Those 70ish Girls

June 8, 2016

The following is an excerpt from an exclusive interview with retiring Jones County High School teacher, Margie Peters.

This exclusive interview did in fact take place. Even if it didn’t, it’s all true.

Yram Sicnarf: Good morning Margie. May I call you Mrs. Peters?

Mrs. Peters: Whatever floats your boat.

Yram Sicnarf: Let me introduce myself. My name is Yram Sicnarf and I’m an award-winning reporter out of Gun Barrel City, Texas. Please call me Yram.

Mrs. Peters: Gun Barrel City?

Yram: Yes, it’s a little town, South of Riffle Butt, and East of Slingshot, but that’s all you need to know… Mrs. Peters, out of the thousands of students who have excelled under your tutelage, is there any ONE particular student, who because of your influence, has risen to greater heights than those less fortunate?

Mrs. Peters: Oh, my goodness Miss Sicnarf from Gun Barrel, that’s really a loaded question. (No pun intended.) I hate to single out any ONE student, but I will say the whole town is extremely proud of Senator Thune. I’m sure you must have heard of him.

Yram: Yes, yes, I’ve seen the sign. Maybe it would help if we narrowed it down a little. Let’s say the class of 1970. To tunnel down even further, think female!

Mrs. Peters: Well yes, that certainly narrows it down doesn’t it? Hmm, let me think…

The sound of crickets

Yram: I recently interviewed a stunningly talented young lady who was very complimentary of your influence. She goes by …Murdo Girl.

More crickets…

Yram: Yes, Murdo Girl idolized you. She told me she credits you with the success of every one of her careers.

Mrs. Peters: Careers? You mean she’s had more than one? Are we talking jobs or careers?

Yram: Mrs. Peters, we’re here to talk about you. As an aside, Murdo Girl told me that she has never forgotten you…well there was that one time she used your name as a password prompt. The question was, “Who was your favorite teacher?” She had a momentary brain freeze and forgot. It all came back to her when she remembered how you had tricked her in speech class.

Mrs. Peters: Excuse me?

Yram: Yes the topic for the impromptu speech was, “What is an educated woman?”

Mrs. Peters: Ah yes, it’s all coming back to me. I was trying to get my students to think on their feet and be more creative. I recall a young woman who was struggling. She talked about school and college, blah, blah, blah.

Yram: So you admit to setting her up?

Mrs Peters: On the contrary Miss Sicnarf. I hope it was a valuable learning experience for her. An educated woman is a great deal more than…

Yram: I hate to interrupt Mrs. Peters, but I have an interview in a few minutes with the Senator’s father. He taught me, I mean Murdo Girl, algebra, and hired her to work at the Frosty Freeze one summer. Let’s wrap it up with this question. Do you really feel it’s important to know how to diagram sentences? I mean, how many times is an employer going to ask you to diagram a sentence?

Mrs. Peters: Are you sure this Murdo Girl was in my class? If so, she would realize the importance of using correct grammar. Knowing how to write and speak properly is part of being an educated woman. Knowing how a sentence is structured teaches the correct usage of nouns, verbs, adjectives, and adverbs. Some are unable to snag a good job because they don’t know a conjugated verb when they see one. I’ve noticed you always use first person.

Yram: I see…Does it help to use a lot of pictures? Never mind. I’m off to see Mr. Thune. Miss Murdo Girl has never had to use Algebra either, although she can make a mean malt.

Mrs. Peters: It’s very nice to have met you Miss Sicnarf. Don’t you want to take a picture before you go? I would suggest you take several.

I don’t see the sign. Do you see the sign?

I’m beginning a new exercise class tomorrow. Remember when I signed up for yoga last year? Here’s the story…

Like almost everyone in the free world, I woke up New Years Day with a resolve to get into shape. I didn’t set the bar too high because I think that’s the reason why others who might be lacking in self-discipline, fail. I decided my plan would be to exercise a few days a week and stop eating anything white. I couldn’t start right away because of our New Year’s trip to Galveston. Under those circumstances, I have no control over what other people feed me right? Don’t be saying that it’s not what, but how much I eat that counts. I don’t like to hear that nonsense because if the truth hurts, I wear it!

Lav and I participating in a vigorous and challenging class with Gus. Lav and I are the ones with the crowns on 

For years, I was so committed to running, I didn’t have to worry about a fitness resolution. I could catch up easily if I got waylaid for a month or two. Unfortunately, all that ended a few years ago. Actually it’s now been double digits ago. Anyway, shortly after that, I came to the end of the elastic in my skin. I hadn’t realized that when elastic has been around a while, it doesn’t snap back. Old elastic begins to resemble cottage cheese. All that kind of bothers me, but there is one thing that I’m having an even more difficult time accepting. I experienced it yesterday in the midst of a yoga class. All my flexibility is gone and rigor mortis has set in.

I struggled from the git-go.

I was already humiliated enough when I discovered if I tried to stand straight with one foot against my calf, I would fall over. Then the instructor said to move the foot upward toward my knee while still balancing on the other foot, and continuing to pay attention to my breathing. She said we could use a block that she had placed beside us if we felt “unsteady”. I was hoping she didn’t notice that my eyes were crossed and I was very close to hyperventilating. With very little oxygen going to the brain, I couldn’t feel my arms, let alone remember if I was supposed to hold them out like airplane wings, or above my head. I cannot breathe right when I am trying to look at the sky through my right arm while I make sure my fingers are spread wide and my eyes are actually closed. By this time, my friend, Barbara and the instructor had stopped making eye contact with me, anyway.

