I was taking a nap in the guest room and remembered that I had hidden a small bag of potato chips under the quilt in there. I was ecstatic, downright giddy because potato chips are my favorite high calorie, overly salty, very bad for me and sinful. . I’m happy to close my eyes to their evil pleasures as I crunch away on my potato chips forgetting all my promises to myself that these are disrupting a healthy diet. Candy, chocolate, nuts and other delightful treats don’t do it. I become in love with potato chips torn from my normal life, into salty spud heaven.
Throwing caution and common sense to the wind I help my dog up onto the bed to relax with me in bed. Then I notice about 50 million burrs in her long, fluffy tail. I start to gently remove the little brown prickly buggers from her tail fur. It takes time. Then I gently crawl across the bed to retrieve my precious potato chips.
“Rustle, crunch, shift”. The creaky old bed and quilt strewn bedding make me stop and pause briefly. I finally dig out the bright yellow bag from under the covers but I have inadvertently rolled over onto the bag. I smashed those lovey dovey chips to smithereens. Do I care? No way.
“It’s okay, the chips will be smaller but still scrumptious,” I told myself. I pick up my treasure and holding the bag, upside down, all the tiny crushed pieces of potato chips fall everywhere onto the bed. I frantically start transferring chips into the bag alternating between that and cramming pieces into my mouth. I’m like a pig or wild boar rooting out chips from between the seams of the quilts. Snort, oink, grrrreat!
WHERE? IN THE QUILT? NO KIDDING?
If the PCP – potato chip police – had come by my house, they would have reported an insane suburban housewife gone salty mad. If they had put me in a straight jacket, I’d have licked the tiny morsels off the bed. It wouldn’t have been pretty, maybe crunchy but not pretty. My dog looked at me furiously eating crumbs as though I had eaten any old food even a dog wouldn’t stop to scarf up. I’d gloomily gone lower than a hungry canine.
As you scoff at me and maybe even shake your head in disgust, remember I know you’re not perfect and neither is your dog. If you don’t own a dog, I understand.
Oops – gotta go walk my dog and stop by the local market for some Lays- you know what.
THE INSANITY OF FOOTBALL EXPLAINED BY LAV– REALLY?
WARNING: NO REAL FOOTBALL INFORMATION WAS USED IN THIS EXPLANATION OF THE GAME.
Plays, tackles, drives, touchdowns, extra points, safeties, sideline?
A little knowledge is a dangerous thing but Lav jumps in with her own take on football…with little knowledge. Go Lav:
I am sure you understand much more than I do about American football and the NFL, which for me stands for “Not Football Literate.”
So I watch it on TV now and then, but I am not wholeheartedly involved. I see the huge buildup before the game starts. You see a bunch of old guys as TV football commentators who have laptops in front of them and wear suits and ties that probably cost more than my car. (The tie probably costs more actually.) They have probably played on teams like the Jackrabbits, the Seagulls, the Bluefooted Boobies or some other big teams. They talk about the specifics of the game like neuro surgeons discussing delicate brain surgery. And they get paid a lot, better than minimum wage. I bet they’ve never worked at Taco Bell or Burger King. Maybe not even at Macy’s . However, they have played football or coached or both. They know the game.
NEENER NEENER – GONNA THROW IT BUT NOT TO YOU!
The game finally starts after they’ve endlessly discussed who they think will win and what they think will happen. (Then also we have seen about half a lifetime of commercials.) They have something called a “coin toss” which is where two players watch a referee or official throw up a coin. No he doesn’t vomit. He tosses this thing way up but does not catch it. He lets it fall onto the ground and the two players intently watch it. I guess one of them calls heads or tails. I never hear them nor see the coin. The coin must be a quarter because the next four quarters are important. One quarter is not enough. Plus, to make it more exciting, this player who gets most all the attention is called a QUARTERBACK. He’s furiously trying to get that darn quarter back. And both teams have a quarterback. Maybe he bet a dollar that his team would win. I assume he’s trying to get through this long long time period also which is easily longer than a quarter of an hour – officials also keep stopping the clock which just keeps prolonging the game- not to mention the multiple commercials, and he calls out numbers called plays and seems to be the boss guy. Oh, and he does not want to get “sacked,” meaning knocked down. This player avoids that like the flu. He wears a fancy wide flippy bracelet on his wrist which is maybe from Tiffany’s because it’s valuable to the players obviously. They look at it a lot.
This strange shaped ball is also super important. I’m sure it cost more than my last vacation. It gets thrown around and kicked and passed til it must be pretty battered. The ball might be from Tiffany’s also since it’s important as all get out. There are also posts at each end of the field which no one could climb onto. They’re just too high.
These huge players are dressed up in Bermuda shorts which are tight and jerseys which show big pads and protective gear underneath . The helmets are worn like giant plastic Easter eggs with bars over their mouths and builtin sunglasses. You cannot tell who the players are so they’re given them numbers which can be zero or double zero plus names are printed on back . To make matters more confusing, , these numbers are not consecutive. Then too, these uniforms which probably cost more than a year’s worth of groceries, are bright colors which match their teams colors. but their shoes do not match. Now if I were buying a uniform or a new outfit, I’d make sure my shoes matched something in my style choice.
SHOES ARE ESSENTIAL TO THE OUTFIT.
During these plays down the field, another announcer reports periodically on injured players who have gotten hit, battered, pushed and thrown down (now I get why they wear pads and giant helmets). They have a personal nurse or doctor care for these players with owies! Their medical care and concern is something you or I will never get. This professional sports medicine attention for football players costs more than any copay or medical insurance I have, I’d bet.
Don’t get me started on the fans, some of whom dress up like animals or people from feudal times.
SCARY AND CAN BE BOTH USED IN THE STANDS AND AT HALLOWEEN.
If I’ve helped you understand the game better, then I feel sorry for you.
