Jennifer Lynn Slatten was the second child of Derrell Mack Slatten and Carol Markley Slatten.  I was first.  

I was four years old when Jennie was born on May 22, 1967.   While I recall being vaguely excited that I was going to have a little brother or sister, Jennie came into the world with colic and my excitement waned significantly.  She was cute when she wasn't screaming, though.  

She soon grew into an adorable little tyke.  So adorable, in fact, that - according to my mother - people often assumed she was my doll.  My mother and grandmother delighted in dressing us like twins.  

When Jennie was three we were joined by another sister, Emily.  Although there were the usual fights and squabbles as we grew up, in retrospect I believe we got along pretty well. We all found the same things funny -- we memorized Bugs Bunny cartoons and Monty Python sketches, and for some reason really enjoyed wandering around in public speaking in Scottish accents.  

Our dad died when Jen was 15 and I was away at college on the other side of the country.  While that traumatic experience could have signalled the fragmentation of our family, I think as sisters we became even more strongly bonded.  We didn't see each other as much when Jennie went off to UC Davis and Emily to UC Santa Barbara, but we did write to each other.  Jennie kept some of the letters Emily and I had written to her years ago.  Reading them now brings me feelings of ... well .. embarrassment.  As an older sister/English lit major I couldn't help myself from sprinkling Shakespeare quotes throughout my tales of daily life in college or grad school.  I'm sure she kept them solely to show my children how pretentious I can be (although surely my children don't need someone else to tell them that).  

My husband and I moved to Portland in 1992, and we didn't see Jennie on a regular basis after that.  She got married and divorced - more than once - and drifted about in thankless nondescript jobs.  Until, that is, she allowed her true self to flourish.  We're not sure how it happened -- Jennie had always been musically talented and had played the violin since 4th grade -- but she suddenly was playing in rock bands in the San Francisco bay area.  GOOD rock bands.  And not only could she play the violin and guitar, she could SING.  This was amazing to me.  And she got tattoos and dyed her hair bright red.  She was like a different person, totally cool. But in another sense, she was still the same Jennie.  She could be wearing a bustier and belting out "Drag Strip Girls" with Armigetiton, but I knew that underneath she was still thinking of Bugs Bunny quotes, and kittens, and hedgehogs in teacups.  

Jennie was in three rock bands:  Venus Bleeding, Armigetiton, and Space Vacuum from Outer Space.  I've downloaded a few of them on this site, along with some audio from her cds.    I recommend them -- they're fun.  They also show how much fun Jennie could be.  And that was FUN.  She had a terrific sense of humor and conversation with her was not only interesting, but actually enjoyable.  She would be passionately debating social justice issues and then suddenly throw in a surprisingly appropriate Monty Python quote.  There was a lot of laughter when Jennie was around.  

She was a terrific sister and even better aunt.  Generous to a fault, she lavished -- and I mean LAVISHED - gifts upon my two children.  Emma and Conor adored Aunt Jennibee, but not just because of the gifts.  She played with them while at the same time treating them as people, not "children."  Childlike herself, she - like my kids -- enjoyed Miyazaki films, Disneyland, and stuffed animals.  The kids loved her.  

In 2007 her health deteriorated rapidly, and she was hospitalized repeatedly with various complications from her diabetes, including gastroparesis and end stage renal disease.  A tracheotomy in 2009 put an end to her singing career.  

But despite the significant health challenges she faced, Jennie remained her usual upbeat self.  She had moved to Oregon in September 2014 and stayed at my house for a month until she found an apartment less than a mile away.  For two and a half months, I had the pleasure of seeing Jennie almost every day.  She emanated her characteristic joie de vivre up until her death.  

My sister Emily and I have discussed this, and we agree that Jennie embodied the best of the Slatten sisters:  her generosity, kindness, wit and sparkling smile made everything better.   Her death has left a gaping hole in our lives and we will miss her forever.