Thoughts Come Forth by Valerie Halla

I talked with my dear cousin on the phone a few days ago. My cousin said we just write down our thoughts as we continue to do the blog. That’s how we do it. My thoughts are pretty random like the leaves on the trees, the weeds in spring fields, the California poppies now a bright orange erupting everywhere in my neighborhood. Randomness is a good thing. Right?

I heard a woodpecker on my walk yesterday morning. It was up a telephone pole in my neighborhood. The sound hit my ears before I saw the bird. It sounded like it was knocking on my chamber door, rapping, tapping on my chamber door. Like Poe’s “The Raven”. Except it was a wood loving bird trying to coax an insect out from the telephone pole. It was focused and not randomly pecking away up high. Not at all like me.

Our oldest son used to call the cartoon character Woody Woodpecker – “Woody pecker” and we tried not to laugh. .

Breathe in and breath out.

I wonder if I left the stove on.

Geeze that lady looks old.

Hmmm. Just found out that she’s ten years younger than I

am. Moving on…

Today I walked the dog and mailed a letter. I saw a guy at the Post Office who used to come by to visit his old friend who lived across the street. I greeted him and then said, “My husband’s grandmother used to say that it’s hell to get old.” I giggled. He turned as he reached for the door and looked at me straight in the eyes. He replied,”I’m not old!”

I swear I’m gonna be a better, kinder person. Maybe I’ll start tomorrow.

Now I have to go visit my husband in the Sub-acute and rehab center about 60 miles away. I remember when we were first married, we used savings to go to a Moody Blues Concert in LA. We had fun there over 50 years ago.

I don’t need to put on makeup because masks are required. I might change clothes, trying to look like a better, kinder person. As I leave, I tell the dog to guard the house, she trots down the hall and into the guest room jumping up onto the bed. The dog bed wasn’t good enough.

I get in my new car and open the garage door with the opener on the visor. I turn the volume up as I press Spotify and my favorite songs. The Stones are singing Beast of Burden. I wonder if they were nice guys even though this song should be rated R. I sing along. I maybe get every other verse correct.

I wave to my neighbor who is out in the yard. She waves back and smiles. She’s a nice person.

Tom Petty sings Free Fallin. I love that song even though I don’t understand all the lyrics.

I need to stop for something to eat but I resist. Don’t eat in your new car.

I’m gradually learning how things work on my 2025 car. I figured out the high and low temps of the climate controls and now I’m working out how to put the emergency brake on. No luck so far. Maybe I won’t experience any emergencies.

The traffic on 101 freeway isn’t too bad but it picks up near Morgan Hill, San Jose and then onto 85. I cuss under my breath at some drivers. I’m feeling pretty down. I feel guilty being a mean driver. Just keep singing.

Dang. Took longer than I thought to get to Los Altos. I park at the hospital. I sign in at the front desk and put on my mask then walk down the hall. I put on a yellow gown, run hand sanitizer in my hands and put on gloves, opening the door to his room.

I walk into my husband’s dark room, blinds drawn, door closed, a young CNA sitting in a chair at the foot of his bed. I see he is sound asleep. She updates me and asks if I’m staying. She leaves, going to assist other patients.

I sit concentrating on where I am and how I got here. I massage my husband’s feet. I should not wake him.

I remind myself that I am learning to be a better, kinder person and each day counts. Life shows us. People show us. Kind people. All people.

I trust the path I’m on. Maybe if I follow it, I will know the way.

Time to head back south on the freeway before commuter traffic hits. Take it slow and easy.

Maybe I’ll put on some old Moody Blues songs.

Oldies but oldies by Valerie Halla

The Cars, Jackson Brown, the Stones, The Beach Boys, the Turtles and the beat goes on. I’ve been doing a lot of California freeway driving and California dreaming since my husband has been in a skilled nursing facility. I have to drive over an hour one way to visit him. Traffic can be painful so to make the driving less stressful and less tedious, I have been listening to tons of 60’s and 70’s music. I let the volume blast. I’m also having a blast.

It’s been even better since I just bought a 2025 SUV with a far out groovy sound system. What a difference that makes since I’ve been driving a 2010 used car for 15 years. My new vehicle has full on speakers everywhere and the music sounds like you’re there with the band, rockin out or they’re maybe in the back seat grooving along. Their sound even comes out of the doors. I can listen to the Doors blasting their funk through my car doors. “Come on baby light my fire.”

