Uncle Wayne Sanderson

It feels strange to me that my Uncle Wayne’s house, which was at the end of Main Street in Murdo is no longer there.

I remember the dark gray color and the big front porch. Uncle Wayne and Aunt Emily lived there for years and raised their son, Terry there.

I remember their dog, Smokey. He was all black and I think he was mostly cocker spaniel. One time Grandma Sanderson who lived next door fed Smokey some of Uncle Sandy’s homemade caramels. She gave him one a day out the back door of her house until Smokey got sick. It was  a while before they figured out that Grandma was the culprit.

Aunt Emily was a great cook. She made the best oatmeal cookies. “Do you know who the best cook is?” Grandpa Sanderson asked my mom once when he was eating noon dinner at our house. Mom smiled all big until Grandpa said, “Emily.”

I remember Uncle Wayne parked his big dirt mover between his house and the little park to the south of it. He built many a road in his day.

Yes, it feels strange to me that that house is now gone and in its place is a new house. Someone else will make new fond memories there.

The new house just put up on our Uncle Wayne’s old house lot.

Delicious cookie recipe by our Aunt Emily Sanderson. Aunt Emily was a hard worker, my Mother, Ella Sanderson (Leckey) used to say.

Part 2- Corny But True by Valerie Halla

I remember getting to go inside Uncle Wayne’s house when my family visited Murdo from Pennsylvania almost every summer as a kid. It felt like a sanctuary to me being allowed to go inside their cool, dark, mysterious old house. Uncle Wayne adored my Mom since she was the next oldest of six Sanderson kids, with him being the oldest. I often thought it was interesting that the two oldest kids each only had one child. Was it because of the tough times they knew living on the prairie being raised in poor, almost poverty level circumstances on the farm on Horse Creek during the Dirty 30’s ? WWI was raging across the Atlantic when Wayne and my Mother were born and farm goods were in demand for the troops. The two oldest Sanderson kids knew life was a battle and not like the battles of WWI but at home with little cash and less food a different kind of battle. Some nights my Mom related to me that dinner would be boiled beets. That’s all. That was dinner. They knew the meaning of “dirt poor”. Wayne must have felt good to start his own family as a young man, and buy such a solid comfortable house when he finally broke free from hard farm life to start out on his own.

The brick trimmed house at the end of Main Street in Murdo must’ve seemed like a mansion to Uncle Wayne and Aunt Emily. So much nicer than the log cabin at Horse Creek. It seemed sadly nostalgic and tragic when I heard it was being torn down to make way for a new specially constructed home by the state of South Dakota to accommodate low income families. It is a refreshing new chapter though in Murdo life and changes in life move us all forward. Progress can be positive.

Aunt Emily getting ready for a Sanderson Christmas gathering.

Grandma and Grandpa Sanderson opening gifts with Aunt Elna at their house which was next door to Uncle Wayne’s.

On the other hand, I’m having deep, dark, dusty spiderweb like thoughts between the house I remember and the new one just recently built. Can I please just believe that the old comfy, cozy, warm home that we thought of as Uncle Wayne’s House is still standing? Too many fuzzy, foggy memories there for me to give up and sling aside like an old lint filled hokey, hole infested sock.

Also some people in my wonderful Sanderson side of the family might not feel the same way about the feelings I have regarding the past with Uncle Wayne and Aunt Emily. Plus their old house isn’t equivalent to them. It’s just a shelter for humans. To me it was a part of my Aunt, Uncle and cousin all rolled into one with the house as the symbol to my childhood.

As a young kid visiting in the 1950’s and 1960’s then living there in Murdo for two years in junior high, I was naive about who this uncle was. To me he was loved by my mother and her four siblings. Aunt Elna said Wayne literally kept the family alive during tough times growing up down on Horse Creek as a young boy and one who felt responsible for seven other family members, a young boy being a man before his time.