MY SON AND I ON THE GROUNDS AT THE MOTION PICTURE MUSEUM IN LOS ANGELES. FIRST TIME WEARING THE NEW JACKET.
When you get older, you don’t always feel like dressing up to go to weddings or parties or just out.
I had the distinct privilege to get away for two days from caregiving for my husband who has cancer. This was around Mother’s Day, so my second son said he would stay with his ill Dad and I could fly to LA to visit my oldest son and have fun. Besides I had wanted to see the new Motion Picture Museum. I needed a break. I would fly down in the morning and back the next late afternoon.
When you go on a trip, there’s always the packing to tackle. My clothes were pretty much faded, washed a gazillion times and trampled, rumpled, old and just plain sad. Luckily, before my trip, my husband wanted to buy some of the newly advertised shoes you just step into so we headed to the outlets and went clunking into the shoe store with his walker. He sat on the bench as I carried multiple shoe boxes to him which he thought might fit . He can’t walk well but shoes with good support would help.
As he tried on shoes, I spotted the women’s clothing section and started veering over. I grabbed two tops and a stylish white jacket with bronze zipper and trim topped off with a high collar. I scooped them all up and as the shoes were finalized, we headed to the checkout counter. I was breaking out in a smile as I considered wearing actual new clothes on my two day getaway. This was a game changer.
I bought a few new things and it lifted my spirits, drained some of my bank account, but made me feel better dressed. Plus my husband liked his new shoes which were easy to slip into.!I took the new clothes to LA to visit and I even flew first class which I had never done. It subtracted more from my bank account and it was 100% worth it. The bright white jacket with the high collar covered my double chin and covered me just fine..A world of doubt on the inside disappeared. I felt a ton of confidence on the outside. Clothes might make the man yet they also work for women jazzing up our beautiful exterior.
As I wore the new sharp stark white jacket everywhere my son Matt took me, I felt younger and happier and full of life. How could new clothes do this? It was a miracle. All these things relieved me temporarily from my caregiving duties for two days and one night thanks to my other son volunteering to watch his dad. And thanks to my oldest son for driving me all over LA and getting me out to have fun and eat great food.
I had a dream of a trip and we took lots of pictures to prove it. It was funny how just the other day I flashed back on my Grandpa SANDERSON wearing a new 1970’s style green suit someone in the family had bought him on his trip to LA and Orange County California long ago to visit his daughter, my mother and other relatives . He wore it everywhere even later in his trip to Michigan to visit another daughter and her family. It was like me wearing my new jacket everywhere and in lots of pictures he has on his high collared new suit, and I have on my new white jacket.
MY UNCLE BOB AND AUNT HELEN WITH GRANDPA SANDERSON VISITING IN DECEMBER 1977 WEARING HIS NEW SUIT.
MY NEW JACKET AT BREAKFAST IN LA.
It might appear superficial, but an avalanche of self confidence rains down when you’re out strutting in new duds. I would recommend it.
CONTINUING TO WEAR THE JACKET OUT WITH FRIENDS.
If you want to cheer up and have a good day, buy some new clothes.
BACK IN THE DAY AT SANDERSONS STORE. Apartment staircase is to the left of building. Post Office is on the right where you can see an outside mailbox.
If those old creaky walls could talk, record conversations and take pictures, we would know a lot. We would know who lived and loved above Sanderson’s Store and who visited there and what they had for breakfast, lunch and dinner. We could see the styles the women and men wore in the 1930’s and on past the 1960’s. We could see what furniture they had and hear conversations and maybe arguments. It would be eye opening. I would love it.
I would finally get to see the cat that occupied the room above the store forever called, “The Cat’s Room”. It was a small room at the back of these two apartments above the store. That has intrigued me for decades as its mystery has for many in our family. I heard that the store cat hung out there and caught mice to keep the area clean especially out back of the store in a low warehouse building. Cousin Billy said they passed candy up to him through the floor grate to the Cat’s Room when he was a kid. Maybe Billy can fill us in on the true story. What happened in that tiny room will maybe forever be lost and what happened to the cat, too.
As a young boy, Billy used to be dropped off at the bottom of the long steep stairs next to the store that led to the apartments where Grandma and Grandpa lived after they purchased the store from previous owners. His Mom and Dad, my Aunt Loretta and Uncle Bill, sometimes wouldn’t even tell Grandma and Grandpa Sanderson that they were dropping little Billy off for the weekend. My parents lived in the front apartment after the war and heard Billy’s suitcase thumping and banging along as he dragged it on up the stairs, excitedly calling out, “I get to stay all weekend!” My young Dad who had lived through landing on the beach in the Pacific as a Marine in WWII, getting wounded and receiving a Purple Heart in the military hospital, would groan and think to himself: “Oh, no, now I’ll have to entertain this active pesky little kid while Grandpa takes his long nap.” It would seem like a long weekend but later everyone laughed about it, and my Dad eventually escaped and went off to go work downstairs at the store to escape.
My cousin Mary told me that all the holidays were spent at that apartment above the store when Grandma and Grandpa Sanderson lived there. The family got together for all those special times to celebrate together.
One thing I liked about living above the store later in the early 1960’s was being able to see people coming and going all day long to get their mail since the Post Office was right next door. We looked out the front windows steadfastly. You could also see who was going into Mack’s Cafe and to the bank and other stores. It was like the news feed of smalltown Murdo lifestyle. Who is that arriving in their new Ford pickup? Why is that person going into the bank with a bag bulging then coming out with no bag? Who’s holding hands with the Homecoming Queen? I wonder what Mrs. Foster is saying to Aunt Emily SANDERSON down there on the corner!