I had not bought a brand new car since 1999, in the old days. These new cars have computer systems and safety features that make a bank seem like a kids playground. My new vehicle has computers to explain the computer screen, buttons on the dash, on the screen, on the doors, on the steering wheel and about four manuals that will take me ten years to read. Righteous.

I urge you to listen to the Eagles version of “After the Thrill is Gone”. It’s sad and you might cry or maybe just shed a tear or at least remember some far off lost love or high school heartbreak. Bittersweet. Yet still sweet. Rad.

When you drive and jive in your car nowadays flying down the highway or freeway in your RV or EV or SUV or hybrid, nobody has their car windows down. Sometimes when I blast the music, I’ll roll the electric windows down and sing loudly with my hair blowing in the wind (thanks Bob Dylan), and no one’s sharing the rockin rollin tunes with me. If I drive too fast, my car reprimands me. It’s like my robot monitor- or my mommas and poppas. The other people driving by probably wouldn’t like the oldies anyway. “We’ll have fun, fun, fun now that Daddy took the t-bird away.”

With all the stress and worry that I’m going through, dealing with the serious illness my husband has fought for almost two years, I find that music takes me away from the troubled times. The loud songs pump my brain away from it all, “Like a Bridge Over Troubled Water”.

Music is soothing. When some of the older songs come on, the screen will say that it’s been “remastered”. It sounds fuller and grander than the old record players or transistor radios I had used to listen to songs in my teens. The songs are oldies but they’re brand new to me, ready to lift my spirits and whisk me away to better times. So let’s say we enjoy some music, sing along, listen and slip away to yesterday or even dance a bit at the Hotel California.

I’m a Daydream Believer and I Get Around.

Cool.

ONE THING LEADS TO ANOTHER- by Valerie Halla

Have you ever noticed when you work out the answer or solution to a problem and you congratulate yourself, feeling a refreshing sense of satisfaction, accomplishment and pride, that it doesn’t last long? Maybe you celebrate with a glass of wine, a fancy coffee drink at one of those places using your stars or points or finally use that gift card covered with lint at the bottom of your purse to treat yourself .

I have a running list of “to do” stuff. I never get to some items on the list and some are too easy: walk dog, clean laundry room floor, find that missing sock, eat an apple. It’s the tougher ones I tend to avoid doing: get giant crack in driveway repaired, go visit your old friend whom you haven’t seen in 30 years, wash all the blinds in the house, dust and clean all baseboards.

Once I get something done, I feel good but I realize that there’s always another item on the list to take it’s place and now that I’m 70 ish, many listed items concern medical issues and getting care for my husband of 53 years. There are doctor visits, both video ones and in person, blood tests, scans and dental appointments. The anxiety grows. On my last doctor video visit, my primary care doctor noted on her summary report, “Patient looked tired and rundown.” I had Covid and although my doctor helped me immensely, I felt exactly that way “tired and rundown,” BUT I didn’t know I looked that bad! However, I now didn’t have to do anything on the infamous list. It was kind of like a list vacation. I had a great excuse. I was ill. Covid hit me hard and the list faded from my sight. Ahhh.

My cousin started writing a blog a long time ago and then changed gears by renaming it and giving birth to a new theme for the blog. She asked me for title suggestions so I sent her several, none of which she used. I thought we were talking about the weather when she said 70ish. It was about 100 degrees in Texas that summer where she lives and 70ish in California where I live. But now I understand. We are girls, which is a long stretch of the teetering aging imagination, and we are in the age range of 70. Even though I liked some of my renaming titles better, she went with “Those 70ish Girls”. It’s a good thing I don’t hold a grudge, because I actually have, “Call Cousin Mary soon” on my list of things to do.

It’s number 25 on my list.

COMPLICATIONS CAN SET YOUR LIFE OFF TRACK QUICKLY BY Valerie Halla

Just when things seem to be moving on an even keel, your life can change and the roller coaster life takes over. I don’t like roller coasters at all because my heart jumps into my throat and then I feel like my heart trades places with my brain. Then my brain is sloshing around in my stomach and it leads to dark ugly places. I need all the brain I can muster.

When my husband was diagnosed with cancer 14 months ago, naturally it was tough, mind blowing, boggling and rough. We did get onto a course of regular doctor visits, physical therapy sessions, MRI scans and CT scans plus scheduled immunotherapy treatments, IV’s being as common as the common cold and we settled into the journey ahead. Most days were just waiting around for nothing to happen except eat, struggle to the bathroom, back to the easy chair, sleep and wonder.

