselves in denser woods with ferns and mushrooms dotting the path, as well as a much thicker undergrowth.

After walking a few hundred yards, they came to a somewhat damp and misty area, out of which appeared a small, quaint fairytale-like village with thatched-roof cottages and a stream working its way through the village with little bridges crossing over in a few spots.

At any moment you might expect a raven-haired girl with rosy cheeks to peek out the window, or perhaps a dwarf in a stocking hat, but there seemed to be no signs of life.

They wondered why they hadn’t ever come across the tiny village before in their wanderings through the woods.

The big house and their father seemed years and miles away, and they felt an oppressiveness descending on them, as the mist grew thicker.

But by the time they decided to turn back, it was too late when they heard the deep, raspy breathing and heavy footfalls coming out of the forest from just beyond the opposite side of the village.

THE END