This is Murdo Girl and I’m looking for Yram Sicnarf. She’s in town trying to line up a team of people to help me with my campaign. Yes… I’m hoping to be the first woman Coyote POTUS. I’m convinced we can make short work of the Donkeys and Elephants out there. I believe you’ve got to kick off any new campaign right in your own hometown. That’s what Senator John Thune did, and look how well he’s doing. He’s got a sign you know. My cousin told me I could get a banner at Staples. Murdo doesn’t have a store called Staples, so I went to Lee Beckwith’s store. He’s got staples, but no banners.

Campaigns are tough on people. Look what happened to these women, and they only ran for the water board. They’re going to help me with my petition to change the name on the water towers to Murdo Girl Towers. Kind of like Trump tower, only I’ll have two of them.

The truth is, I’m a few years older than John, so I’ve got to move a little faster. Frankly, I’m a little worried about Yram. She’s out of shape big-time. And Queenie? Let’s not go there.

I’m just about to walk into Fern’s Cafe. I decided I was hungry for a good cheeseburger. I thought I’d also get the temperature of the potential voters. You know, put a few feelers out.

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FERN’S CAFE

I think I’ll sit over there by that skinny guy with the pinched face, seated at the counter. I think he’s a trucker.

Murdo Girl: Hi there. I noticed a big ol rig out there, and I reckon it must be your’n. (Ya gotta talk truck driver lingo when you’re trying to make friends with a trucker.)

Trucker guy has not yet made eye contact and continues to wolf down his coffee and a donut.

Murdo Girl: Well, Mr. rig driving trucker, have you ever heard of Murdo Girl?

Trucker: What’s a Murdo Girl?

Murdo Girl: You must not be from around these parts if’n you don’t know about Murdo Girl. She’s about to kick off a campaign. She’s running on the Coyote ticket for POTUS

Trucker gets up and leaves.

Murdo Girl: Hey Pete, do you know that trucker guy?

Pete: Do you mean that guy who just walked out without paying? Yeah I know him.

Murdo Girl: I didn’t mean to run him off… I guess this isn’t a real good time to ask you about having a campaign fund raiser for me here at Ferns?  We’re Just talking a few free donuts and cookies, and free coffee of course.

Pete leans on the counter with one elbow, chews on his toothpick a little, looks me straight in the eye, and says, “No.” Pete doesn’t talk much. At least the times I’ve been around him.

Murdo Girl: How much is a piece of chocolate cake Pete? A small one.  I can’t remember which of them, but Sherri Miller or Mom Banks aka Carol Callihan Fairbanks, told me she loves your chocolate cake. I’ve never had it, but it sure does look good. Is the coffee free? (Pete doesn’t comment. I decide I will come back around when Fern is here. Pete is Fern’s son.)

As I headed for my Willys Jeep, I noticed the big rig was gone, but the driver was still there. Eaten up with curiosity, I decided to go over to him and check it out. I asked him why he was still there, but his rig was gone?

Trucker Guy: I’m not a trucker guy Ms.Woman Coyote for President. I’m Barney Fife, and this here is my patrol car. I always get free donuts and coffee at Fern’s. I heard you were coming home to”kick off.” I was hoping that meant you had some fatal illness.

And another thing! If I ever see money change hands in a situation like that back there in Fern’s, you’ll be sitting out the election in the Jones County Jail! CAN YOU HEAR ME MURDO GIRL?

Murdo Girl: Funny, I hadn’t noticed the deputy uniform and the badge until just now!

Then I saw something that made my eye start to twitch.

Barney: “People around these parts are feeling the Baaaaarn!”

Murdo Girl: You don’t have a chance, Barney Fife, because you’re alldumb!

Meanwhile, back at the crow’s nest of the Harold Thune Auditorium, Yram Sicnarf is in a chair sound asleep.

Mr. Palmer is giving some kid a saxophone lesson. He looks over at Yram and shakes his head. The next lesson is on the drums…and possibly the cymbals. Poor thing, he thought. I might just agree to that parade. First I have to see what platform Murdo Girl stands on.