Then there were Saturday nights. Lots of young people came to see the movies or show. They would often stop by Sanderson’s Store to buy candy and gum before walking across the street to the tiny theater. Or they would go eat hot beef sandwiches at Mack’s Cafe for dinner out. I got pretty excited to see my cousins and friends since I was an only child. You could see a movie or two for twenty-five cents back then. My Dad and Aunt Tet liked seeing all the young people come into the store. They both got along great with kids and could chitchat with them. My Dad teased one group of young guys who drove up and down Main Street over and over saying they were going to wear down the pavement. They all wore brand new black cowboy hats. He called them “The Black Hat Gang”.
Such a lot of excitement for a small South Dakota Prairie Town. Then there was the weather. My Dad said during one bleak nasty blizzard, he went to sleep in the front room bedroom which was directly above Main Street with his glass of water on the nightstand. In the morning the water had turned to solid ice. You could often see your breath as you got up early to get ready for school or work.
Many windy days we would feel the old building swaying back and forth. That would make us pause. The old heating stove kept one room warm but the rest were like a refrigerator. There were no rugs nor carpet but painted boards as a border around a section of linoleum made in a flowery pattern to mimic an area rug.
The biggest attraction to most of us younger people was the back roof behind the two apartments which led farther out to a dusty tentative alley. We young cousins would sunbathe out there although you would need a blanket or towel because the surface of the back roof was rough material like roofing. We would also have birthday celebrations out there although I think just to eat our homemade cake and some ice cream was the only goal, taking the mess out of the small apartment.
BILLY AND ME OUT ON THE FLAT ROOF IN BACK OF THE STORE APARTMENTS- early 1950’s.
I hold happy memories and thoughts of those later days in 1961, living above the store with Aunt Tet quietly living across the hall and sharing the one bathroom with her. Grandma and Grandpa had moved to a house down south of the highway where Aunt Loretta and Uncle Bill had lived. Aunt Tet and my Dad worked together but my Mom was the closer one to Tet. My Mom would make extra chicken pot pie or spaghetti for dinner and have me take it over to Aunt Tet. She was always polite but never said too much. Even so, we felt better having our relative so close to us.
All of those things are what made living above the store a part of my young life at 12 and 13. I had lived there as a baby also but we moved to Pennsylvania when I was about age three but I don’t remember that stage of my life. Still it was a part of me. It grounded me in my new place and let me see others going about their lives. It made it easy to connect with family because everyone lived within walking distance in our small town. Plus a lot of Murdo’s people came to the store regularly.
I am so grateful to have lived in Murdo, above Main Street at the time and a great place my family had the opportunity to experience. It was formative. It was enlightening. It was lovely. I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Thank you to those old walls in the walk up apartments we called home years ago.
A VIEW FROM THE SIDE THE WAY SANDERSON STORE LOOKED MANY YEARS AGO.
When I was teaching elementary school, about 16 years ago, a couple great teachers had playground duty with me each Friday at 8:00 am sharp. We were always excited because the weekend was coming and we got a break from the routine. The two teachers and I came up with a joke plan. We decided we would each share a new joke every Friday. We even had another teacher who we liked, come out onto the yard to tell us a joke now and then and he did not even have an 8:00 am scheduled recess duty. He just liked us because we were laughing so much. So our joke challenge started. It would be an end of week challenge to make the other two laugh. Sometimes we would retell jokes, but that was all right with us because we had forgotten the joke and it would seem fresh enough to laugh again like mad.
I’m still close friends to this day with these now retired teachers and we are all in our 70’s, and we still tell jokes, silly ones, short ones, long winded complicated jokes, you name it.
As I care for my husband who has brain cancer, I am realizing how powerful and helpful laughter can be although it’s not a cure. Jokes, humor and giggles are a stress reliever. They can get his mind off his health. A sense of humor goes a long way in taking him to a fun place even temporarily. Relief from pain, anxiety and stress can come in the form of a belly laugh and sharing silliness. I got the idea to have him join the elderly jokesters.
COFFEE? NO THANKS. I ALREADY HAVE A DRINK.
In fact, I set up coffee or lunch meetups with these two friends and my husband often goes with us using his walker to get around . He starts smiling as soon as the joking and goofy stuff starts. He is lifted up and away from the depression, isolation and stress of his cancer and the immunotherapy treatments, blood tests, doctor appointments, medical advice, and all that. They are gone while we tell jokes and laugh.
It’s a laugh fest with a group of 70ish old timers telling jokes and sharing funny stories like this:
“Where does a bad rainbow go?” One friend starts after greetings and coffee orders are placed.
“I don’t know! Where?”
“To the prism so it can reflect on what it’s done.”
…Laughs and coffee all around.
“Hey, my first therapist said I am too vindictive! Well,” punching my one fist into the palm of my other hand, “we will see about that.” My friends burst out in laughter, knowing I’m just making this all up as I go.
Take another shot of coffee.
Then I continue, “My new therapist says I am overly condescending.” Then I turn and look down my nose at everyone seated around the table. “That means I talk down to people.”
We also tell true funny stories about our lives which are even better than a made up joke. Our good pal, whose wife passed away about a year ago, gave us his recollections of driving a rented camper through New Zealand on a trip with his wife many years ago. She was driving and naturally the driver’s seat is on the opposite side of the vehicle from American vehicles. They came to a one way bridge over a deep ravine. In New Zealand on a one way bridge, you allow the car which arrives first to cross. His wife looked then drove over the narrow bridge, but she could not find the brake as they were speeding along. She drove up one side of the bridges edge then criss-crossed over driving up onto the other side. They were careening all around the edges of this bridge. His wife had on big boots and she was flailing in the oversized boots screaming out: “WHERES THE BRAKE PEDAL? HELP!”
He said he just thought to himself : we are going to die right here on this one lane bridge. He was speechless. He tried not to look.
Finally his wife found the brake pedal and slowed down. She just looked over at him and calmly said, “Everything is under control” as she kept on driving.