Then just recently my husband had a setback with an intestinal blockage and infection. After a trip to our local ER and an ambulance ride to Stanford Hospital, we’re settled into the next destination on our ride. This looks like a long stay in the hospital and next a search for an acute care home. Luckily the hospital has resources to help with this. That takes an immense weight off my family’s shoulders.

In fact, my husband is being transferred today to an acute care facility about an hour’s drive from our house. He needs special care with a drain in his side, overall weakness, weight loss and cancer hovering over all these other health issues he’s been experiencing. The roller coaster will be parked for the night and hopefully it’s out of service until we get things settled onto a new course in a new location with a new schedule to follow.

We will see the equivalent to a car on this parked roller coaster: the tires checked, balanced and rotated. Might even get a tuneup and fluids checked out. Time for a full service inspection. Hopefully the track is clear.

I still don’t like roller coasters, however, I am getting used to them. For now my heart is not in my throat, my stomach is settled and my brain isn’t too jostled, although it’s diminished. My heart feels like it’s in the right place, although it’s a bit misaligned.

We will see if the complications get resolved and we can get back on track with a new refurbished model. Even rollercoasters get old.

GRANDMA DRIVES A PORSCHE BY Valerie Halla

When I flew into LAX this past weekend, I waited outside on the busy sidewalk in a pre-holiday rush of cars, trucks, buses, vans and people for my son to pick me up. I had some time to kill so I did serious “people watching” observing whatever caught my interest. Many good looking young folks held up signs high above their heads looking at many vehicles go by. All at once a limousine or big black van would pull out from the stream of traffic and pull up to people with the signs, popping the trunk and setting their luggage in the back, then they’d get inside and go off with the chauffeur.

One such example caught my eye off to my left. A brand new, sleek, prominently purple, modern Porsche sedan pulled over with a thin, grey haired older sporty-type woman jumping out. She “jumped out” in the slimmest use of the word. She was also slim, but she didn’t jump. She smiled broadly at the four people on the sidewalk and the youngest one ran over to hug the older lady while the only man there wrangled many pieces of luggage and backpacks into the shiny car trunk. All of them smiled big loving broad smiles. The women all got into the car as the man finished struggling and he got into the snazzy car sitting in the shotgun spot. He looked like he felt good to be occupying shotgun position even though he was puffing mildly. The veteran lady driver’s face beamed with delight as she maneuvered the slick car out into heavy traffic. This was LA traffic which has a life of its own and is crazier than any country lane by a thousand times.

They were all clearly happy to be riding with this queenly older Porsche gal, in a $150,000 automobile being carted off to what I imagined to be her mansion in the Malibu neighborhood or possibly Brentwood or amongst the Beverly Hills mansions, probably at some location a gazillion miles away from where I live and where I drive my 2010 Camry with 223,000 miles on it.

It was a beautiful quick weekend visit with my son. I was visiting him because he had to work over Christmas and I wanted to bring his gifts. That weekend was his only time off. It purpose was pure fun.

We crammed a lot into two days. We went out to a Korean Market for snacks and some refreshments before heading to a Hot Pot Holiday dinner put on by my son’s friends. We decided at the last minute or maybe in a New York minute to stop at a cozy coffee shop for hot chocolate since we had time to spare. There’s always time for hot chocolate! It was a place called The Loft and it looked like some movie set as we walked in. The place had long, heavy, deeply dark colored drapes covering the big windows and three huge mirrors hung along one wall vertically, distinctly hanging out from the wall at the tops. There were a few dark corners with small tables placed here and there- some here by the window, some over there underneath the mirrors. It felt like a horror film’s main room, a dark cavernous living room that hid many stories. We sat upstairs in the loft.

We ordered two hot cocoas and headed up the stairs to the equally dark and mysterious loft.

Next we headed to a tiny apartment to visit my son’s friends for a Hot Pot Dinner treat.

CAN I PLEASE JUST COMPLAIN? By Valerie Halla

Call me old fashioned and sentimental. Call me late for dinner. Call me overly celebratory, but I recently bought fancy boxed cards, lots of them.

