Those 70ish Girls…Aunt Tet

GREAT AUNT TET WAS GREAT by Mary McNinch and Valerie Halla

Mary and I decided to ask our cousins what they remember about one of our Grandpa Sanderson’s sisters who saw most of us 13 cousins grow up. We are writing about her today because we have overlooked her while we have covered many family members, neglecting to offer dear memories of her.

We asked several cousins to tell us what they recall about “Aunt Tet” and will include their thoughts along with our own recollections of her.

Cousins Bobby, Suanne, Blake and Jeff H. met recently at the Martin Mason Hotel in Deadwood, South Dakota on July 9, 2024 and had these memories of Tet:

Great Aunt Tet was a lifelong loving younger sister of her brother, Maynard Evan Sanderson. She was a true, dedicated professional business partner and manager of the Sanderson General Store in Murdo for much of the time her brother and later his son, Jeff Sanderson, owned the store. She resided in the second story apartment above the store.

The involvement and support of various family members was truly recognized and was highly appreciated in the Sanderson family.

She was born in Burgess, Iowa in 1890. The town was unofficially known as Smithtown in Sharon Township.

She was one of twelve children fathered by Frank Sanderson. His first wife was Ella Current Sanderson. Their first two children, Mabel and Eben, died of a highly contagious disease prior to the birth of Maynard Evan Sanderson in June 1886. Frank had four children by his second wife. He died tragically in 1918.

Aunt Tet never owned nor operated a motorized vehicle. She was thought to have been a teacher in her early years with two years of advanced schooling in Iowa. She never drank nor smoked nor swore. Our cousins that day during their mini-reunion remembered her to be very pleasant and professional.

When the out-of-town relatives visited South Dakota, they weren’t accustomed to the severe Great Plains direct sunlight, Aunt Tet was quick to assure them that we all knew where to find wide-brimmed hats to protect from sunburn. The SANDERSON cousins concluded that day that, “Our dermatologists are still smiling on their way to the bank.”

COUSIN ANDREA’S THOUGHTS:

Cousin Andrea emailed her recollections to me of Aunt Tet in June of this year. She wrote:

When I think back on Aunt Tet, I remember her making caramel apples for Halloween. She would hang them on a rope clothesline with clothespins, just off the kitchen and they looked delicious.

She loved sports and watched the games at Grandpa and Grandma’s house on Sunday afternoon. She would ride down to their house after church and have Sunday noon meal. Then she usually walked back home as she enjoyed the exercise uphill to her apartment on Main Street.

I don’t remember her being vocal about things, rather she was interested and thoughtful.

MY MEMORY OF AUNT TET:

During our summer visits to Murdo and living there for my 7-8th grade years in school, I remember seeing Aunt Tet in her apartment hallway going in and out of the bathroom because during those two years, we lived in the front apartment above Sanderson Store while she lived across in the back apartment. We shared the one bathroom. She kept to herself mostly. She seemed shy and of the personality where you didn’t speak until spoken to.

She was always at the store working or on a raised platform at a desk doing paperwork and it seemed quite dark and mysterious when I would see her there at the back of the old store, bent over heavy account books or maybe writing something.

She wore sensible print shirtwaist dresses with narrow belts, and practical heavy shoes, and she had short gray hair and old fashioned glasses. She wasn’t slim nor heavy but solidly built. She would smile at 12-13 year-old me and make pleasant small talk. My mom made extra dinner for her and I took it over to Aunt Tet- homemade chicken pot pie or ham and bean soup or fried chicken with mashed potatoes. Sometimes even pie, fantastic, scrumptious home baked fruit pies, or tapioca pudding.

My mom, named after Tet’s own mother, and everyone in our family and Murdo respected and liked her. One guy named Tuffy would come in for a banana or a snack from his shift at the auto museum. He had no teeth and ate soft foods, and he would tease her calling her an “old maid”. She would snap back, “ Old bachelor!” Or maybe she would shorten it to “old batch”. My Dad, who also worked at the store for two years, laughed at that.

AUNT TET WITH HER MOTHER, BROTHERS AND SISTERS WITH TWO OF THEIR SPOUSES. TET IS SECOND FROM THE LEFT.