He told us in conclusion, “I drove the entire rest of that trip.” We knew he held that special time deep in his heart because it was a memory of a trip with his wife of 54 years. He laughed as he told it.
WE’LL ALWAYS HAVE PARIS.
There’s nothing real funny in CASABLANCA but the scene in the market place with the guy lowering his prices as Ingrid Bergman’s character shops, gives me a smile every time.
“I gotta go to the bathroom. Too much coffee. Wait…”
“Why can’t you hear a pterodactyl go potty in the middle of the forest?“
“Why?”
“Because the pee is silent.”
The jokes roll on.
“I’ve been frustrated shopping for a camouflage jacket. I can’t find one anywhere.”
This one is kinda mean:
“What does DNA stand for?”
“I dunno!“
“National Association for Dyslexia.”
~~ So if you’re having a down day or someone you know is sad and needs help, tell them a joke or ask them their favorite joke. Best of all, get out for a meetup with friends. They say, “Laughter is the best medicine.” I think that’s true. Socializing also helps.
By the way, I am running out of jokes, so please send me some or let’s meet soon for a jokester chat.
KEEP THE TEA AND COFFEE BREAKS COMING. I NEED IT TO STAY SANE.
Being older and having challenges thrown at us more and more, I’ve been thinking about how that can be a good thing. I am talking about physical and mental challenges.
First of all, these aches, pains, health and mental problems often can come at us over time and gradually. That’s a positive thing, because when they all get dumped on us at once, it’s just too much, as my Aunts used to say, just TOO. much. We can take one negative thing and deal with it maybe before another comes along. Humans can bounce back. When you are 70ish, it’s harder.
Secondly, it could be worse. I overheard- (of course I wasn’t eavesdropping) – someone say, “Oh no. She’s looking stooped and older. Sad.”
GETTING OLD? BREAKING DOWN? I WILL DRINK TO THAT! DO I LOOK STOOPED? OKAY! NOT YET!
I’d rather be stooped than stupid.
My Mom and her sisters, when they were 70ish and older, were surprised when a good friend became hunched over in old age. They were sad at how she looked, but true friends stick by one another. They were close and communicated with Sugar, her nickname, til the end. That’s a plus, kind of, being stooped, but if you’re stupid you might not know it. That is a positive thing also. You can go gleefully through life and be oblivious to the consequences. When you’re stooped you can look down at your path forward. When you’re stupid, you don’t really know what the path is.
A dear friend I have known for decades and who knows that Ken and I are going through tough times with his melanoma brain cancer diagnosis, last August, texted me lately:
—-“Valerie- Just a reminder to you to take care of yourself through this. Sleep, exercise, social life, relaxation techniques…I know you know all this but stress is insidious…love you .”
I had to look up that word, insidious. It means:
So beware if you are a caregiver or just seeing yourself stressed out over and over. All this stress or effects from aging might not seem to be dangerous or harmful, but they’re INSIDIOUS. My longtime friend opened my eyes to my situation as a caregiver. My time caring for my husband can break me down maybe before he even gets worse. This could be harmful. The caregiver can pass away before the patient. That’s why taking breaks, going to the gym, or for walks and socializing often can ease the harm of caregivers and aging. Take care of yourself.
Changes can be gradual. Decline can be gradual. Pain and mental fatigue can creep up. Take care of yourself so you can take care of others you love.
Getting old is a challenge. Keep fighting it little by little.
GETTING OLD? I DON’T WANT TO HEAR ABOUT IT. STOP. ITS TOO MUCH, JUST TOO MUCH!
WHEN YOU GOTTA TAKE THE KEYS AWAY by Valerie Halla
THE KEYS TO A POTENTIAL PROBLEM?
It’s inevitable and most likely that a cancer patient will have his/her driving privileges taken away. My husband had seizures a few months after being diagnosed with metastatic brain cancer so the doctor had to let the DMV know and they suspended his license. We never questioned this nor followed up to check if his license was intact or revoked permanently or temporarily. We were just glad medication was prescribed that halted the frightening crippling seizures. Driving wasn’t important.
However, being the nice person I am, I never took away my husband’s car key fob. It sat on the counter and once when I was out with friends, my husband took the fob and escaped and drove to the larger town 10 miles away. He got lectured by me when he returned. He could’ve gotten in an accident and killed someone. Our insurance costs could sky rocket. I thought it was over. He wouldn’t cheat again. Then a few weeks ago he really started to improve his walking and talking abilities. We attributed it to the steroids he had started. I was having a colonoscopy and foolishly didn’t set up any friend or neighbor to drive me home. You guessed it. I had Ken drive me home. He did well. But after admitting to my daughter, since she asked who drove me home, I got the totally royal, “you are guilty, Mom, this is your adult-kid-lecture and you should be ashamed treatment”. WOW. ZOW. POW.
THIS CAR CARRIES A LOT OF POWER AND CAN BE DANGEROUS IF NOT USED PROPERLY.
All three of our adult kids told me to hide his key fob so I finally did. It’s in the cupboard in Great Grandma’s gravy boat. I don’t think my husband will be making gravy in the near future and find it.
Other people have been telling me stories of how they had to take charge and hide a loved one’s keys. My Grandpa Sanderson was in his nineties when his two sons talked to him first and then had to take his car away. He was reasonable. They put his car in the driveway of one of their homes. He knew it was safe. He took it well. He told us that he was driving the interstate once and fell asleep at the wheel of his white Ford. He woke up to find himself on the shoulder of the busy highway. He often drove up one side of the burm of a road and down the other side pretty recklessly . It had been apparent to many of us that he shouldn’t be driving for a long time, but someone had to make the final decision. It’s for the best. Some people take it calmly and others fight it. No matter; it far surpasses the alternative of killing yourself or someone else in an accident.