When a relative to my Uncle Bill Francis visited from Southern California in the early 1960’s, we cousins looked at her like she had two heads. She wore her hair styled and ironed her Bermuda shorts and lightweight blouses every day when she stayed at Aunt Loretta and Uncle Bill’s house. She had big expressive eyes. She was petite. Nadine was like a magnet to young girls like us. She talked kind of loud and told entertaining stories. She seemed carefree. No job, no working in her world was crazy yet seemed normal. We were mesmerized. She also started riding around town with Wayne’s son, Terry Sanderson, in his new VW bug- a car which we had never seen before. It clearly was not a Ford nor a Chevy. We were astounded by it all. To us she was like a TV celebrity, new and different. Murdo seemed too small and confining for Nadine. We thought it so romantic that she was hanging out with our oldest cousin.

In the early 1960’s the Bug was new and unique. Our oldest cousin dared to have one and drove it all over. Terry was suddenly cool.

Now the house we knew is gone but it’s around somewhere yet. It’s in old photographs of Christmases spent there, in pictures of the family visiting there, with Grandma and Grandpa living right next door to Uncle Wayne and Aunt Irma and Uncle Jeff two doors away. It will stay with the folks who are now the “Old Folks”- namely all of my family, with my dear cousins. It will stay in our memories, no matter if the house is gone or just a ghost from the past. It held a lot which will never be replaced.

When You Honor Your Lover and Best Friend by Valerie Halla

Ken in happy times several years ago.

The summer July day this year dawned sunny and warm. Perfect. My kids and I planned to take Ken’s ashes -accompanied by some friends and family – with us up to the top of a nearby mountain peak. We have lived nearby for 39 years. Ken had always liked the place and often came up to the top of the peak which exuded peace and tranquility.

It would be a memorial and a final goodbye. Nine of us drove in three cars about 30 minutes outside town up to a well know campground, famous peak and short hike up to a 360 degree view of the Pacific Ocean, Salinas, San Juan Bautista and Hollister and the nearby mountain range. Everyone slathered themselves with sunscreen, grabbed their water bottles and visited the outhouses then started the hike up through, oak, maple and madrone trees, thick chaparral and even thicker poison oak.

At Fremont Peak last Saturday.

A beautiful group of people.

When you get to the first part, almost to the top of the peak with less vegetation, you breathe in deeply and your eyes adjust to the intensity of the view, in all directions a wide all-encompassing view that makes you feel on top of life’s beauty in that moment, in that place, in this godly place, in that experience while taking it all in. “Incredible” doesn’t capture it but comes close.

Ken’s brother, his wife and oldest daughter came from San Jose. Our oldest son and his friend had driven up from LA and our other son had come from San Francisco after teaching the day before, and our daughter flew in from Portland, OR and rented a car to drive here. She did it all in one day, leaving their two little kids with her husband. Our friend of many years arrived from Santa Cruz loaded down with bags of food, a cocktail shaker and booze and fresh lemons. I was delighted this group had assembled to honor and celebrate Ken, my husband of 53 years, but also my long ago ignored high school acquaintance, occasional meetup in college and someone whom falling in love with in my early 20’s had been divine, a gift, a joyous memory in life.

We all chatted then left for the mountain top. We found a place to gather and admire the views near the top. We took many pictures and I stayed away from the highest part on a rocky narrow trail while the others hiked to the top. The trail skirted immense slides and steep slopes. One poorly taken step would kill you in the fall. We were up high to say the least; we were at the edge of a 3,169 foot tall mountain in the Gabilan Range. The group left a couple of us to rest as they ascended to the summit. They were on their own communing with nature, the mountain and Ken’s spirit. They returned to where we two were and we nine descended together

We left feeling fulfilled and filled full of emotion and love.

We came home and ate some Polish dishes Ken used to fix. Our one son prepared traditional food, my sister in law made grilled asparagus and set up snacks while we waited for Polish sausage to boil, also we had pierogis and everyone contributed a dish. Our daughter made sour cream cucumbers with dill and our son had made Pierogis, our good friend, (whose Dad was Ken’s good friend), made salad. After we had eaten and had my pies for dessert, and all had relayed old stories and memories of Ken, our friend made some margaritas with fresh squeezed juice, tequila, Grand Marnier and coarse salt. Then we toasted our shared love, our father, our brother and brother- in-law, our uncle, our friend, and my husband.