It was sad when Sanderson Store had to close. Aunt Tet decided to move back to her home town in Iowa to live near her relatives. She adored her brother Sandy who lived in Iowa. In 1971 my new husband and I honeymooned across country and stopped to stay with her overnight. She was a gracious kind person and took us the next morning to her sister’s, my Great Aunt Melitha’s house, for a large hot breakfast Iowa style. We drove off the next morning after our goodbyes and I wrote her letters for many years but never saw her again. She passed away in the later 1970’s close by to where she had been born.

VALERIE, HUSBAND KEN AND AUNT TET- WEARING A LIGHT ROBE- UNDER LOVELY OLD TREES IN A SMALL TOWN IN IOWA IN THE SUMMER 1971.

MEMORIES FROM BILLY FRANCIS:

I worked with Aunt Tet for four summers in Sandersons Store.  The first thing we did when we got to work was to discuss the baseball games we had listened to (Aunt Tet – Kansas City, Bill – St Louis Cardinals).  She and I were huge baseball fans!  Aunt Tet was also a fan of Murdo sports.  She went to every basketball (home game) and most of the road games if she could get a ride.

She was the bookkeeper for grandpa Sanderson and later Uncle Jeff until he closed the store.  

Aunt Tet took the last lunch hour because she didn’t want to miss the kids when they stopped off for their penny candy on their way back to school from lunch.  She knew all of the kids by name!

Aunt Tet was my best friend.  She was the first person I visited when I came home from college.  I truly loved that lady!

Aunt Tet never married. She was an amazing part of our family and greatly loved by family and the people of Murdo.

A big thank you to all our cousins who contributed to memories of Great Aunt Tet. Let us know if you have anything to add, you who were fortunate to have known her.

Those 70ish girls…A story to tell, part 8

Changes to come…

I could understand Aunt Marti’s desire to know what happened to Holly and her mother, June. There were several crayon written pages with different made-up stories about dogs and kitties and several child-like drawings of houses with trees and billowing clouds. All of her pictures had a bright yellow sun shining down from the corner of the paper. Aunt Marti had grown to love the little girl she had never met and wanted to learn more about the family that had occupied this house so many years ago.

Aunt Marti did not have knowledge of the internet, and my guess was that it didn’t occurr to her that someone could do a search online and find out more about the family. I hoped there would be enough information in the lock box and chest to be able to do an adequate search to find out what happened to Holly and her mother. I didn’t have the first names of the grandparents, but I knew their last name was probably Reading since Holly’s mother was married to their son, and their last name was Reading. Holly said she was moving from the house. The date was 1923. Did the grandparents move, too? Aunt Marti had said the house had been vacant for 20 years prior to her purchasing it.

I kept digging through the papers and also found a photobook in the chest.

“Mr. B.. Oh my… where did you find that?” It was a handmade sock monkey.

*********************

“But Mommy, I don’t want to move. I don’t want to leave Grandpa and Nana. I love our house. Why do we have to go?”

Dear, sweet, Holly. This will be an exciting time for us.

This is not WWI, but it’s really good.

Those 70ish girls…A story to tell..part 4

The house…

I had just asked Aunt Marti if there was a reason, other than the 10 year age difference, that she and my mother had not been close.

“We will talk about all of that in good time,” Aunt Marti said. “But right now, I must tell you a few things concerning what will be taking place here this afternoon. My hope is that all of my nieces and nephews will be present at the meeting that Tara has been good enough to arrange. She was given some directions from my attorney. You will all be given a letter from me and you will be reading my will.”

“According to Tara, all of the cousins will be meeting here at 3:00 pm,” I offered.

“Perfect,” Aunt Marti said with a dramatic flash of her eyes.  I had seen that same expression many times on my mother’s face. As if reading my mind, Aunt Marti continued. “Your mother was different from the rest of us and sometimes the things she said and did didn’t set well with me. As the eldest of 4 children, I always felt as though the other girls’ behavior was more or less my responsibility.”

“Speaking from my own experience of living with Mom, I said. “I can understand your comment. Mom’s behavior sometimes pushed the envelope.” (I was secretly amused by my mother’s outlandish ways, but I didn’t share that with my aunt.)

“I must leave you now,” Aunt Marti said as she rose from the chair and picked up the tray with the tea and muffins. “But before I go, I need to tell you that I left you this property. I do hope you will give staying here in Pleasant Run a lot of thought before you get the news formerly at the meeting today. This house has a story to tell, and I believe it will tell you all of its secrets.”