To be continued

H

Yram Sicnarf, the crack up reporter from Gun Barrel City, TX, is back in town. She sure is a tenacious one. (Tenacious means she’s hard to run out-of-town.) Rumor has it she’s here to put a team together for Murdo Girl. There is no word yet as to what sort of team. As you all know, she can’t play basketball or ski, and she still swims with Pink Sandy’s “rope-can” tied around her waist. The word on the street? She’s on her way over to see Mr. Palmer. The music man himself. Let’s see if we can listen in.

Mr. Palmer and a small group of superior soloists. Those 5th grade bangs just won’t go away. Elaine and I were freshmen

Yram Sicnarf: (puffing), morning (pant) Mr. Palmer, mind if I fall…I mean sit down? Those stairs are wicked. I don’t see how all of your crows can make it up to this nest.

Mr. Palmer: Well if it isn’t Yram Sicnarf. You’re late. I thought I heard you come in. It took you fifteen minutes to get up the stairs. You’ll have to make this interview quick, I’m giving someone a saxophone lesson soon.

Yram: Actually Mr. Palmer, I’m in town on a very important mission. I’m putting a team together..for…Murdo Girl!!…

Mr. Palmer: What kind of team? If I remember correctly, she went through her Murdo High School sports career like a bottle of castor oil. The last time she played a saxophone solo, she got distracted by an item of her clothing. I felt sorry for Syd Iwan. He was playing the piano perfectly. He was beside himself trying to figure out what was wrong with her. It was almost as bad as the time Terri Iwan was playing a solo. Her knees were knocking together. They made so much noise, Syd started playing the accompanying music in double time. Come to think about it, I believe she got a superior plus.

Did Murdo Girl really expect people to believe her garter belt story?

Yram: I see what you mean Mr. Palmer, but no worries. She wears “Hillary”  pantsuits now. (Note to Terri. Do not take any calls from Mr. Thune regarding speaking at a coronation.)

May I continue? Are you aware of the grass-roots movement to get Murdo Girl to run for President?

(The sound of crickets. They seem to follow this crack up reporter everywhere.)

Mr. Palmer: Just how much grass does she have in her roots?

Yram: Um, let’s see… So far, just two cousins from out-of-town, but we feel you Mr. Palmer, can be a very integral part of her campaign. I was thinking “Marching Band.” That would be right up your alley.

Mr. Palmer: Not MY alley. I doubt many of the Murdoites would want her marching up their allies either. No thanks crack up, I’m busy that day.

Yram: You’re missing the “big” picture Mr. Palmer. We’re going to beat The Donald at his own game. We are petitioning to have the Murdo Water Tower renamed. It will be Murdo Girl water Tower. We’ll march your band past Murdo Girl water Tower.By the way can you play the saxophone in the parade? A Trump(et) just won’t send the right message.

Wait!! This is even better!! There are 2 towers now…MURDO GIRL water TOWERS. Eat your heart out Donald with your Trump Tower without an s.

Yram: You haven’t heard the thing that’s going to be the headline in the next edition of: 

Whuoh…The platform. Murdo Girl will have to come up with a platform for her race to the top. Will she have to stand on the very same miserable piece of wood she almost fell from during her now famous “Address to the Alumni” speech? Will she have to decide if she wants to be a Donkey or an Elephant? A Coyote..That’s it, she’ll be a Coyote!

Will Mr. Palmer agree to the marching band? Will he help Murdo Girl raise some campaign funds? Will he get off that stupid platform before he falls off?

Most of you know by now that my husband Kip had some pretty serious back surgery eleven days ago. It has been a tough thing to go through. Four hours of surgery followed by all the aftercare including strenuous physical therapy. It’s enough to make any grown man cry. Any of you who have undergone a similar medical emergency can surely sympathize.

I’m so worn out. Those four hours in a freezing cold waiting room were the worst. The little volunteer got downright irritable when I asked for a 3rd blanket. She only had to walk a little ways to get me coffee. Isn’t that what she’s there for?

The days and hours since have been so excruciating, I can barely remember any of it. I really hope I will be able to get out of the house some tomorrow. Everybody keeps telling me I must take care of myself. I’m sure I look really haggard. Having to take care of someone that can barely do anything for themselves is a selfless job, and sometimes, you don’t get the sympathy you deserve.