Two sons boiling fresh Polish sausage and pierogis for our family dinner.

Lotsa sausage!

Good food shared by all.

Fresh fruit and an apple and a blueberry pie.

You would’ve liked today, my angel. Thank you, pal. Thank you for all you gave me. The day had gone as needed, your day. It was a perfect day, with the perfect ending.

Paying homage to Ken. Enjoy the view always.

Love to you and to your memory.

Our three best creations by far at the mountaintop.

Pt. 3 Life’s a Trip by Valerie Halla

Pam my high school friend forever, and I sunbathing on the beach in Southern CA back in the day.

When I drove to LA, my plan for the third part was to visit my High School friends in Orange County which is further south in Mission Viejo and San Juan Capistrano. More driving on my agenda but it was worth it. “Old friends improve with age.” Uh, no that’s not the right saying. “Old friends are good at any age?”

Wine improves with age or is it “Good wine is good with any friends who age with enough good wine?” I think that’s it.

Anyhow, I got the GPS warmed up in my car, after making a reservation at a hotel, and headed out to meet my good friend of 60 years that I had met in junior high. It’s incredible that I made it without getting lost with thousands of freeway signs, traffic , and exits and driving past all the Disneyland turnoffs and attractions I had recognized from my teen years living there. Driving the Southern California freeways is kind of like the rides at Disneyland, exciting and interesting and imaginative while at the same time as unreal as Peter Pan, Snow White or Cruella de Ville

I got to the hotel and my high school friend, Pam, picked me and my dog up to go for dinner – which we had arranged with our other old high school friend, Jerry, and his wife, Pam. My friend, also a Pam, came and we hugged and chatted for a while then left for the restaurant. We ordered Cadillac margaritas while we waited. Pam said drinking alcohol makes you relax more when you’re socializing especially with some high school friend you had not seen in 50 years. After waiting for about 15 minutes, in walks Jerry with his wife. They were obviously in their 70’s walking bent over, stiff and wobbly. Jerry looked like his handsome self except with more gray, as I had remembered him being a close friend with my deceased husband, Ken. In fact Ken had been best man for Jerry at his second marriage at which I had attended. The wedding had been on a small yacht in the harbor at Newport Beach, so we as young newlyweds felt privileged to be there. Ken wore this cream colored tux with ruffles on the peach colored shirt. That by itself was shocking to me because Ken – the ex hippie – disliked dressing up like that but he did it for his buddy, Jerry.

Jerry visiting us in the mid 1970’s at the remote school where we taught k-8th grade.

High school buddy Jerry, now 70ish but still with the same smile and shy demeanor.

We hugged Jerry and Pam as my friend met Jerry and wife since she didn’t really recall much about Jerry at our huge high school. We had about 300 in our graduating class in the late 1960’s. It took a while for Pam to warm up to Jerry. He mentioned that maybe she knew his first wife from high school, also a Pam. This was getting more interesting every moment. We talked about Ken’s passing and how much Ken and Jerry were alike: both were quiet, did not like crowds nor people and rebellious, also super good looking, which I noted.

His wife mentioned their two grandsons and their divorced daughter living with them. They were busy with responsibilities and the graduation party and the ceremony that week for their oldest grandson. Pictures were shared. The contrast with high school now compared with our high school years was apparent.

All the old days came swooping over us as we talked and ordered our dinners. The years since the Vietnam War, Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young, The Beach Boys and hanging out on Huntington, Balboa, and Redondo Beaches. Our yearbook which no one could find now, packed away in some cardboard box to be forgotten. The years melted away like the ice cubes in our margaritas. We connected. We joined our teen years again and lamented losing classmate and pal, Ken.

All in all it had been a sweet reunion. Later Jerry texted that he had a tough time holding it together and that he had cried later. He had lost a good friend, his best friend in high school. We swore we would get together again and search for the old high school yearbook from 1967, but would we try, would it matter? Maybe it would matter to a few of us old folks.