“I don’t know what to say, Aunt Marti. Why would you give me your house?” I was surprised, to say the least.

“It’s all in the letter,” she answered. “And you can say goodbye.”

A story to tell..

Those 70ish girls…It happens

You can dance without music if a tune can’t be heard.

Some cry with no tears, which to me seems absurd.

Texas Wildflowers
Rylie Rue

You can smile without laughing. (I can’t deny it.)

You can’t laugh without smiling. (Did you just try it?)

If we’re living the dream, then there’s nothing to fear.

Long lazy days can become a short year.

You can close your eyes tightly and see a beautiful place.

Me with Nellie Belle

But can’t find your glasses when they’re right on your face.

You can age gracefully or chase after youth.

You can never do both. I’m telling the truth.

Friends are there for the good times, but you know they care,

When you’re going through bad times and you feel covered in prayer.

I want to wish an amazing lady and wonderful friend a very happy birthday.

Pat Davis

 

Those 70ish girls…Little Murdo Girl’s Doohicky Dilemma

I had to start wearing nylons. It seems that when you get to the 8th grade, you’re supposed to wear them when you dress up. We went to Winner for a music contest, and that’s when some of the girls decided it was time to start wearing “hose.” I had to play a saxophone solo, and those darn nylons ruined it.

I prefer swimming suits

There are boys who read this. Oh well, I don’t care. They should know what we go through.

You have to wear a garter belt to hold your nylons on your leg. It is a very weird contraption. The top of the belt goes around your waist. There are four straps hanging from the belt. On the end of the straps you have doohickys. (There are four of them.) You put the top of the nylon under the bottom part of the doohicky. It has a button-like thing on it. I think they are called garters. The top garter goes on the top and buttons to the bottom garter. That’s what keeps your nylon up. The whole thing is called a garter belt. The nylons come separately.

Right in the middle of my solo, the doohicky on the back of one leg came loose, and the nylon slipped right off, which caused the front to sag. I finally got an opportunity to glance down when the piano player who was accompanying me, had a little part that I didn’t play my saxophone to. I could see the nylon was a wrinkled mess just like Grandma’s hose (nylons) always are because they don’t make them small enough for her. Grandma wears a girdle to keep her nylons up, but it doesn’t work. Besides, you still have to deal with the doohickys attached to the girdle. (Some older ladies just roll them down over a rubber band. I wonder if that works better.) Well, at least the front doohicky on my garters never came all the way off, which was a blessing. I feared that all the doohickys would come off and I’d be standing there with my hose around my ankles.Anyway, for the very first time in my life, I didn’t get a Superior on my solo, because I was too distracted to remember all of it. I can’t even tell people about it, because it’s going to sound like an elaborate excuse, and they’ll think the real reason is that I didn’t practice my solo enough times to memorize it better.

It just wasn’t a good experience all around. Mom threw a hissy fit because I forgot to mention I volunteered her to take me and some other kids to the contest. I told her the day before. She said I hadn’t even told her I was playing a solo, although I’m pretty sure I did. She asked me when I practiced because she very seldom heard me.She didn’t even care about my doohicky dilema.

1-1-loretta gustafson's life in photos 0089063863682556794371..jpg
Mom and I during better times

Those 70ish girls…Girlfriends by Valerie Halla

Holidays can be stressful, but shine a light on the true meaning

As we get older, friends seem like family and we lose some dear ones along the way, letting us know we might go next. But when it comes to the holidays we can be childlike . (You can probably remember a special gift or two you got as a kid) My friends don’t have a lot of money so some of the gifts this year were a bit strange. Six of us met for our annual gift exchange. But we took the gifts home without opening them, because we had all had lunch together and time was limited. We also got carried away with the holiday gift giving. It took me two trips to carry it all to the car. I’m not even sure what some items are for but it was still fun to unwrap and pull out colorful tissue from gift bags revealing these things:

-A plugin snowflake shaped room deodorizer pine or peppermint scented (some assembly required.)

-Friends spoon with cute poem engraved (not for use with food or beverages.)

-Bar of goat milk soap.

-Dog gift catalog with stickers.

-Fifteen individually wrapped pretzels from Pennsylvania which are crunchy and delicious.