I don’t mean to be a complainer, I just need a few hundred people to understand what this has been like for me. Kip has been home from the hospital, four and a half hours, and he’s only taken one much needed nap. I could have used two.

To top it off, my brother Billy had surgery too! He doesn’t live anywhere near me, but I still had to deal with it. He said a couple of days after surgery, he caught sight of himself in the mirror and thought, “This is me in ten years. At least right now, I’m going to get better.” I wanted to tell him that he wasn’t the only one seeing the future, his wife Liz was looking at him and seeing her future too. You never know how strong you are until you’ve had to go through what Liz and I have.

I put this little piece of equipment together all by myself. So what if the handle is on upside down. It’s not like he’s going to use it forever.

It reminds me of the story about the two elderly men sitting on a park bench when one turns to the other and says, “Otto, I’m 90 years old, and I’m just full of aches and pains. I know you’re about my age. How do you feel?”

Otto says, “I feel just like a newborn baby!”

“Really!? Like a newborn baby!?”

“Yep. No hair, no teeth, and I think I just wet my pants.”

I don’t know which would be worse

wearing a silly hat or carrying an empty purse.

I don’t know what I fear the most

speaking in public or seeing a ghost.

Now who’s laughing? Ha Ha and Ha

I would like to be like Muhammad Ali

 Just float like a butterfly and sing like an alto bee.

It’s been a long week and my brain is dead

I can’t find a story in this empty head.

I need to clean my house today

wash the clothes and put them away.

(She didn’t age as well as we did Don? I know Ed, it makes me sad)

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

If there is no story for me to tell

then I guess I just as well..

Wash the dishes and make the bed

and make sure all the animals are fed

vacuum dust and scrub the floor

Oh my gosh is there more?

The bathrooms need some cleaning

I’m still sitting here just day dreaming

What would Murdo Girl do I ask?

Is she up to this mindless task?

If I sit awhile longer and meditate

maybe my slothiness will dissipate

Some of you might be wondering how I became Murdo Girl… I know..me too. Sorry, can’t help you. The answer might be that nobody else has claimed the name, and no one loves Murdo more than Murdo Girl!

My Uncle Charles Francis wrote and self-published a book about being raised above the train depot in Murdo. He left in his early 20’s to serve his country. After the war, he lived with his family in California, then New York. He chose to be buried in Murdo. Chuck’s wife, Barbara will be buried beside him someday in the far off future. My Dad, William Francis, Chuck and Dad’s parents, Constance Francis Bowers and John Francis, and Connie’s second husband William Bowers are buried there.

Mom’s family including, Grandma and Grandpa Sanderson, Aunt Emily and Uncle Wayne Sanderson, Uncle Jeff Sanderson, and Vicki Lane Francis, the baby daughter of Loretta Francis Gustafson and William Francis, are all buried in the Murdo Cemetary. I believe Uncle Jerry Miller is buried in Murdo too, but I’m not 100% sure. I know I have left out someone very important, but I just want to establish my Murdo roots. Just about our whole Sanderson family was on hand to spread Mom’s ashes over Horse Creek, South of Murdo.

Our Horse Creek Experience…1) Billy, Gus and me, 2) Greg Miller and Jeff H. Sanderson, tearing down fences, 3) We had a good turnout 🙂 Greg arranged the whole thing, including the 4-wheel drive trucks to get us there. Jerry Miller gave a great talk about the history of Horse Creek.

Murdo Girl hasn’t lived in Murdo for the past 46 years. The fact that she’s only 30 years old makes it seem impossible. Let’s not dwell too long on unimportant trivia.

I haven’t spent my whole life living in the past. I’ve had jobs, kids, and grandkids, while living in other places. I have friends who aren’t from Murdo. I’m married to a guy from Laramie, Wyoming, but he has no interest in becoming Laramie Guy.

I’m just having fun. I am Murdo Girl… Where did she come from?

I have written over 70 Murdo Girl stories, and it never fails that someone will read a story and send me a picture or two. It’s a real dilemma to get pictures that validate my stories after you have already read them. I lost my high school annuals in the war, so I hope you will enjoy or endure my nostalgia. I’m seeing some of these high school pictures for the first time since 1970.