Aunt Loretta knew, too. She had not driven much in Southern California having been a country gal and used to the more tame roads and highways of South Dakota. Moving to California was a big change. She went to get donuts one morning and accidentally drove onto a ramp heading onto one of the busiest Southern California freeways in the state. It was rush hour. It was crazy. She was ill prepared to say the least. She got in one lane and tried to maneuver into a slower lane but California drivers don’t know slow. She panicked and tried using the blinker to get over to the right and exit. Drivers don’t always let you get over and you’re often stuck in a lane going insane. (There are about a thousand lanes on CA freeways.)She swore to herself that if she got off the freeway and back home again, she would never drive again. And she didn’t. No one had to take her keys. She surrendered them gladly.
If you know someone maybe close to you who shouldn’t be driving, please talk to them. Follow the little voice inside you which might give you advice or a warning to take the responsibility of making your community safe by making an unsafe driver stop driving – at least temporarily. The unsafe driver may not even realize they aren’t capable of driving. Or maybe you can talk it over with a friend, your pastor or a relative who can give you counsel on taking the keys away. It’s also done with drinking and driving situations. Take the keys and take an unsafe driver off our streets.
SOME PEOPLE WILL STOOP TO ANY LENGTHS JUST TO RIDE IN A JAGUAR.
WHAT SEAT BELT?
OUR DRIVER IS THE BEST! SHE WOULDN’T LET US DRIVE EVER!
I’m not one to write toilet humor nor about disgusting physical failings that are often unmentionable but it hits us all including my dog. Incontinence is no fun.
One morning recently it seemed like my life was full of cleanups. I had to help my husband, who has melanoma brain cancer, to the bathroom but he didn’t make it in time. In fact I already had two pair of his sweatpants in the wash from previous accidents. So I did a couple loads of laundry then went to check the dog pad on our front room floor. What a mess met me there as I looked on the floor. Nincompoop had peed not only on top of the pad but urine had flowed under the edge of the pad also. It was a poodle – er – puddle of wetness. She had also let loose over in a corner on the hardwood floor and then moved onto an electric cord with poop. She was living up to her name! It was poop galore. It was one dirty mess after another. It was stinky. It was ugly. It was old age.
I started the cleanup, all the while knowing my old dog can’t help it since she’s almost 13. It was not only incontinence in my husband’s case but also in my dog’s. It might hit us all. We might have to clean it up for ourselves or get help. The physical therapist who helped my husband said to use briefs. I remembered my mom calling them “adult diapers”. It did sound kinder to say “briefs.”Accidents in our 70’s do happen, so briefs are insurance. You pay for it not just for your car or house or boat, but just in case an accident happens even in embarrassing circumstances with loose bowels or kidneys. Although it’s more fun to think of your car, house or boat needing insurance instead of your pants.
ME – NO I DONT HAVE TO GO.
I’m not an expert at discussing the medical aspects of incompetence or incontinence or incompleteness or infidelity or any “in” words. A lot is being done for we 70ish kids in the medical field. If you have incontinence, see your doctor. If your dog has it, see a vet or buy doggie diapers…uh…. briefs. Your dog won’t care what you call them. Just don’t let it go, so to speak. You don’t want to be in a store with a puddle suddenly surrounding you on the floor. Nor do you want your dog lifting his leg on a stranger’s pants. My mom used to say, “You can’t teach an old dog new tricks.” That’s true about people also. I will probably have trouble learning to use briefs but when that day comes, I’m sure things like muscles won’t he so strict and tight. I’m sure things will be loose and flowing along. Just go with it the best you can. And seek help.
It’s just a part of life in our 70’s. Our body parts get looser and our brains get weaker. You can take care of yourself by exercising more and eating right but research shows that socializing also is a big benefit to anti-aging. My Aunt Loretta used to discuss either taking care of her figure or her face but she couldn’t do both she said, so she was going to sit around mostly. She had a strong social network and was great at socializing. Nowadays there are even armchair exercises and physical therapists who can help you tighten those muscles. There are apps to help you find the nearest restrooms if you’re traveling and need to get to one fast. There are portable commodes to put next to your bed and I could go on but just know that you’re not alone in this incontinence problem. (You’re not even safe laughing at a good joke.)
My cousin on my Dad’s side who is ten years older, told me she got a nice set of bowls as a gift for her first wedding long ago. She was writing her thank you notes, like we did in the 1950’s, and wrote to the gift giver: Thank you for the pretty bowels.
Here’s hoping our bowels are pretty and work for a while longer.
GRANDPA AND GRANDMA IN THEIR EARLY YEARS FARMING ON THE SOUTH DAKOTA PRAIRIE WITH TWO OF THEIR FUTURE SIX CHILDREN AND GRANDMA’S PARENTS VISITING FROM IOWA. UNKNOWN LADY IN MIDDLE OF PICTURE.
GRANDPA OUT FISHING WITH A NON- SANDERSON- MY CHICAGO RAISED HUSBAND.
Being an only lonely child growing up, I was in kid mode heaven when I slowly realized I had 12 cousins on my Mom’s side. We would visit South Dakota in the 1950’s and 1960’s driving for days from Pennsylvania where we lived and my whole world opened up like a combo- Disneyland with friends welded onto a “toy store” of family members my age, all in one, with love, fun and life showering down on me. It was magical. It was life changing. It was grand. Cousins were a life saver.
I used to want to play nonstop outdoors with kids in my suburban neighborhood growing up in Pennsylvania, but they often got called home or went inside to play with their brothers and sisters. I was alone with all this juvenile energy and a huge imagination, but there weren’t always other kids around. It got lonely.
Until I met 12 amazing humans as a kid on one trip to South Dakota during a family reunion in Murdo who I happily discovered were my cousins.