– A 2 foot long hand-sewn hanging kitchen piece made of fabric, shaped like a house with a floppy mini-wreath sewn on the door of the house. It has a big pocket on the lower half and two loops on the top suitable for hanging up…somewhere.

-A stick with a cute little gnome at the end.

-Gift cards.

As I opened each gift and card, I kept wondering where I would put these things. The giftcards were the best because then I could go buy what I want, especially the giftcards to a coffee shop. And of course there were also the pieces of jewelry given. You can always put those in your jewelry box, never to remember who gave them to you, or when to wear them. I don’t even want to bring up necklaces getting all tangled up.

My Dad used to say, “It’s the thought that counts.” That kept going through my mind as I looked over the collection of presents. I’m just lucky to have such generous, kind people in my life. It doesn’t matter what they gave me. Their friendship is what counts. They’re probably in turn looking over the gifts I gave them: a mug, kitchen dish towels purchased at a church gift bazaar, candy, and mini scented candles. They’re thinking the same thing I am. What will I do with all these? Do I really need any of this? What were they thinking giving these to me?

It doesn’t matter what you give to others at this time of year because just the giving part is what counts. The friendship is there. There’s love inside each gift. The friends give you meaning at this time of year.

Happy holidays!

Those 70ish girls…MG’s Christmas letter

I vowed to write a first at last. I’d never done this in the past.

I thought there would be nothing to it. It seemed like anyone could do it.

I brought my family all together, so we could write a Christmas letter.

I read those I’d received from others. Written with love by grandmas or mothers.

I said,

“These can be a great example, but our own exciting times are ample.”

One friend’s son has lots of knowledge. He’s only ten and goes to college.

I asked.

“Who has something that compares?” All I saw were empty stares.

My son read,

“This mom said she lost a ton. Now she out-runs everyone.”

A daughter said,

“Mom don’t be sad. look at all the fun you had, eating donuts, pies, and cake.

Who needs to run for heaven’s sake?”

Ignoring her I forged ahead. “Let’s write about our trips instead.”

“Do I have a volunteer to highlight our time-off last year?”

“You said we’d soon be on vacation, and then you changed it to staycation.

Instead of seeing Disneyland and building castles in the sand…

We stayed right here in our own house and drew pictures of Mickey Mouse.”

Had I been overconfident? There must be one accomplishment.

“Did anyone get to school on time, clean their room or solve a crime?”

(They were reading others news and it was giving them the blues.)

I said,

“Let’s not continue this. We’ll send pretty cards this Christmas.”

“We should not antagonize all those with less exciting lives.”

Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night!

Those 70ish girls…Saving Time

They say tomorrow never comes. It really does, you know

Yesterday was just today a few short hours ago.

Time goes by so quickly…You’ve heard that to no end.

Time can be your enemy… or your new best friend.

1555984826813430206435478758413610053422098253696.jpg

The best times can be over in the blinking of an eye.

A day can last forever, yet the years seem to fly by.

If something bad is happening, they say this too shall pass.

If the best is yet to come, then…to come… goes way too fast.

So what does one do…while time keeps marching on?

March along right with it, from dawn until new dawn.

As our lives continue and what is… becomes… what was,

It doesn’t seem quite fair that we’re unable to hit pause.

20160716_1517467889058210180872081.jpg

We can save a time and store it, and spend that time again.

And sometimes here and there, we can remember where and when.

wp-image-8463628201264975193jpg.jpg

Those 70s Girls by Valerie Halla

Harsh life…

Call me crazy. At least I fit into this crazy world.

I think our SANDERSON family, meaning Grandparents and their six children, went through harsh, difficult, stressful times on the prairie and experiencing small town prairie life in the first part of the 1900’s. They were lucky to have a Model T, a couple horses and a wagon. After my grandparents, M.E. and Mary, were married in Iowa they headed to South Dakota around 1911 crossing the Missouri River precariously with the help of ropes and river navigators willing and ready. I imagine that was a scary way to get across a major river.