I just hit the Jack(son) pot. Ed Jackson, a fellow 1970 graduate and star athlete, not to mention the homecoming King of the class of 1970, sent me stories and photos that will keep me going, almost forever, or until you all quit reading Murdo Girl.

The only “other” thing I want to do with this story is show you some more pictures.

This is Coach Applebee. I wish I’d had this photo of him for the interviews, because this is how I picture him. It was years before I knew he could stand up straight. Gotta love the “Coach Stance.” Maybe he’s trying not to put too much weight on the floor they named after him.

You Go Murdo Girl. I was surprised to see this picture of me, #1 no less, standing right there beside Coach Haugland. If you read my story about my athletic career at Murdo High School, you will understand the humor. Looks like Mr. Haugland is thinking, “What is she doing?” In practice, he asked me why I was dribbling the ball over in the corner? He wanted to know if I planned to peel it and eat it. It’s okay, I recovered from the humiliation. Without this photo, I would not have remembered or believed that two of my best friends Marlene Rada and Karen Ferdig, played basketball that year. I probably didn’t want to remember. They might have been good players.

The funny thing, is when my kids were in sports, I forbade them to pick #1 for their jersey.

Eddie Jackson, Mary Francis, Vicki Esmay and Dick Bradley. I didn’t fail to notice that Eddie and Dick are both swooning over Vicki. I AM MURDO GIRL!! Sorry I know that’s rude. At least my bangs finally grew out.

Here we go. You can’t see me, but I’m standing in front of these guys who are obviously swooning over Murdo Girl. (It might have been something to do with a class play.) I think that’s  my cousin Mark in back there..looks like he’s choking. The guys in front are Dick Bradley, Ron Kinsley, Eddie Jackson, and Don Edwards. I can’t see the other guys in the back too clearly, but I think the one on the left is Dennis Chambliss. If I didn’t spell a name correctly, just remember I’m slisdexic. Everyone is sometimes.

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 I hope you have enjoyed myself. (Myself had to be quick today.) Take care everyone!

We’re heading for Galveston tomorrow where we’re hoping to spend some fun time at Jamaica Beach RV. You might recall, that’s were I celebrated my “Welcome to Medicare,” birthday. The forecast is for rain, but I remain optimistic. I did a volunteer stint at the library this morning and cleaned and packed the RV this afternoon. Therefore, I did not write.

I’ve been having some silly fun with the Ha Ha Sisterhood the last couple of days, so I thought it might be a good night for a Murdo rerun. This is one of my favorite spoofs where Murdo Girl interviews Coach Applefloor… sorry, I mean Applebee. He was our coach all four years the MHS class of 70 reigned. I hope you enjoy the re-read.

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

This is Murdo Girl, and I’m in Murdo. You have probably all heard there has been a crack up reporter in town throwing my good name around like an overly inflated basketball. She describes me as being stunningly talented. Although she is paraphrasing, she pretty much hits the mark.

Word has gotten to Murdo Girl, that Yram Sicnarf has (to use a popular political term), “misspoken”. Please try not to judge her too harshly. It’s pretty obvious that Miss Sicnarf worships the ground Murdo Girl walks on.

Speaking of walking on the ground, I feel I must settle the score with Coach Applebee. Yram messed up her interview with him, and I am here to clear the air ball. I have enlisted the assistance of Miss Sicnarf’s photographic drawing person. So shall we make this unselfish gesture at halftime?

Wait! The buzzer is about to signal the end of the first half of one of the most critical basketball games in the history of Harold Thune Auditorium. Mr. Thune has a son with a sign, and he also has this very auditorium named after him. Let’s see if we can catch up with Coach Applebee.

Murdo Girl: Coach Applebee!!

Murdo Girl (whistleing) WIOWHIT! Then with an outreached microphone, she rushes toward Coach Applebee…

Coach Applebee turns slowly to face Murdo Girl, and in the process, rams his head into the outreached microphone. He glares, and his face is a rather deep red. (Murdo Girl wonders if the photographic drawing person has that particular shade of red in her pallet.)

Murdo Girl: Hello Coach.. sorry about the goose egg..I have come to give you the points you need to win this game.

