My Best Friend’s Mom – Part 2

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!

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.

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.

My Best Friend’s Mom

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.

Murdo High School and reunion stories by Ralph Thomas, Class of 1967

Senior Class Play

One spring morning in 1964 Gloria Thomas woke up with hundreds of red bumps all over her body.  Her Mom Ethel said you have the measles and you can’t go to school.

Gloria replied but I have to go the Senior Class Play is today and I’m vital.  Ethel prevailed, Gloria stayed home.

Mrs. Peters (the play director) was notified.  She immediately went into hiding for 3 hours assuming the understudy’s role.  She performed admirably in the matinee and evening roles and saved the play with an A+ performance.

When Gloria returned to school the next week several classmates (names redacted) jokingly accused her of trying to sabotage the Senior Class Play!

Near the end of the school year in 1964, the Junior Class spokesman Dave Beckwith spoke to the open assembly hall of all 4 grades.  (That was the last year all 4 grades could be addressed from on or near the steps going up into the superintendents office.  In the summer of 1964 the school was remodeled into home rooms.)

Anyway Dave started with a heart wrenching soliloquy about how the Senior Class was special and will hold a cherished spot in all our hearts.

Through Dave’s tears he kept going and said the Junior Class wanted to present the Senior Class with a special gift he hoped they all would cherish.

On cue Dave’s assistants revealed the green dimpled head of Puff the Magic Dragon, the Junior Class’s winning float entry from the previous fall.

The Senior Men immediately rushed Puff’s head, took it outside, and stomped it into smithereens.   And Puff you were gone  .

Jeff H. Sanderson liked to tell the story about going to the reunions for the Murdo High School and he saw Johnny Daum at one of those reunions probably in 2006.  Jeff H walked up to Johnny and said you look just as good as you did in high school, and Johnny Daum puffs his chest out with a big smile.  He felt so good.

And then Jeff H. sees Lyle Reynolds a few minutes later and he says wow Lyle you look even better than you did in high school (cause he did) and Johnny’s got this sad look creeping over his face….

So anyway, I saw Johnny Daum at Range Country Lodging at another reunion probably in 2011 and I say hi Johnny.  And he was sitting at this table with some woman, and I said, do you remember back 5 years ago Jeff H. said to you that you look just as good as you did in high school and you were all pumped up and thought that was great?  Then he saw Lyle Reynolds and said wow you look even better than you did in high school and it kind of made you disappointed?  And Johnny said, yeah Ralph I get it.

And then I said I remember you were such a good singer in high school, just fabulous, you made us proud.  And Johnny smiles.

Then I looked at that woman next to him and I said I thought this was your wife, but this is actually your sister right?  And I said wow she’s even a better singer than you (cause she was) And Johnny’s like OK Ralph that’s enough….

By Valerie Halla

These boulders were placed thousands of years ago and provided a pathway, a highway for merchants, farmers, craftsmen, soldiers and others to travel freely between destinations including tours of today.

I truly understand the statement, “Rome wasn’t built in a day.” It boggles the mind, the heart, the eyes and the energy level how this was all made and yet thousands of years later, it remains.

More later.

In Italy Part 3 – by Valerie Halla

Florence was next on our tour with a comfy bus ride there. Outside was some beautiful scenery on our 4 hour tour as the director told us lots of facts and history as we went. Florence has a gorgeous Cathedral pictured here with an exterior of greens and pinks and marble that blows your eyes wide and challenges them to look at the old walls and imagine the interior before you even see it to take you like the old rock ‘n roll song says, “Take me higher, higher and higher”. Florence has beauty. Florence has food and buildings and art and bridges and mystique.

Florence is where ancient and modern meet and shake hands.

Valerie Halla

Ciao. I left recently from San Jose at 6:20 am to fly to Minneapolis for a 4 hour layover, then to Paris, France then to Venice, Italy. It was a solo adventure. A vacation. It was challenging. It was tiring. It was exhilarating. It was exciting. Friends urged me to go after the loss of my husband of 53 years.

Landing in Minneapolis, Minnesota was pretty with lakes dotting the landscape. The airport is well done, not like a steak, but like well organized and laid out, with gates and your plane easy to find and security moving swiftly. It’s simple to put your stuff into a plastic box and walk through those magic frisking machines. One officer made me go through the process 4 times. I guess he liked me.

I had notified a Murdo friend who has lived there for years. I had planned on meeting him at the airport but I texted him off and on thinking that maybe I didn’t need to bother him especially on a Sunday. Things went back and forth for a while, but it did work out so we planned a meet up downstairs at ground level by a coffee shop in the airport to chat, however I would have to go through security again.

We talked about old times, how our families were doing, and how we had met our spouses. I hadn’t realized Rafe had lived with my cousin Jeff H. For a while after he got a job long ago in Minneapolis.

That’s not my friend’s real name but every time I’m out walking my dog, Nincompoop, and listening to music, my AirPods guy says: “You have a message from Rafe- read it?”

Rafe used to be “some guy named Ralph.”

After a three hour chat, then a delayed flight (with a recommendation from Rafe to look for famous tile flooring by Gate 1) I sat waiting and never did see the special tile. But here’s a picture:

Photo below is from MN airport.

Then I finally landed in Paris and luck would have it I asked a worker there where my gate was and she knew. It was mobbed at the CDG airport. Crazy security gates there with up escalators then down to find my gate, but I got on board and flew to Venice, Italy. Pretty short flight then found my tour lady with her sign on a pole. After meeting three other ladies in my group, it was pure fun, adventure and amazement.

I had made it to Italy. I was enraptured.