They lived through the uncertain times of young newly wed life, having six children, the dirty 1930’s which were challenging in their times, and life on the farm with minimal farm equipment and no technology in sight. They knew the meaning of hard times, little money and harsh realities.The harsh life strangely brought out more goodness, kindness and resolve in their hearts, buried more love in their souls. It did cause depression to which my Mom, Ella and Aunt Elna attested. My Mom often told me that her Dad, M.E. Sanderson would get discouraged and later maybe in his mid-thirties would spend hours in a dark root cellar just to himself out on their Horse Creek farm. This was unusual for him because he had to constantly be working or caring for livestock and crops. The family knew this was not the normal behavior from the head of a household of eight individuals. Aunt Elna told someone once that they wouldn’t have all survived growing up if Uncle Wayne, the oldest of the six children, hadn’t stepped up and worked hard as a kid to get money from the sale of crows and skins from trapping animals some state agency paid him for since the animals were a hindrance to farmers. All the kids were put to work on the farms in those days.

I think all our heritage, our history, our past bloodline follows us in both small and large ways, weaving life into a fine fabric, its threads taken from this grandmother’s line or that grandfather’s or from an uncle or an ancient cousin from far away lands. We derive our strength from their strength with their bloodline trickling into ours. You might take after a particularly lovely relative with beautiful big hazel eyes from someone far back in your family tree, like someone you never knew.

You carry a million years of history in your DNA from humans who lived thousands of years ago, yet we often just say, “You take after your Mother with your dark hair and hazel eyes.” Perhaps we didn’t go back far enough in the family tree. We narrow down the years. Naturally there are a myriad of different traits and characteristics from our entire past.

Grandma and Grandpa Sanderson had traits that weren’t just physical. They showed their strength and resilience which came from deep within their souls and hearts. All these things were part of their personalities yet the harsh lives they endured played a part as well. Who they were was formed from what they had lived through, why they were so strong, and where they had lived. The prairie life can be brutal and forge what you are from tough times.

My cousin, Mary, often recalls how our SANDERSON grandparents never once yelled nor disciplined us as young children running around their house, yelling and screaming, eating their food or playing dress up with grandma’s clothes and hiding in their bedroom closet. They led by example and kindnesses. They showed us what to become as they had become.

Sure, I might be crazy saying all this. Harsh reality can either make us rise up to become our best version of ourselves or knock us down. Do we stay down? I would like to think that we stay the course and follow our grandparent’s example.

Those 70ish Girls by Valerie Halla

My Best Friend’s Mom – Part 2

I am third from the left with Pam, my best friend, on my left, taken last Monday with high school friends and one gal who went to a different high school. We drank a toast to Pam’s mom who had recently passed away.

When I met Pam and her Mom in the early 1960’s, I was lost because I came from a small town in South Dakota and I was just starting my teen years. I was an only child and my new friend was an only child from North Dakota so we had things in common. We helped each other get through the years. We went to the beach often, talked about sharing clothes, found bikinis we liked and listened to the radio. Oh, and looked at boys. Rad.

Pam’s mother, Hope, helped us get through the teenage years as well. We met another newcomer, Sue, who lived in Pam’s lovely garden apartment building. Her father had recently died so she looked sad and alone. Her brother Patrick made friends with a young guy who played the drums with a small rock group. We got to talking and concocted an idea to have a dance in the apartment clubhouse where Pam and Sue lived asking Patrick to ask his friend’s band to play. Bitchen.

And who would fill out the forms and pay the fee to rent out the clubhouse? Pam’s mom of course, Hope. She stepped forward and helped us. We spread the word putting up posters and telling everyone about our planned dance after all the paperwork was in and the money paid for the clubhouse rental with our babysitting money. Was this really happening?Far out.

The night of the dance brought out many kids and couples with about 40 people attending. As naive 14 year olds we were shocked that our plan was a total success! We were entrepreneurs but didn’t know it. Groovy!

Our dance didn’t have bright lights.

The private dance party we arranged when we were 14 was awesome. Someone’s sister chaperoned it. Amazingly that was allowed. We even had a live band.

After a few years, we graduated high school had our boyfriends, I went to college and Pam went with a friend to live then work at Park City Utah at a ski resort. We got married, had kids, bought homes, exchanged Christmas cards, and got on with life, communicating rarely.

Fast forward to 2015 when I finally decided to visit Pam. I stayed at her house a couple nights and we reminisced and met up with another friend and her husband for dinner out and a ghost walk through San Juan Capistrano historic area. It was a blast. The years melted away. Unreal.

