I was standing in the check-out line at the Woolco Store, right down the street from where we lived in Casper, Wyoming, when I felt a tug on my jacket. I looked down at this really cute little boy who obviously was troubled by something.
“What is it, honey? Is something wrong?”
He looked down at his feet. I thought he had become shy and was reconsidering telling me what was bothering him, when he looked up and said, “How old do you have to be before you know what’s going on?”
“Why would you ask?” I stammered. “What do you think is going on?”
“Never mind,” he said. “I have to go to the bathroom.”
I know I didn’t give him a very good answer, but that was back before people deeply analyzed the thoughts of children. I’ve thought about it many times since, and to be honest, if a child asked me that same question today, I would still be stuck for an answer.
The little boy was mine. I had to give up my place in line to take him to the bathroom. I was a caring mother, but I never looked too deep into my kid’s Psyche. In all fairness, I was only twenty years old when I had him, and I realized early on that I could easily be outsmarted by children of almost any age.
The other problem was I had a guilty conscience and really hoped he hadn’t caught on to what I was doing. I was at Woolco to buy a birthday card. I already had the gift. It was a nice, pinkish colored, bottle of Ambush. I can’t remember if it was cologne or perfume or even who gave it to me. I just hoped it wasn’t the girl from work whose birthday gift I had forgotten to buy. Back then we didn’t have an acceptable name for what I was doing… like re-gifting. My little boy tugging at my coat would have called it, lying.
I was really late, and I was taking the smart little thing, who was wondering how old you have to be before you know what’s going on, to the party with me. Time for a foxhole prayer. Please don’t let him rat me out. How embarrassing would that be.
Fortunately, he had gone on to other things his little mind questioned like, “Mommy, why is the goldfish so much smaller than it was yesterday?”
“Remember? He was sick. He must have lost weight.” I tried to think… Did I bury the (now dead) “other” fish deep enough in the garbage?
“You have to take us swimming because you promised! You said you would never break a promise.” I reminded my son, who now has two kids of his own, that he had to keep his promises to his boys, because he made me take him swimming that day.”
“I remember,” he said. “The pool was closed by the time we got there and I threw a fit all the way home. “Besides,” he added, “I break promises to my kids all the time. They understand that sometimes the stars just don’t line up and I can’t make it happen. It takes them about two seconds to get over it.”
This was taken when he was a little older. He got to travel by himself to visit Grandma Retta and Grandpa Gus in California.
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I have several better pictures of those times, but they’re all cataloged by date, person, event, and place. I didn’t have time to alphabetize them, so it would have taken me too long to find them.
“Don’t lie, Mom. They’re thrown into large plastic crates, with people whose names you don’t even know!”
This was taken right before I told him what really happened to the goldfish.
My friend. Pat gave me several hats that belonged to her daughter, Amy. I would love to know where she wore some of these. They’re really fun additions to my growing collection.
Waiting for my racehorse to arrive
Third floor? Sorry, I’m afraid of heights.
This is a real Stetson.
(Right now, Pat is saying OMG, I gave her Amy’s Stetson.)
Garden? Do you mean like touch dirt?
No…I just go to the garden parties.
Pink Dallas Cowboy hat. I found it in the garage. Pink is a good color…
Separated at birth
Answer to the above question:
A prayer…. Thank you from the bottom of my heart, for all the prayers you’ve been sending up for me…I can feel every one of them and I feel calm, thankful, and so very blessed…
I could get into a lot of trouble for writing this, but I usually write my stories without looking over my shoulder a whole lot. It interferes with my concentration.
When I wrote all of the “Little Murdo Girl” stories, I used everyone’s real first and last names. I never once thought that some people would not appreciate that. No one ever complained. At least not to me. I told it all… but this story is different, so I’m going to call it a docuestory. A true story about what you know first hand, is what you might call a docuestory.
I recently talked to a couple of guys I know who were traveling across the country with Guy #1’s ninety-eight year old mother. I think it’s bad luck to say things like, she’s going to be ninety-nine in a couple of months, so I won’t say that. Anyway, she’s very beautiful and very smart. Her hair is coiffed into one of those styles that doesn’t move for a week even in the South Dakota wind. She dresses to the nines from top to bottom and has beautiful nails.