Coach Applebee: (His head has an indentation the size of a microphone.) Have you looked at the scoreboard Murdo Girl? The opposing team stinks. We’re ahead by 20 and the other team has a very shallow bench. Come to think of it, you must relate to the term, “shallow.”

Murdo Girl: Oh, but Coach, I am as deep as the wood on this floor. The admittedly gleaming surface, is trampled on nightly. People walk all over it whenever they find the need to stroll around in the Harold Thune Auditorium. Tell me coach, do you have to pay for the upkeep of this massive surface that bares/bears your name?

Coach Applebee: Nice try MG. I’m one step on my floor ahead of you. Do you remember the class of 1970? They taught me a valuable lesson. I told them they had to cut their bangs so the unsightly hair didn’t fall below their eyebrows. I don’t require that anymore. I let them mop the floor with it.

Murdo Girl: (Imagine a bubble over her head as she recalls an interview she had with a #basketball..#star..#1970 classmate.) # means hashtag

“Let me explain our haircuts. Coach Applebee told us when we pulled our hair down over our forehead, it better be shorter than our eyebrows. Being a rebel class, we all got together and reported to the locker room with hair that was definitely too long. Once in the locker room we pulled down each other’s hair and cut only the bangs with the athletic tape scissors. I am surprised anyone outside of basketball knew what was going on. And yes, it did look like we used a knife. You will be happy to know we were able to practice because our bangs passed the test. We did not care that we looked like dorks.”

Murdo Girl:(She whispers into the mic, which makes a screeching noise.) Look Coach, I have always thought you deserved to have the court you ruled over for so many years named after you. I know all about courts. I’m tight with the Queen you know.

I am the namesake of an entire town. I do what I can to take care of it, but let’s face it, 488 people can do a lot of damage. I’m in your court Coach. Now that we’ve tied that up, I need to visit Mr. Palmer up in the Crow’s nest. Man, all those burned out light bulbs have got to be the cause of more than a few sour notes. Light bulbs are expensive. Thanks for your time coach, You’re the best! Now go out there and shove that team right off their shallow bench.

FYI…I played for the girls basketball team named after our Coach and Superintendent, Maury Haugland. We were Haugland’s Heroes. More about that later!

WHERE IS MY GOOD MAN APPLEFLOOR..I’M HERE FOR DRIVER’S ED

I have been bitten by the green-eyed monster…more than once. Maybe even more than two or three times. Jealousy sure can suck up a lot of energy.

You know how I have talked about wanting to be Connie like and copying other people’s hairstyles, clothes, and whatever else strikes my fancy? I don’t think that’s wrong. It’s more like a form of flattery unless you become a stalker or something. Well, I’ve stolen things, and I just have to tell about it. I can’t hide my obvious wrong doing anymore.

The first time, I was only five. What made my actions so bad is that I tried to make a deal first. When that didn’t work, I just stole what I wanted.

Lois Lillabridge was my friend. Actually, I was born because Mom’s friend Marse wanted to have another baby, and she talked Mom into having one too. When you think about it, I already owed Lois my life, but then…I stole her shoes.

She had ballerina flats with rhinestones. I had pink canvas shoes with white stitching on them. When Lois was moving to Gregory, I asked her if she would trade shoes with me and she said no. I tried hard to accept her answer. Eventually, I just took her shoes.

I was not without remorse. One day I saw the moving truck in front of her house. All their stuff was being loaded up, so I knew the move was happening soon. I thought I should do something, but giving the ballerina flats back to their rightful owner was not an option.

I took my pink shoes and laid them on the sidewalk in front of Lois’s house. Then I waited…nothing happened. No call from Lois’s Mom. No being hauled in by the scruff of my neck by Mom…just nothingness. So, when was I going to wear the stolen goods? Never of course. I never could bring myself to wear the lifted shoes.

You’d think I would have learned my lesson.

The next fit of jealously also had to do with material things. Some friends from California came to Murdo and stayed at our house for several weeks. They were in Murdo dealing with some extended family issues.

Anyway, they brought their only child Paula with them. They had to stay longer than expected, so Paula needed a few more clothes to wear. Her Mother went to Lee Beckwith’s store and bought the same outfit in five different colors.