Getting in the spirit of the holidays. I’m starting to write Christmas Cards. I like to write a small message in each of the 50 plus cards I send out. This year I bought some lovely expensive cards. I wrote, addressed and stamped them and licked the flap on the back of the crisp new white envelope. The envelope would not, no matter how I tried, stick closed. I got mad. I complained loudly even though no one heard me. I’m pretty practiced at complaining. You could probably compliment me on my complaining skills. I wouldn’t complain.

Then I discovered that these classy high priced cards had thin white strips of sticky tape on the flaps of envelopes that you peeled off, then the envelope could be sealed. I felt a bit embarrassed but glad I figured it out after licking a few envelopes unsuccessfully. I licked and slurped a few of the tapes before seeing them. They were actually white tapes on white background so the camouflage concept worked.

Speaking of this whole Christmas card preparation thing, I used my list of people from two years ago and also last year to make sure I got everyone. I studied the names on the old lists as I settled down to working.

Then a few shocks struck me hard. I felt like I’d been hit in the heart and guts simultaneously as I studied the old lists. Could this be true?

From my old Christmas lists of 2022 and 2023 I read our nephew and his wife’s names. Sadly, tragically, he had taken his own life last year. Then I read my good friends’ and family members’ names who I had known for over 30 years. The kind husband, who I’d taught with for many years, had lost his wife last year after her 12 year battle with cancer ended. We group of teacher friends knew her for decades.

Another good friend on my list died this last August. She had been brought from Nazi Germany by her grandmother after going through pure hell during the war including losing her baby brother. She became a teachers aide at my school and helped scores of teachers and students for decades. She also volunteered at the school after retiring, to help kids learn and progress. She was a bright light in our lives and in her family.

It’s an odd feeling looking over lists of people whom you have known for years and been sending cards to for decades. You take them for granted. You want to send them a Christmas note like you always have except they no longer will receive your card, will no longer enjoy the quick note you wrote bringing them up to date on your life, because they no longer live. They just live in your memory and in your heart.

I’m glad to be writing cards. No use in complaining because when I’m gone, I won’t be on anyone’s list even Santa’s. Have a lovely holiday! I know I will be thankful beyond words. I’d better get back to work writing words and spreading good cheer, because complaining doesn’t help. Does it?

PHANTOM AT THE WINDOW BY Valerie Halla

Standing at my kitchen sink, facing the green house window, rinsing off dishes, and I see a flash of yellow and a blurry figure barely peeking up from the bottom edge of the window below eye level. My eyes blink, my arms stop working and my shoulders jerked slightly. Was it a human sneaking up spying on me?

I stopped rinsing off the dishes and strained my neck looking out over the tiled shelf of the greenhouse window stretching up and onto my toes, but I couldn’t see anything. Maybe it’s just my imagination, maybe I shouldn’t have eaten those beans, or maybe I am overly tired. I laughed a bit under my breath thinking how silly I was to think a human was outside my window looking up at me from beneath the window.

I kept rinsing dishes there, while cautiously looking down at the base of the window. Now when I go to the kitchen sink to do anything, I look out. A few days later the flashing phantom popped up again. I ran to another window to look outside and down the side of the house. I couldn’t see anything.

Now I am scared to even water my plants which sit on a shelf in the greenhouse window.

Hey, I got some help, some confirmation, a tiny bit of support when our oldest son came for a few days to visit. He was washing his hands at the kitchen sink as I watched and chatted with him. All at once he took a half step back and said, “Whoa, there’s uh… something moving out there!”

“So you saw it? I’ve been there at the sink working and was seeing a flash once or twice that scared me also. Weirdly scary,” I said.

“I’m thinking it’s that bush under the window, and it’s windy so the leaves which are turning yellow flash up a bit into sight for a few seconds when the sun hits them. But it makes my heart stop and fight or flight takes over, Mom. We both saw it and had the same reaction. What a trip!”

Phew. Puzzle solved. It’s strange but even though the question of the phantom has been solved, it’s still spooky and interesting.

Part two- No, it’s not solved.

As I was outside pruning and putzing around the yard, I looked under the kitchen greenhouse window. The bush my son and I had mistakenly thought was the phantom plant brushing briefly up against the window and scaring us, was no where near the window edge. Here is proof that the phantom was not a light colored bush…

The mystery isn’t solved, I concluded, as I gathered more evidence outside my house. Now I’m not sure what to do. I think I need more expert knowledge and experience. I’m going to take a chance. I’m going all in. I’m going to call in Baba Wawa, an expert phantom detective. We will see what she can do to solve this mystery. She can’t make things worse, can she?