Terry is the oldest of the 13 cousins and my first impression of him as a kid about 10 years younger than him was how tall he was. He grew up in Murdo as an only child. He liked fishing, hunting and playing sports. As a young adult, he had one of the first Volkswagen bugs we had ever seen in smalltown Murdo. We all stared at the car since all we had ever seen were Fords, Chevys and GM cars. After getting his college education, he became a banker.He married a wonderful woman and went on to have four sons and lots of grandkids. He lives in Sioux Falls, South Dakota.
COUSINS TERRY AND BILL IN MURDO AS YOUNGSTERS.
The next oldest cousin is Bill. I didn’t get to know Bill too well until he was tasked with taking me to the movies one warm summer night when we were visiting South Dakota, as my Mom visited with her parents and brothers and sisters. Bill paid for us, got popcorn and snacks and we started to watch an old King Kong movie at the little movie theater. I only saw part of King Kong. I was terrified looking up at the big screen as the eye of King Kong looked through a window of a building. Hey, it was just a scene in the movie but it reached out from the screen and shook me up. I was about 8 years old and I hadn’t seen any scary movies ever. I started crying and Bill tried to calm me down to no avail. I was interrupting everyone in the small town Murdo Theater. Bill somehow got me outside and someone called my Mom and Aunt Loretta who came and got me. Bill was happy to get rid of me and went back to watch the rest of the movie. I didn’t realize it until later that Bill was one of my closest friends when I was a toddler even though we both were too young at the time. He would be dropped at our apartment above Sanderson’s store where Grandma and Grandpa lived across the hall and they were supposed to babysit him, however Grampa would be napping. My Dad had to entertain Bill. Bill was a fun “big brother” type cousin and good with engaging people and telling stories. He lives in Los Angeles and has two children.
BILL AND ME ON THE ROOF ABOVE SANDERSONS STORE.
Jeff H comes next. He’s the oldest of Uncle Jeff and Aunt Irma’s two children. We called him Jeff H to distinguish him from his dad. Jeff H and I didn’t get to know one another at all since he seemed to be working on highway construction during summers or at his family store or playing sports. My parents thought he was a cute little boy when they were living in Murdo after the war. They even babysat sometimes. He said things they thought were funny when he was just a little toddler like calling deer “dur” and saying someone got “drosted” meaning hit with rocks and dirt. Jeff as a young adult took me to a dance in Draper once with another highway worker and the two guys pretty much ignored me. I don’t think I got asked to dance once. The big excitement was when a fistfight started out front. Jeff went into banking for many years and loves fishing. Jeff has one daughter and lives in Minnesota.
JEFF H IN MURDO HIGH.
Bobby and his brother and two sisters didn’t live in South Dakota but were born in Michigan since their father got a job with a division of GM there many years ago. When Bobby and his brother and sisters came for summer visits to Murdo often, we would just see each other off and on. He would go fishing a lot with Grandpa and the guy cousins and I would stay to play with other cousins or take care of a litter of kittens that popped up in the neighborhood. Bobby would hang out with the men cousins and uncles and Grandpa.
We cousins would act out skits or sing songs like Purple People Eater or Yellow Polka Dot Bikini to perform under Grandma and Grandpa’s trees in their yard where it was cool. The younger neighborhood kids and cousins would be our audience. I really only got to know Bobby when we were preteens and everyone in Murdo thought he was so cute. He could have charmed the girls easily with his good looks and personality. Also in later years we would meet at family reunions. He has volumes of information and archival materials on our family tree. He’s written loads of papers on our family history and done research interviewing relatives and friends of our families. He’s good at genealogy. Bobby is an accomplished highly intelligent human being and worked at Buick for decades. He’s our family historian. He is also kind, caring and generous. Bobby has three sons. He lives in South Dakota.
Blake is Bobby’s younger brother and they don’t look alike but they’re close in age. Blake had rheumatic fever when he was a kid, I think. Our mothers wrote letters back and forth when the families were young and I remember my Mom being worried about her sister’s son, Blake. I didn’t know Blake very well either until he was married and bought a house in California. He invited my parents and I over to their big house and Aunt Loretta and Gus also. I went once when my kids were little. Everyone got dressed up because to my parents, it was a big deal going to Blake and Melanie’s. Another big deal was when Blake and Melanie bought an old building in Deadwood and after years of renovation opened it as an historic hotel with a ballroom on the top floor. It’s a quaint boutique hotel and walking inside, you’re taken back to the 1860’s or thereabouts. Blake has a lovely wife and three adult children. He has some funny stories about Grandpa Sanderson, as we all do. Blake lives in Deadwood, SD and sometimes in Michigan.
SUANNE, BLAKE, THEIR MOM, HELEN, BOBBY, TRICE IN MICHIGAN.
Cousin Andrea is six months older than me and you cannot find a more honest, trustworthy, beautiful lady. When we were toddlers together in Murdo, the local hairdresser nicknamed her “bug eyes” because she has large brown eyes that stare unflinchingly at you and I was nicknamed “pickle puss” since I loved sour dill pickles from Sanderson’s Store. We partly grew up together and when my family had left South Dakota for my Dad’s home state of Pennsylvania for about ten years and moved back to South Dakota, Andrea and I were in 7th and 8th grade together. What a pair. I copied everything she wore, how she talked, walked, and terms she used. She always said she tried to be different and I was totally following her by NOT being different at all. Andrea went on to become a popular student and was Homecoming Queen . She was close to her family and loved going skiing with them out on local dams after her Dad bought a boat. She had organized the cousins to sing carols at the annual Christmas get together one time which was a lovely tradition. The Murdo families all got together to open gifts and eat delicious food at a potluck. The aunts and uncles took turns having the celebration at each others home. Later in life, Andrea helped with her younger brother, Greg, to build a motel in town and a doll museum. She’s a successful businesswoman and a strong woman both in her community in Pierre, and in her beloved state of South Dakota. She has two sons and one stepdaughter and lots of grandchildren . She lives in Pierre.
A CHRISTMAS WITH MOST OF THE COUSINS- ANDREA IS THIRD FROM THE LEFT.
