Those 70ish Girls

The RV trip is still on hold. This sad story is getting old. We’ve waited months to take our trip. It’s getting hard to get a grip.

Computerized parts seem to me aren’t all they’re cracked up to be. Give me the old fashioned way. When problems were fixed in just one day.

We long for days filled with travel fun. When motorhomes were made to run. When you turned the key and the motor started. And down the road we soon departed.

Though whoa is we, we’re not giving up. In life, sometimes you have bad luck. We’ll keep the faith that the day will come that the part turns up and the thing will run.

As I write this poem, it dawns on me that we’re as blessed as we can be. We have our health and so much more. There’s so much to be grateful for.

Is a trip what’s meant to be? As  my mother said many times to me. We shall see what we shall see. Whatever will be will be.

(The dealership can’t find the part we need to fix the motorhome. It’s a part that is very seldom needed for repairs. If that makes sense. We still have a wee bit of hope.)

“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.

POTATO CHIPS IN BED by Valerie Halla

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!

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?

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.

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.

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.

If I’ve helped you understand the game better, then I feel sorry for you.

DRESSING UP OR DRESSING DOWN BY VALERIE HALLA

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 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.

If you want to cheer up and have a good day, buy some new clothes.

As I get further along into my 70ish years, I have become increasingly aware of the value of time. I don’t think most of us fully appreciate each day we’re given, let alone each hour and minute. Life has many challenges, and circumstances for good or bad can change in an instant. It’s important to value time.

I don’t have the energy I used to or the stamina. I know part of the problem is I don’t exercise. I don’t get the old heart rate up. I know from experience that exercise on a regular basis makes you feel better. So why can’t I convince myself to begin a regular exercise program? The bottom line is, I’m lazy…really lazy. I’m lazy because I don’t get any exercise.

A good goal would be to do 5 things every day. 1) Do something for someone else, ie send a card, make a phone call, and maybe do something nice for Kip. 2) Reach out in some way to family, text grandkids or kids. 3) Exercise 4) Meditate and write in my journal 5) Have some fun

Good goals, right? Right! Will I follow through? It takes 21 days to form a new habit. I have the time. At least I hope I do.

Update: I started writing this a while ago, and since then, I have started taking Rylie for a daily walk. I can already tell the difference. I’m increasing my endurance, and I’m sleeping better. I’ve also started sending out note cards to people that I want to let know I’m thinking about them. I’ve even gotten better at writing in my daily journal. It helps me plan my day and keeps me more focused. So see? I’m making progress, and it feels good. That’s the fun part.