FUN TIMES…DARN IT – BY VALERIE HALLA

This week has been a challenge with a capital D, darn it. Seems like as we age, life tries to test our patience and mine has been on pretty thin ice with a capital C, crazy. No matter how you spell it, why is life tough? It’s tough especially in my 70’s it seems.

Here are a few things that have happened to me this week and I’m not admitting to any of these being my fault:

1. After making homemade beef barley soup for my husband, I put the leftovers in a sealed container and put it in the fridge. The next day I grabbed the lid of the container quickly and it opened unexpectedly. All the soup poured out onto the fridge shelf and down the front of the refrigerator and onto the floor. Naturally I didn’t cuss nor yell.
2. After cleaning up the mess, I did chores. (Since my husband has brain cancer, I’ve accepted more responsibility around the house.) Later in the day I took the overflowing compost bucket out to the bin but didn’t think clearly and dumped the stinky vegetable skins, egg shells and organic leftovers into the wrong bin. I threw it all into the recycling one. Darn it. After vocalizing a few more nice words, I turned the compost bin over and cleaned out the rotting compost, rotting juices, smelly waste and used a shovel to throw it into the correct bin. Darn. I was still irritated. Was this challenge the last one?
3. My husband has trouble walking, weak legs being an issue from the radiation he received on his brain tumors, so he uses a wheelchair sometimes. I have trouble lifting it, then throwing it into the car trunk when we go out. One time I must’ve used too much of my overpowering brute strength lifting the wheelchair, after folding it up, I threw it angrily into the trunk. The next time I took it out from the trunk, the wheels were jammed together. Now my husband had to hobble around using a walker because we couldn’t open the wheelchair. Guilt set in. Another challenge. I was fortunate that my brother -in-law met us at the cancer care hospital when my husband had his next treatment. He was able to pull the wheels apart on the wheelchair, but it took a weightlifter’s strength. He fixed the wheelchair. I thanked him profusely. He’s barely 70 which I reassured myself was why he got it open. He was young. Sorta.
4. Also this week, I volunteered with a new program at the SPCA in Monterey. I take one dog out in my car after having gotten training and I signed all the right forms and had an interview. I basically get a date with a dog who needs to get out and about. The dogs can get kennel anxiety. The powers that be at the SPCA asked me to take pictures of my doggy date and what we were doing. I picked up my cute date, a terrier, Corgi mix and went to Star bees and got my date, Lola, a pup cup. I introduced her to some nice customers sitting outside in the sunshine. They loved my date even though she was a bit overweight and short. She was friendly and liked to be petted. I asked one older man to please take my picture with the sweet little dog. I was loving my new volunteer job. This was easy and fun. The man did a nice job snapping several pictures, BUT the man corralled me into talking about my Doggy Day Out then switched to politics. Being a polite person, I listened to him for a bit. I didn’t need to hear about which websites I should check out and what is happening in the netherworld of political games. It was a trap, a trick I hadn’t seen coming. Lola didn’t mind as she lapped up the pup cup, even though she was overweight. Who cares? Woofs and slobbers. She even tore the paper cup to shreds. As the minutes went by, I struggled to be polite to the man with his many conspiracy theories like fleas consuming a dog. Lola seemed to like all the attention. Politics be damned, this was freedom from the kennel! It was time to leave with a capital A, adios! Somehow I got away. Lola seemed just as happy as I was as she wagged her tail and looked up at me. We had a nice long walk together to end our sweet time together.

I know you’re thinking what a complainer and sissy that 70’s gal is. I am. You’re right with a capital W.

However, I had another experience at the end of the week that was a quick reminder of how important it is to count your blessings.

I was leaving the grocery store after shopping. I had dropped my husband off earlier for Physical Therapy. I was offering a senior man a shopping cart as I left the parking lot but he waved it off saying, “Thanks anyway, but I’m heading to the bank,” as he pointed to Wells Fargo. He crossed my path.

“Well, if you don’t need my shopping cart, that’s fine but I sure can’t help you with anything at the bank!”

“Hahaha! I’m fine. At least I have money to live!”

“Yes. And I’m thankful for a roof over my head,” I replied laughing. “We’re gonna be fine.”

“And I have enough food,” he added.

“We’re blessed,” I finished chatting, turning to walk to my car. The man waved goodbye.