While the threesome was driving across country, they decided to call and check on me. Guy #2 was driving, 98+ was in the back seat, and Guy #1 was in the passenger’s seat with B time on his hands. Do you know what B time is? Guy #1 didn’t know either, until I told him. Billy told me about it.
Let me explain…A time is when someone calls you when you’re at work, watching a movie, reading your children a book, reading yourself a book, or anything that is more important than talking on the phone with someone who you may or may not feel compelled to talk to except on B time. It’s pretty self explanatory. If you are driving your car, it’s always B time. It used to be easier when you could use your cell phone while driving. ( You still can if you’re a passenger, or if you have one of those hands free things, or live in Murdo, SD or Mabank, TX.)
B time can also be a situation like this person found herself in. It’s called, I’m sitting around looking beautiful, but I have a broken leg, time.
BTW I don’t really like those hands free things. If you have your phone with you and your bluetooth is on and someone texts you, it comes up on the screen and if your husband’s name is Kip, he hits the listen button. It will say, TEXT FROM PAT or another one of my friends. Then I have to try to remember all recent conversations and ascertain if there might be something sensitive in the text. The voice of GPS reads the message to you. I call it C time for “Could be awkward.”
Oh No!!! Call from Trixie!!!
Back to my docuestory. I ended up talking with the three travelers for over three hours in three different sessions. Guy #1 did the talking with an occasional fact check from the driver, Guy #2 and 98+ changed the subject a few times, which made us forget what we were talking about.
(Lav likes to collect Styrofoam cups on her A time. She’s going to make some Colon Cancer Cups for my boxes with them. She also talked with the threesome for an hour.)
I decided that even though I had some A stuff to do, I would hang in there as long as they did. We were at the end of hour three, when we went back in time as far as discussing a girl who went to school with Guy #1 and I. 98+ said the girl only weighed 1.5 lbs when she was born. Right about then, the line went dead. Lines don’t go dead anymore do they? There are no lines. I guess the mountains around Murdo interfered with the cell signal. Anyway, I have my suspicions, but I’ll make no accusations. Remember this is a docuestory so I have to stick with the facts. I just think someone had to stop to use the bathroom or get something to eat, which are both A time activities. It’s the hardest thing to do. I’m talking about switching from B to A time when you’re on the phone and get to where you’re going.
I had a lot more to tell you about their trip, but I have a headache now so this is it. I’ll change the title of this to B time. It was going to be, A Docuestory You’ll Never Forget.
Besides, I’m spending too much A time writing about B time.
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My name is Murdobird, but I’m not from Murdo. I’m flying there tomorrow. Is everyone there like her? I thought B time was for bird watching.
They call you Murdobird because you’re wearing orange and black… Has anyone seen my pom poms?
Today went by more quickly than I thought it would. I kept thinking this was the last day that I could accomplish much, since I would be recovering from surgery. I cleaned, did laundry, went for a walk with friends, shopped a little, and even detailed my car. Quite a productive day. It’s now almost nine o’clock and it’s time I should go to bed since I have to wake up at 3:45.
(I took this picture today of a beautiful blooming cactus in Kip’s cactus garden.)
I got a little discouraged after I slowed down and it dawned on me that, yes, tomorrow’s appointments will give us the answers to some of our questions and the surgery will be scheduled, but I may not actually be starting the process of the surgery and the healing…and whatever comes afterwards, for weeks. That’s a real bummer. It’s a weird feeling to walk around feeling pretty good, but knowing there is cancer growing in my body. There is an automatic built-in sense of urgency for the not so patient, patient.
I may have to do more laundry and clean the house, and change the sheets again before operation, operation takes place. We have been dealing with all of this since I got the colon cancer phone call on January 15th. My prayer worriers have been hanging in there all this time, and I’m very thankful for that.
I know I can get through whatever I need to and I have to remember that Kip is going through it, too. He’s been great, but it can’t be easy.
(I purchased this canvas wall hanging when I was resale shopping, today. It will look great in my she shed. Our lot came with a shed in the back yard that I have confiscated for my “Home for Beasterhops.”
Forgive my rambling. I appreciate being able to do that with some people I have grown to know and love through this blog.