Last Monday I was down in LA with my two sons. We drove down from my house in Central California to celebrate my other son, Matt’s birthday with him. I also arranged to take the train to San Juan Capistrano to visit Pam because her 98 year old mother had just passed away. I wanted to tell her in person how much her mother had meant to me and we were going to dinner with three other high school friends we hadn’t seen very often.

This was the bizarre part…I had just gotten a letter from Pam’s mother three days after she had died. A caregiver had written it for 98 year old Hope and it was asking me to please console Pam since Hope knew she was going soon to “meet our Lord and savior”the letter said. It was written in graceful flowing cursive in blue ink.

I had to share this touching, soul warming letter with Pam. That was my plan.

I got this letter on November 10. My friend’s Mom passed away on November 5.

The letter starts out by thanking me.

The caregiver who knew Hope well, wrote this letter to me. I am truly honored.

Skip the details of riding the train, hugging my friend at the station, sharing memories of her mother and reconnecting. When I showed Pam the letter, she read very carefully and said, “This is just like the one I received. Yes, the caregiver wrote it for my dying Mom.”

I’m still crying each time I look at the envelope. It’s a relief that all has been done that can be and that Pam is dealing with it so gracefully. She had an incredible mother. She loved her a great deal.

Love is by far the greatest conqueror.

Those 70ish Girls by Valerie Halla

My Best Friend’s Mom

My best friend, Pam, with me at her family’s garden apartment when we were about 14 years old in sunny Orange County, California. We had just met.

She was standing off to the side of the paved playground amidst the crowd of teenagers in seventh, eighth and ninth grades. She definitely stood out as a newcomer in her cutoff jeans and white neatly pressed blouse. She had just arrived from small change North Dakota like I had just moved from small town South Dakota. At some time we walked up to one another and told one another our names, our stories, our likes and dislikes and our classes. But knowing where she lived was the key.

My parents had rented the cheapest one bedroom apartment they could find in Anaheim, California after we moved from Murdo, South Dakota. I didn’t even have a bedroom and slept on a hard couch. So when Pam, a cute blonde and the new girl from North Dakota, invited me over to her place I was shocked at how beautiful and open her garden apartment was. It was located a few blocks from where I lived. They even had a serene park with a playground lush with healthy green grass, and a pool with an adjoining spacious clubhouse. To me it was like Beverly Hills versus the suburban ghetto where I lived.

I met Pam’s beautiful Mom who seemed to always look like she had washed her face ten times and had big eyes that played softly with the California sunshine looking about ten or fifteen years younger than my Mom. At other times when I went to visit Pam, her mother Hope was decked out in a tight fitting sheeth dress popular in the 1960’s. She wore heels and not much jewelry and her husband – Pam’s stepdad – was brusque, slim, also looked much younger than my Dad, and was in a suit ready to take Pam’s Mom out on “date” even though they were married. He was a salesman. Pam hated him and tried to stand up to him when he was gruff with her or made her Mom deny Pam money to buy clothes or shoes or just money for a movie or a coke with friends. He struck me as mean.

I have been her friend over many years and she stuck with me through some tough teenage tragedies and trials. We lost touch with one another for a long stretch of time what with having kids, moving different places and finding new friends. However, none were as close nor as kind as her. She and my cousin made their own dresses to help out at my hippy style wedding reception in 1971. Pam brought her newborn son and held him during the entire wedding reception. She was a new mother yet she was there for me. That showed me what a strong, caring young woman she was.

We reconnected again when sadness hit. Her son died from drug addiction in a jail cell. He was in his 40’s. He had been in prison and on meth most of his young life. She wrote me a letter about his problems. She also had a daughter named after her mother, Hope. Her daughter was an accomplished artist and went to college back east.

I went to visit Pam ten years ago and it was like we were young girls in our early 20’s, newly married and ready to grab life by the hand with our new handsome husbands. We connected again after having sent a few letters and Christmas cards over the years, We had gone on our separate ways, trying to figure it all out. She had gotten divorced and I had taught school for 34 years and I had been through a lot with my husband. He died about six months ago. I’m going tomorrow to visit Pam who lost her Mom a week ago. I’ll let you know how that goes.

Reconnecting with Pam and a couple other friends about 10 years ago in San Juan Capistrano.