No matter how angry I get over the small issues in my life: spilling soup, jamming a wheelchair, crazy aggressive people- that short exchange with a stranger made me feel calmer, happier and more confident and connected with a good life. Sure it had been a tough week, but sharing another person’s thoughts helped me feel that I’m not alone. Things aren’t so bad.

Lola was tired and happy to get back to her temporary home at the SPCA. The attendant who helped me return her noticed how Lola looked at me. She said, “Looks like Lola really had fun and grew attached to you!”

“Yeah, we had a great date and it made me happy to help an innocent and incredible creature who appreciated me. She gave me more than I gave her today though. Thanks.”

Sometimes it just takes a dog, a pup cup and short chats with strangers to make us realize what’s important in life. Wonder what next week will be like.

“I’M MELTING, MELTING, MELTING” By Valerie Halla

I like the old Judy Garland movie THE WIZARD OF OZ because it’s iconic, especially the part where the wicked witch has water thrown on her and melts away. Don’t you wish our troubles and problems could be that easy to eliminate? I feel like I, too, am gradually melting away. Sometimes I feel like a slew of problems hit me all at once. My plate is full and I can’t eat fast enough, however, don’t throw water on me yet.

I know at 70ish my brain is definitely diminishing. I forget stuff you may have mentioned to me, but I still like hearing old stories from family members and sharing in memories that pop up once in a while. I don’t forget those, the old things. The present isn’t as much fun. Some memories play over and over again in my shrinking brain. I love them. Maybe I have dementia or beginnings of the dreaded “A” word disease. It’s all right though, because my cousin says you meet the nicest people if you get altzheimers. “What did you say your name was ?”

Recently I couldn’t recall the name of the Sanderson Family dog when they lived on the farm outside Murdo in the 1920’s and ‘30’s. My Mom used to talk about that dog getting bit by a rattlesnake and suffering. The poor dog was ill and swollen with the venom. This sad suffering canine creature was lying under their farmhouse porch for days, then eventually recovered miraculously. So that thought led to another thought like cards placed one after the other, in order when playing solitaire. It brought me to my next card, through a feeble fading memory. I recalled the letters my Aunt Helen wrote religiously to my Mom. She would write long letters in her utterly beautiful artistic cursive to my mom. They were loving sisters. They wrote lots of them. Letters were a big deal to their generation. They cherished each written word.

I was lucky to get to read some of the sister’s letters when my Mother lived with us for the last five years of her life. Aunt Helen would always ask my mom in her letters if she remembered the name of the mule their brother, Uncle Wayne, rode into town from the farm to school. We answered every time that we couldn’t think of that dang mule’s name, but Aunt Helen would continue to ask in each subsequent lovely letter. That reminded me that I couldn’t remember their family dog’s name either! I was in the same boat as Aunt Helen and it was maybe named the Titanic. I was sinking fast. Simple animal names escaped us both. Did we ever discover the mule’s name? I don’t think so.

I’m fortunate to have some cousins who follow our Sanderson family history and know the farm dog’s name. I guessed it was Shep. I’ll have to see if I’m right. That card hasn’t been turned over yet.

Letters play a big part in our family past. I remember Grandma Sanderson writing letters to my mom and asking how I was doing as a child. My name was long and so Grandma simply wrote, “How is VJ doing?” She always kept us abreast of what was happening in Murdo during her time there.

Each of my aunts had their own styles of writing. Aunt Loretta usually typed her letters which were short and oftentimes written on postcards and small scraps of paper. My mom and Aunt Loretta would also swap letters they had received from other family members. These were like jewels to them and pictures that were enclosed were like diamonds. They would send these letters and photos back and forth although I think Aunt Loretta preferred the telephone.

Aunt Elna wrote in a small hand cramped style cursive. She wrote in cards mostly. She would cram as much as she could into the message even writing along the edges of the text. She might write on the backs of the cards also using every space available. She reported exactly where she had gone, maybe shopping, or uptown to stop in Mack’s Cafe or maybe out to the Hills for a quick vacation with Uncle Jerry. You knew who went and what they did in detail. You got the full scoop as if you were there. She should’ve been a reporter for the Murdo Coyote. “A good time was had by all.”

Looking back, maybe I’m not diminishing at all. Maybe though the people who shaped my childhood and memories are gone, my life is still growing. I keep moving forward. No one has thrown water on me yet. But then Halloween is right around the corner.