I want to say a big thank you to my daughter-in-law, Amy, for the Breast Cancer Bible. Amy is a nurse and knows it will help me anticipate what comes next and to ask the right questions.
Hello Murdo Girl fans. We have a situation. One that has recently come to my attention. It seems that when I make personalities relatively famous in a series such as: The Presidential campaign, The Brick House, Connie’s Story, and even Dakota’s story, there is a big letdown when, as all good things do, it comes to an end and fame and fortune no longer seek them out. So being the helpful and “get er done” person I am, I have decided to open an employment agency to specifically help all of the somewhat talented people, animals, queens, and cars affected. I will publish my interviews as we work through the issues we face.
I think about Mom all the time, but even more so between her birthday on May 6th and Mother’s Day. I should write things down as I think of them. Actually, from what I have seen, all I would have to do is contact Facebook. It seems to me, they know my every thought. The other day, I “thought” about buying some new washable rugs. Later that same day, there was an ad on my reel… or whatever you call it. It was a video of a dog pooping on a variety of washable rugs. If you’re on facebook, here is the link. https://www.facebook.com/ruggable/videos/433145927430829/. The rugs are actually kind of neat looking.
I’m not afraid of what Facebook knows, but if they’re getting into my head, they should know it’s not safe…
Anyway, back to Mom. After they sold the Chalet Motel, Mom and Gus enjoyed traveling and RVing. Mom loved the road trips. They pulled a travel trailer behind their car, so Mom would give the front seat to their dog, Trouble, and she would stretch out on the back seat and sleep or just lounge.
Mom and Gus at Ella’s
We loved it when they came to Wyoming and stayed near us for several months at a time. Gus worked construction and Mom worked at the Rock Pile Museum. She loved it! When they settled in for good, they ended up moving closer to Billy and his family. Mom said they weren’t going to follow me around anymore. She had to get a new address book because she ran out of space for all of our moves.
Later on, Mom started having back problems and didn’t particularly enjoy spending much time in the car. I remember one of the times I visited them. Billy picked us up and drove us all to his house. By then, Mom had started having a few memory problems. She had been to Billy and Liz’s home many times, but with her memory failing her, she began to ask the same question each time they went anywhere.
“How long is this drive?”
I started to speak up and tell her it was an hour or more depending on the traffic, but Billy and Gus quickly butted in.
“It takes twenty minutes,” Billy said.
“Twenty minutes, just like always,” Gus threw in.
I still didn’t get it. Somehow, I finally understood what they were doing before I completely blew it. I doubt she would have taken my word for it, anyway. She asked the same question on the way back. I quickly reassured her it was only a twenty minute drive. She had remained perfectly happy with that answer, before. She hadn’t complained the whole hour it had taken us to get there, however, she verified my answer with Billy and Gus before she settled back for the short twenty minute drive back. About forty-five minutes into it, I should have asked Billy, “How many more miles??”
(We’ve heard this story a million times. Mary is getting to the age where she doesn’t forget to remember, but she remembers to forget.)
For several years, most of Mom’s pictures were of the left side of her face. She asked her friend, Audrey, which was her best side and that was the only side she turned to the camera. It didn’t really matter as the Sandersons never look towards the camera, anyway. I think Andrea is the only one who goofed up in this picture taken at Mom’s sister, Ella’s house. Uh oh, I just noticed Valerie looked at the camera, too.
(Elna Miller, Andrea Sheehan, Stephanie Miller-Davis, Valerie Halla, Ella Leckey, Loretta Gustafson, and Sugar Nyquist Parker).
When Mom called me, she would ask me all kinds of questions, but she would always preface her need to know with, “Don’t tell me anything bad.” She said she couldn’t handle bad news. I understand. What you don’t know can’t hurt you. It’s better to be told bad things after it’s all over and everything has turned out all right. It might be another Sanderson thing. Cousin Lav told me her dad used to say, “If Ella doesn’t have anything to worry about, she worries about not worrying.”
So, everyone, honor your mothers, your grandmothers, and their grandmothers, tomorrow. Go all the way back to the beginning of time. If it weren’t for that long line of mothers, none of us would be here. Same with the dads, but we’ll get into that next month.
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Those 70ish Girls 