Maybe I’ll go buy a bottle of wine to see if I can find the memories, the good friends, and the good times in the bottle, with each glass, each aging sip, each memory.

Pam and I during our teen years.

Pam and I still toasting the good times. Cheers.

Life’s a Trip by Val Halla

Get in the car, sit down, buckle up and hang on.

Have you ever thought you could not possibly accomplish something difficult? You doubted your own ability. It’s too tough, it’s monumental, like climbing Mount Everest, swimming across the river , without a life vest, a tweed vest, any vest.

I’m here to tell you, text you, email you, call you, shout it out: You can do more than you fathom is possible.

You are capable.

You are stronger than you think.

You should challenge yourself.

Life’s not going to throw fun opportunities at you. You have to go get them.

I checked into my hotel and got settled. I texted my son and decided on a time to meet for lunch the next day and said I would be bringing my cousin Mary and Uncle Gus who had chosen a restaurant right next to their hotel. They didn’t have a car and they didn’t know what Uber was. They could barely spell it and a taxi was too much. I was their chauffeur. It was coming together or so we thought.

I didn’t think I could drive the CA freeways taking 6 hours to see my family in LA. But I packed up my new car, got gas and grabbed the dog, dog food and took off. I did it. I drove to Los Angeles to see Aunt Loretta’s husband Gus- Uncle Gus – for his 94th birthday and Cousin Billy’s wife turning 80. As a bonus, Cousin Mary flew in for the celebration and she had one free window of time on a Saturday. She was attending a special luncheon, semi formal dinner and a picnic so she could barely fit me into her weekend party schedule. She was invited as a chief member of the family- (Gus is her stepdad) – and she seemed very busy, but I think she was just playing hard to get. I persisted.

Take the 5 to the 110 and get off when you see the next Starbux

If you have ever seen The Californians on the SNL comedy series, that’s exactly how they drive and think of themselves in LA. “You take the 5 to the 210 to the 134, head south on the 5, then transition to the 110, take the right exit off 6th street, pass the In-n-Out…”

Which way is Highway 16?

I have to admit that I would never have gotten to LA without GPS. It was like a cacophony of vehicle noise and overpowering freeway signs when you enter the explosive multitude of lanes and people in The City of Angels. They must have a large group of employees just behind the creation of signs displayed above the 8 or 9 lanes and exits on I 5, south, north and the 405, the 110 and you name it. You must stay alert because your lane can lull you into thinking you’re safe and then it disappears and poof, you’re snapped into action finding another lane praying it’s taking you the right direction and then the correct exit. You can get sucked into the freeway vortex. The GPS lady tries her best to keep up and help you. If you panic, she will suggest a special California therapist for you. Even they know the stress of freeway travel. They have experience to ease your troubled mind.

I found the hotel in Glendale and went up to their room. There was no one to help me in the lobby, just some robot screen that wouldn’t talk to me. I relied on my own brain and feeble memory and texting. Welcome to the future. I got into the elevator and pressed 2. Luckily there weren’t any more choices.

Uncle Gus saw me walking down the hall and said hello and I gave him a hug. Mary was in the bathroom. I had my dog so Gus petted her and talked about how they took the train from Ontario to LA. I sat in a chair and gave Gus his birthday gift. He liked it and my dog liked the comfy bed. Mary emerged and we had a great reunion. We hadn’t seen each other since a Jones County Reunion a couple years ago but the years melted away. She looked almost the same.

I just dyed my hair gray. How’s my hair look in back?

She curled her hair as she walked me through what had happened in the two days she had been in LA. Like Sandersons do, we talked about other people who weren’t there and therefore had no way of defending themselves. We covered cousin Bill- her brother- and some of their family members. There had been a dinner cancellation for that night at a fancy restaurant so I was invited after all! Ninny,my dog, was not invited, so I had to graciously turn it down. Besides I didn’t have any fancy clothes. Mary showed me what she would be wearing. I was impressed. It was all black and red stuff, a red top and flimsy flowery flowing jacket to match with basic black pants. She had strappy shoes. She talked a lot about her hair and how short it was in the back. I told her it was way shorter in back. She said to never get your hair done right before a trip to meet relatives. I agreed with her.