PART 2
Next, we have yours truly. I am Valerie, in the seventh position among the 13 cousins. I’m honored and in awe of being in the Sanderson Cousin Clan of 13. I am a baby boomer, born in Pierre, South Dakota and raised in Murdo and the suburbs of Pennsylvania then back again briefly to SD then to California for high school. The surfer craze was on then, and the turbulent ‘60’s had started. I went to college and got my teaching credential. I taught for 34 years and now I’m enjoying retirement life having a good time. I have 3 children and live in California.
VALERIE WITH DOLL, HELEN, IN FRONT YARD IN PA- 1950’s.
Mark comes next as younger brother to Jeff H. He grew up in Murdo and played in the high school band. His parents were well known and active in the community. Mark had the best yard for kids. He had a hut playhouse, a treehouse, a big stock tank to swim in, a barrel hanging up to ride and Uncle Jeff made rubber band type play guns for us. Mark grew up involved in school with perfect attendance. He went off to college and studied business. He traveled around a bit, then bought a place out in the country and got busy remodeling and rebuilding a partially constructed house there. He and I biked out there decades ago and looked it over. I kept feeling like he was planning on something big. It was a mystery to me. He was being secretive. He was planning a life changing adventure. He built a motel out in the country. Many years later now he lives there part of the year after also having a successful business in California which he eventually sold. Mark enjoys managing and maintaining his Country Inn with its beautiful prairie setting, indoor pool, and many unique rooms he rents out to travelers, many of whom return year after year to stay at his motel. Mark lives in California and South Dakota.
MARK WITH HIS PARENTS, JEFF AND IRMA.
BILL AND MARY AS MURDO KIDS.
Mary is just a few weeks younger than Cousin Mark. She’s the younger sister of Bill. I remember first seeing her, a darling little girl with her dark hair in curly ringlets, bouncing along on her pony Governor. I didn’t know if the curls were bouncing more or the pony. As she grew up we all learned how cute she was and strong willed, talented and imaginative. We tried playing Rawhide together when we were about 10 and 12, she on her horse and me borrowing Mark’s horse, Prince. We were trying to herd dairy cattle one warm summer day. We lazily settled out in a pasture, not a care in the world, not only were we trespassing but we were running another man’s cows without permission. That already meant trouble. Mary and I in our youthful wisdom decided she would ride back to town to get us food and water. I would stay with the saddle which I had removed from Prince as the horse munched grass. I would faithfully wait for Mary to return and I waited, and waited , and waited. Mary didn’t return and I was getting thirsty plus I wondered if rattle snakes were out there on the prairie with me just lying around in the grass. Duh. She never returned because she got distracted and decided to play with other kids and forgot about me, until my mom drove around looking for me and ran into Mary. Luckily my dear mom found me after Mary gave her directions. After that I wasn’t ready to play Rawhide again no matter what Mary said. Lucky for us we didn’t get in trouble with the law, Rawhide or no Rawhide. Mary was a true Murdo Girl and later wrote her own blog with fantastic stories of growing up in a small town with lots of relatives around to keep you honest. Mary lives in Texas and doesn’t own any horses nor cows. She has four kids.
MARY – MURDO GIRL – ALL DRESSED UP AT THEIR OLD HOUSE IN MURDO NOT READY TO PLAY RAWHIDE.
Stephanie was the younger sister of Andrea. She was a beautiful little blue eyed girl who grew up in Murdo. She had a talent for organizing people and bringing them together. She broke her tailbone as a cheerleader in high school and worked hard to organize a large pep rally to cheer on the team. She met her husband in college and he became a doctor and she worked as an EMT. They had three girls. Stephanie worked for Governor Janklow. She also helped her community financing Dolly Parton’s movement and getting free books to children from birth to age 5. There is a Stephanie Miller-Davis Day held in Murdo in her honor for all she’s done for the library and community. She and her sister, Andrea, organized several Sanderson Family Reunions in the Black Hills which were fun, well done and a chance for our families to come together from far and wide. Stephanie was liked by all who met her.
STEPHANIE IS THIRD FROM THE LEFT.
GRANDPA SANDERSON
STEPHANIE OUT HAVING FUN.
Suanne is the younger sister of Bob and Blake. We cousins who didn’t know one another rarely met up since she lived in Michigan most of her life until she and husband Ray decided to sell their house in Michigan and move out to the Black Hills where she helped her brother for a while. Later she helped other businesses in Deadwood. Suanne took care of her mother for many years. She’s a caring, intelligent and family person. She and husband Ray have settled into life in the Hills ambitiously building two houses. In retirement she is active with the Animal Shelter in Deadwood. She has always loved horses so they have acreage for horses and their umpteen dogs. She lives in a lovely area outside Spearfish.
SUANNE WITH BROTHER BOB IN THE LOVELY BLACK HILLS.
Cousin Greg is 5 months younger than Suanne. He was born on June 26, 1955. The first time I met Greg, who is six years younger than me, he was hiding behind an easy chair in the living room of Aunt Elna and Uncle Jerry’s cozy house. He was tiny and thin with big eyes like his sister Andrea’s, and he didn’t say anything to the group of strange relatives descended upon him all giggling and talking at this little toddler. It was our first introduction to Greg since we lived in Pennsylvania and visited South Dakota every two years.After we all had given up coaxing him out from behind the easy chair, out of the blue we hear, “Gum, gum?” He finally talked. So his Mom- my dear Aunt Elna – gave him a tiny bit from a stick of gum. That broke the ice. He was shy but could be bribed. I’m not sure if he’s like that today but I do know he was a musician, a skilled carpenter, and a successful businessman and father and grandfather, on and on. I didn’t get to know him real well. He’s always there when we visit. He’s usually so busy with Range Country Motel that we don’t get to chat. I need to take care of that. I need to get to know Greg better. He has three grown kids and multiple grandkids. He lives in Murdo, a solid member of that community.