I stared at those outfits and almost drooled over them. After seeing Paula’s clothes, I let it be known that I hated all of my clothes. It didn’t do any good. I didn’t live in a democracy. I had no voice in my house. Ask and you shall receive, was a pipe dream.

As I grew older, the objects of my envy changed. I was jealous of my friends and cousins who had brother’s and sisters to play with. They had built in playmates. I suffered through more than a few long Sunday afternoons. Most kids couldn’t play outside the home because Sunday was “family” day. I got to sit around doing nothing while my parents ate a huge Sunday dinner, then read the newspaper from end to end. Since my brother was in California, I had all the downsides of being an only child with none of the benefits. There was a sibling, which meant my parents were occasionally distracted by him and some of their resources had his name on them too.

I had learned not to express my discontent to Mom because she always said the same thing. “Everyone has their cross to bear or bare.” (I looked online and no one knows which spelling is correct.)  It took years for me to understand what that meant. Now I think of that phrase almost daily. Everyone has problems. They say if you took a group of people, threw all of their problems in the middle and let them choose someone else’s woes, everyone would keep their own. I think there is truth to that.

I can honestly say, I haven’t been jealous of anyone or anything in years. I’ve been able to curb my thievery and everything. If people start missing things, they don’t always look at me funny anymore. I’ve been rehabilitated. I’m not always as grateful as I should be, but I am sincerely happy when good things happen to other people. I also feel true empathy when someone has a heavy cross to bear or bare. I am fortunate to have some great people in my life who have helped me tote my crosses around.

Yes, I’m a changed person. You do believe me right??

she’s not in this lineup (Draper State Bank)

what lineup? Damon Francis, Matthew Halla, Erin Francis (old pic)

Why are we lined up? Gus Gustafson, with Brother-in-law, and Nephew Mark with wife Marleen

She’s not in this lineup..What’s a lineup?..Why are we in a line?

she might not be allbad, but she’s alldum

Be careful…She has several disguises

This is your man on the street reporter with another report. You remember me…I’m Yram Sicnarf. I have been given another assignment to interview a Murdo High School faculty member. His name is Harold Thune with a bunch of other stuff.

Yram: Good morning Harold. May I call you Mr. Thune?

Mr. Thune: Mr. Thune is my father’s name, and also my brother’s name. In addition, I have four sons who are Mr. Thunes. I am the only Thune however, with the distinction of having an auditorium named after him. I also have a son with a sign. That’s how most people tell us apart. Now what was your question?

Yram: Okey dokey. I’m here on an assignment to interview you. I am an award-winning reporter, from Gun Barrel City, Texas. Our slogan is, “We Shoot Straight.”

Mr. Thune: I’m not quite sure how to answer that question.

Yram: What question?

Mr. Thune: So now you want me to ask the questions?

Yram: You’re trying to confuse me aren’t you Mr. Thune. I know all about your wily ways. Does the name Murdo Girl mean anything to you?

Mr. Thune: Catchy name, but I don’t believe I know her.

Yram: Can we please take a look back to an Algebra class say in,  66-67? The Murdo Girl I’m speaking of is stunningly talented. She apparently regards you very highly Mr. Thune. She said you were an excellent Algebra teacher. Fortunately, she took Physical Education from you as well.

Mr. Thune: Fortunately?

Yram: Let me explain. Murdo Girl has had no use for Algebra, but thanks to your expertise in Physical Education training, she is still able to walk and lift heavy objects. Have all your students been so successful?

Mr. Thune: Let’s dial this back a little. Are you telling me this Murdo Girl has never had to solve for X?  I think I know who you’re talking about. Her mother flunked Algebra right? Of course that was way before my time. I’m fairly certain Murdo Girl took two years of Algebra. She should be able to solve for X  AND Y.

Yram: Well, to be perfectly honest Mr. Thune with an auditorium named after him and a son with a sign, Murdo Girl hasn’t solved a problem in years, and FYI, her Mother did not fail Algebra. Algebra failed her.

Mr. Thune: I will say, having  Murdo Girl in PE class was certainly unforgettable.

Yram: (smiling), Really?

Mr. Thune: I don’t believe she ever did wash her gym suit. Four years is a long time.

Yram: I’m writing

Mr. Thune: Well Miss Sicnarf, I would really like to say this has been fun…but I can’t.