Turns out the restaurant right next door to their hotel wasn’t open until dinner so I texted my son to find us another place fast! I also mentioned I had my 8 pound dog, but we could hide her in the soft sided kennel. I said that my cousin and Gus didn’t care what they ate, just so we could talk and slap our knees when we laughed at the stories we were telling.

My son texted where to meet and after getting Gus settled in the backseat of my SUV with Ninny, Mary in the passenger seat acting as my navigator, we tried leaving to go to lunch except my car kept buzzing at me, another pesky robot or computer. I found the icon on the screen, jumped out and fixed Gus’s car door as he chatted on his cellphone like a 94 year old teenager…94 is the new 14.

We got to the restaurant with Mary’s expert directions from her GPS avoiding freeways thankfully. There were Matt and friend Jeanne waiting at a table out on the sidewalk at a cute little cafe. We made it.

Southern California charm is overflowing from this family photo: Gus, Val, Jeanne with Ninny, son Matt and Cuz Mary.

When You’re Right, You’re Wrong by Val Halla

I’m always trying to have fun!

It was a bright sunny day and I was flying down the road, in a car, not a jet, feeling like a million bucks with five bucks in my wallet. I was enjoying my new shiny car which had more features than a computer. I was still discovering what this car could do. It had computer chips and sensors in there, too, somewhere, with free parking, snacks and access to the staff lounge included.

The right songs were playing on the radio, uh… on Spotify I mean. I was singing the wrong words to the right songs plus thought I was a regular Linda Ronstadt. More like Kermit the Frog when he sings. I was feeling good and groovy. And every little thing was so right, that’s exactly what I thought. Just when you think you’re doing well and on top of the world, at least on top of your game, the game of life, then yup- things turn on you. Kind of as the world turns you’re drawn along in circles. It’s a merry go round but it ain’t fun. You think you have control, but oh how wrong you are.

You know that feeling when you have a dreamy sunny bright day, your bills are paid, you think you look good, all is going well, you can dance all day long and you’re cool, high school cool, thinking you’re better than everybody else, but you’re not. You’re barely mediocre. If you were an apple, you’d be bruised, dull and overlooked. That was me only I didn’t know what was ahead.

Gotta buy the snacks.

So I went to Costco for a few items, why not, thinking that would raise my spirits even more, and I came out 3 hours later with $349.55 worth of heaven knows what, but I thought I needed it all. I mean who could resist a six pack of bubbly water in ten different flavors? Or laundry detergent in a two gallon pack with 500 washes? So you might die before the 500th laundry wash, that’s irrelevant. So you can’t lift the bottles- so what. Sling it into the cart. I also got a hot dog and a drink for $1.50 plus they do not accept tips. I asked. The Costco worker said he could meet me in the parking lot a bit later if I really wanted to tip him. This was a real steal. I was flying high on bargains. That hot dog saved me some dough. I had practiced quantity over quality purchases! Costco gave me a high. I was a sucker sucked in big time like a high powered Dyson vacuum cleaner. Maybe they should name Costco “Lost, Yo!”

I had parked my new car there with the 50 million other cars all jammed together in tight parking spaces with no room for an overloaded shopping cart. I didn’t care. I was willing to risk everything for the great feeling of overdoing it and over buying stuff that I didn’t need but thought I did. It took me about as long to load all that $349.55 in purchases as it had taken for my whole shopping experience. If I couldn’t fit this stuff into my new car, where did I think I’d put it in my house? I was really flying high. Who cares?

How could this get any better!?!

I drove home with things piled up to the ceiling and onto the floor and on all the other passenger seats. I even balanced stuff on the dashboard. I had enough paper products to last til 2045 and enough food to last until next week. The dog would love the treats I’d bought her, 500 to a box. She only weighed 9lbs but I had 20 lbs of doggie treats. They were green, like the color of cash. I used my credit card at Costco.