VALERIE WITH ANDREA IN BACK.STEPHANIE, GREG AND MARKIN FRONT IN MURDO.
NUMBER 13…
Last and not least of all we have the “baby” of the 13 Sanderson cousins, Patrice, who goes by Trice. She’s the youngest in her family of four kids also. She had a gorgeous wedding at her folks’ home years ago, at least it looked romantic from the pictures. She has three talented adult children and lives in Illinois. When she was a little kid on a regular visit to South Dakota with her family, somehow Trice and her sister, Suanne, were riding in the backseat with Grandpa Sanderson. He had his fishing rods and tackle box on the front seat. I guess they were going fishing together. Grandpa in his later years would talk away nonstop telling stories and pointing out certain places on the ride, all the while turning to look in back at the two grandchildren who were starting to look concerned, if not frightened. He would drive down dirt roads taking his big old car up the sides, into ruts and holes in the country road and then down into ditches at top speed. The girls were holding on for dear life in the back seat and wondering what they had gotten into. After a long ride finally getting back to where their folks were with all the other relatives, my Mom, their Aunt Ella, said, “You didn’t ride in the back seat with Grandpa- did you?”
The girls replied that they had. They were still pretty pale and shocked.
My Mom said, “Don’t ever ride in back with Grandpa, it’s dangerous because he constantly turns around to give you a long running monologue!”
Trice and Suanne replied together, “Now you tell us!”
TRICE ON HER WEDDING DAY.
GREG WITH HIS WIFE AT A REUNION IN MURDO.
*Those are write ups on my 12 cousins each of whom I am proud to say are related to me. How can I be so lucky?
If I’ve made errors, please let me know. I tried to recall my memories of all 12 cousins and being 70ish, some recollections are hazy and blurred. Plus being a Sanderson, I have embellished and skewed lots of facts. Forgive me.
I am truly blessed to have these cousins in my lifetime.
What a great group that I’m happy to call my cousins.
BILL, AUNT IRMA AND JEFF H AT MURDO SCHOOL REUNION. A HAPPY TRIO.
When I was a teenager, we thought we were cool calling the restroom “the head”. My high school friends and I would meet up in the head at school. We would check our hair, our clothes, our makeup and spend lots of time there gossiping and joking around. It was fun. I don’t think we went in the stalls at all. Little did I know that sixty years later I would still be hanging out in the bathroom but it wasn’t fun, not even close to being fun.
I had the prep last week for the “sit on the toilet marathon”. So much fake fun. If you have never had a colonoscopy, get ready for two days of not eating, going nonstop, and prepping until you cannot believe how your body can poop anymore. This all takes two days. You can’t count it as sick leave, and not vacation time off. It’s the opposite.
Picture this if you haven’t experienced the fun of it all: imagine you drank a quart of prune juice, after which you ate half a watermelon, then drank a bottle of Milk of Magnesium, followed up with a bowl of sauerkraut and a gallon of apple juice. That comes close to describing what the outcome would be. It’s a moving experience.
You cannot eat anything the entire day before the colonoscopy procedure. You can have clear liquids and jello but only two flavors, lime or lemon. You can also drink clear store bought broth. For a treat I drank clear black tea and snuck into that a few granules of sugar, feeling like I was doing some major cheating and I was oh so bad. I gave a muffled chuckle just to make myself feel good like I was doing something against the rules. Who would know the difference? After you do that most of the day, you can drink a gallon of the prescribed prep in the afternoon drinking 8 ounces every 15 minutes, and you start drinking that after taking three Dulcolax. It’s Laxative Party time. This prep drink stuff tastes like filtered ocean water with fake lemon flavoring thrown in and an added touch of salty soy sauce and dirt to give it a punch, right in the gut. My stomach was gurgling and sloshing around almost immediately. It was so loud, I couldn’t hear myself think. It was like my brain surrendered to my intestines and stomach.
CLEAR BLACK TEA WITH A FEW GRAINS OF SUGAR WAS CHEATING AND I LOVED IT.
Then the real fun in the “head” starts. I won’t bore you with the ugly details but it can get messy. Often I didn’t make it to the throne. I decided after a lot of cleanup that I would just sit on the commode and drink my cocktails every 15 minutes from there. I should have installed a safety belt because a few times I almost keeled over. I thought of installing a wide screen TV in my bathroom but the room was too small.
To make this fascinating story any better or worse, just know that I didn’t drink the entire gallon prep but I got most of it down. After three baths I went to bed with two big towels spread out on the bed under me. I changed my pants, pajamas and anything I touched about five times. The washing machine was on overtime duty. I woke up at 3:00 am and visited my comfy bathroom again and put more T paper on the holder. The next day we drove to the endoscopy center for the prep, anesthesia and recovery. We were there about 3 hours. Soon after waking up from the anesthesia, I was glad to chat with the doctor and have her declare I was polyp free. I had a nice 45 minute sleep courtesy of the anesthesiologist and I was ready to go and not to any restroom any time soon.
Don’t ask me what that means medically speaking but it sounded like good news – polyp free. I was ready to just get in the car and head for home to eat. I did head to the head for a few more trips. If you’re still reading this, don’t be scared. This procedure saves lives allowing your doctor to find any intestinal problems before they get seriously bad. After all, giving two days out of your life not eating and sitting in your bathroom is well worth the comfort of knowing you are having the best possible test for your health and well being. Colonoscopies save lives.
Besides that, I have had a brilliant idea. I think I will totally remodel my bathroom now and paint it a chocolate brown shade. Do commodes come in brown? Hmm.
SHE KNOWS. SHE MUST HAVE JUST HAD A COLONOSCOPY.
HE KNOWS. (Maybe I need to put in an outhouse out back.)
Those 70ish Girls 