Yram: You can’t what? Oh, never mind. Can you tell me where I can find Coach Applebee?

Mr. Thune: No..because I’m going to help him hide.

His name is Philip Olson, he is 9 years old and I intensely dislike him.

We have some friends who live in Rapid City. The Dad has a plumbing business. I guess since my Dad does too, that’s how we met them. The Olson’s have four kids, Philip is way younger than the others. Mom said they got him by accident.

Last summer I got to spend a week at their house in Rapid. I loved it. Their only girl, Linda was gone, and I got to stay in her beautiful bedroom. Its really big and all decorated in pale pink. One wall has a huge curved window. The house is in a hilly place where a lot of rich people live. They have some friends up the hill from them who have a humongous swimming pool. Philip and I rode bikes up there every day to go swimming. We did other stuff too. Philip’s Mom took us to the Reptile Gardens where they have turtles so big you can ride them. All the way home, I kept visualizing it. I couldn’t wait to brag about it to my cousins. I was pretty sure they would hang on my every word.

This year I got to do the same thing, and it was fun all over again. I bet you’re starting to wonder why I intensely dislike Philip. Here is how it all went down.

This year, Mom and Dad decided that since Philip’s parents had invited me twice, it didn’t seem right not to invite Philip to our house for a week. When Mom came and got me to go home to Murdo, Philip came too.

The minute we pulled up in our driveway Philip changed. It was an awful thing to witness. We could only eat what Philip wanted to eat. We could only watch TV if Philip wanted to, and then we could only watch the shows he liked. We only have one channel, so if Philip didn’t like what was on, we all had to do something else. Dad even gave up Gunsmoke! He was making fools out of my Mother and Father. They laughed at stuff he said that wasn’t one bit funny. Mom was acting like I had never seen before. She would say things like, “Oh Philip, your face is flushed, would you like a cold glass of kool-aid?”

Mark, Andrea, Valerie

I know they are hiding from us because they don’t like Philip

I could have lived with all of that, but he got to be the boss of my horse too. We have Governor picketed in a field behind Lindquist’s house. Governor put up with Philip even though he hates males. Its my job to go move the picket when Governor needs more grass to eat, and I have to tell Mom or Dad when he needs water. I had to do all that plus saddle and unsaddle Governor when Philip got a whim to ride, which was about four times a day. My cousins played with us for part of one day. I guess they’d had enough of him too, because the next day we couldn’t find them. They hid from us. I know they did. If it weren’t for Philip I would have been the Murdo kid celebrity like last year when I got home.

When Philip leaves, I’m going to have a talk with Mom and Dad. This can never happen again!

Tomorrow is finally the last day of this horrendous arrangement. This morning when I wasn’t looking, Philip left with Governor. I went to find someone to see where he had gone. Dad was in the kitchen on the phone with Philip’s Dad. I heard my Dad say,” He’s riding the pony up to 3rd Street and back.” Philip’s Dad must have said “Murdo’s streets don’t have numbers do they?”  Dad said, “No.” Then he laughed like it was the funniest thing he had ever heard. Dad must be hard up for stories, that’s all I can say.

Well, Philip’s parents came and got him today. Mom went on and on about what an angel he had been and maybe next year he could stay for two weeks. If that happens, Governor and I will find somewhere else to live or I might slap Philip silly. I already have to ask for forgiveness, because I asked God to drop a piano on Philip’s head.

Philip and his parents backed out of the driveway and I was very happy to see him getting smaller and smaller, and finally disappear. I could breathe again. I turned around thinking this would be a good time to have “the talk” with Mom and Dad. I looked but they weren’t there, so I figured they must have gone back inside.

Mom was laying on the couch with a cold cloth on her head. She didn’t even open her eyes. She said, “Have you ever ??”

Dad was sitting in his chair puffing and puffing on his cigar. “Unbelievable,” he said.

When I shut the door, they both jumped to their feet. Mom said, “Good Lord, I thought he’d come back!” Dad started laughing his head off, for real this time.

I probably won’t be going back to Rapid City next summer, but I would rather have Governor and Murdo all to myself than a beautiful pale pink bedroom and just big turtles to ride.

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