When I got home, I decided to load up the wheelbarrow and just push it right up the front porch steps and on into the house to unpack all my things. After two loads I decided to rest. Then I saw it. As I came outside to get more of my bargains, I noticed a long scratch on the drivers side front fender. Could it be? Maybe I was looking at it wrong. Maybe it was a highlight like the sun hitting a curve in the shiny new exterior. My heart sank or maybe it was my ego. Or my bank account. Something sank.

The car was 5 days old and it needed to be fixed. I paid about a million bucks for auto insurance so why not pay the $500 deductible. My Costco trip cost me $849.55 in reality, real life, a knock on the head real life stuff, when you added it all together.

To make a long story even longer, I called my insurance agent and filed a claim. I dropped off my car after getting an estimate and took it in the next week after they ordered bumper and sensors and a gold plated fender, to be left for the week. I took a $40 Uber home. I had kept my old car so I had something to drive. Phew.

When I picked up my car from the body shop a week later, it looked gorgeous – brand new 2025 beautiful. That’s good because it is a 2025 model. I had to take another $40 Uber to pick it up because I was too embarrassed to tell any neighbors who would have driven me there.

Not bad for a Costco trip of $929.55. So glad I went that sunny day and saved so much money. When you’re right, you’re right.

She’s got to be kidding! What a joke.

Ants in the Kitchen by Valerie Halla

My husband and I in South Dakota on our first honeymoon. Young love is grand.

I have been duking it out with teeny ants streaming into my kitchen. They are everywhere there’s food. Either they find big plates of dirty dishes, loaves of bread, cubes of butter, dog treats, fruit or even the tiniest drop of food left out on the counters or floors, microscopic amounts, specks of a meal or minute pieces visible with the naked eye or closed eye or eye of the dog, any eye, but ants find it. I found ants in the bottom of my tea cup and in a pathway to the dog’s dish and along a winding trail to the trash. I’m fuming about ants but they’re there for a true reason: to have reality facing me gut level, true and real and like one of life’s challenges to gnaw at me and shake me up. It’s all good. I am actually welcoming these irritating insects into my home, arriving at the picnic blanket of my life.

So things have been tough lately. My husband of 53 years passed away last week and it was a balance of loss and relief. He’s not suffering any longer. He’s at peace as am I. He fought cancer and infections and pneumonia for about two years. A strange peace came over me and realization that this is right. I’m trusting the path we’re on. I don’t have to understand it. I’m still numb and raw but I’m getting through this with the help of my wonderful three adult children and family and friends. That’s meant so much to me.

A death of someone you’ve known, loved and lived with for 53 years is incredible. I’m still reliving memories which pop into my mind at the oddest times. I was at the grocery store recently with my sons and I picked up avocados but had no bag. As I wrestled with 5 avocados a lady in the produce section handed me a bag so I put them into the plastic bag thanking her, then I started to cry. She moved toward me as I quickly said my husband had just passed away. She didn’t hesitate; this complete stranger reached out and hugged me saying how sorry she was. That was a moment which touched me, quite lovely.

I’m also having this movie of all the good times and bad playing on my movie screen brain, some things I haven’t recalled in decades, recalling our two honeymoons, times we walked the dog or camped with the kids or rode bikes together or discussed books we had read or fought with one another. It’s a wonderful life, to copy a movie title. It is similar to a movie or television show whatever comes into my head, weird yet fun.

However, then I’m drawn back to true life by these irritating ants. I cannot put off their takeover of the kitchen. I have to fight back. Even worse, they give off an awful odor when they’re smashed. Another reminder of their power. I must deal with them.

You little devils haven’t got the best of me yet!

So I say, “Thank you, ants. Thanks for bringing me down to earth. Reality can be sobering and good.“

I’m right where I need to be and I’m strong enough, rough enough and ready for the ants. I’m moving on with or without you.

Thanks for everything- both the good and the bad.