When I was supposed to have my eyes closed, I caught a glimpse of my feet. I looked at my right foot. Not bad, I thought. My nails were clipped and filed and I had painted them with a couple of coats of orange-ish colored polish. I was pleased since I hadn’t realized you did yoga without your shoes on. It really does pay to be prepared for anything. I couldn’t see my left foot yet because it was still trying to get to my knee.

When we were again seated on our mats, I saw my left foot. How in the world could I have forgotten to manicure the toenails on my left foot? Did the phone ring? Did the doorbell ring? Did I run out of time before I had to shower and dress? I don’t know!! Now what? If I stopped to put my shoes and socks back on, that might draw more attention to my dilemma, and later people would ask me why I decided to put my shoes on in the middle of the class? I guess I could have told them I got cold feet, which would have been true. Instead, I did my best to put it aside and continued to struggle through the remainder of the class. Even though I was sitting, I still felt like I was falling. During the drive home, I made a Thursday resolution to never let that happen again… starting Thursday. Now for the remainder of my life my left foot will be on a different schedule than my right foot.

I remember a time when my Grandpa Sanderson was showing me something, and I noticed that his fingernails were flat. I didn’t make the connection between flat nails and aging. I just noticed. I don’t know when it happened to me, but I have flat fingernails, too. Are you looking at yours? There is nothing you can do about it.

The bottom line is, you cannot outrun mother nature. Even if you have everything lifted, tightened, tugged and sandpapered, you will not look young forever. Your knees will still sag and so will your bottom. It will be more difficult to stand on one foot, and getting up from the floor hurts. Your smile really will look like a frown turned upside down and you cannot live in dark shadows forever. You can whiten your teeth now unless you have a mouth full of crowned teeth like I do. Crowns don’t whiten, which is the only thing I have found negative about a crown.

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My mother said, “Mary, you will get to a certain age when you have to decide if you are going to be plump with a good face, or be slim with a lined and sunken face.” She said to stay plump and sit down a lot. Thanks my forever beautiful Mother. I’ll do my best, but I will go back to that yoga class…as soon as I can find the time for a mani-pedi. How much do they cost now anyway? I think I’ll have someone else do it.

From now on, I will try any excercise that doesn’t begin with a Y, and I won’t drink anything white…except milk.

Yesterday…

I’m watching my little great granddaughter, Ryan Constance, today. She’s two and a half and has already outsmarted me several times. Do you think four mandarin oranges is too many for a child that small? She can peel them herself and pull all of the little sections apart. The downside is it makes a juicy mess and I had to change her clothes and wipe up her sticky trail. (I hated to make her sit at the table, so I didn’t.)

She had a cheese stick and peanut butter crackers for lunch. (That’s what she asked for.) Now she’s eating pretzels with Nutella for dessert. I didn’t think about putting her hair in a ponytail until she looked like she had been dipped in chocolate fondue. Visions of Mrs. E who consumed a whole jar of Nutella on my watch came to mind in time to distract Ryan from suffering the same fate. It went right through the poor lady.

Once Ryan got full, I could tell she was ready for a nap. I’m still recovering from surgery and can’t lift anything over 20 lbs which makes it difficult to coax a child to sleep. She was not happy about going to bed, but I managed to get the rail down and she climbed into her crib with the use of a small step stool.

I sang to her and patted her back while she sniffled and tried her hardest not to go to sleep. Finally, she reached for a bedtime toy and turned it on. There is nothing like soft lullabies and the sound of waves to induce sleep. I woke up a little later and found Ryan was also sleeping. I was lying on the floor, so I crawled to the door, but just as I reached it, I heard the sniffles again, so I crawled back to the side of the bed and stayed there until I was sure she was fast asleep. (I was relieved that she never actually cried.)

As soon as she gets off work, Nikki will be here to pick up Ryan and sister, Skyler, who will be home from school, and take them with her to a hair appointment. I hope she’s not in a hurry because Ryan is still all sticky and her shirt needs changed again. The floor is also sticky thanks to a bubble maker that Ryan loves. I made my kids go outside with their little bottles of soap and wands. (Ryan was having so much fun, I let her play in the bubbles as much as she wanted to.) I remember how Mom used to clean the floor so before I leave, I’ll take a damp rag and push it around with my foot.

I think the day went quite well.

I was really pleased when Ryan was born, and Nikki gave her my middle name. I’m still honored by that, but it has dawned on me why we’ve all been given a middle name. It’s so our parents can drive home the fact that we’re in big trouble. When Mom yelled, “Mary Constance,” I knew I was in for it! The other day, I heard Nikki say, “Ryan Constance!” I felt like I had heard my name and my Grandmother’s name in vain. At least when Harry Truman’s mother yelled, “Harry S,” the S didn’t do any damage because his parents only used S as his middle name because they couldn’t think of anyone they wanted to name him after.

Live and learn is what I always say and grandkids are great teachers.

Today I heard a voice. It was one I’d heard before.

It was just a whisper, but not easy to ignore.

I stood there quietly, not knowing what to do.

I saw no one there to speak, and no one to speak to.

The words were softly spoken, I could barely hear.

If the voice was going to whisper, it should whisper in my ear.

Today I heard a voice. It was one I’d heard before.

I said, “You must come closer if you want to tell me more.”

“I’ll raise my voice,” it said. “And come as close as you’ll allow.”

“Is this about the past?” I asked. “Or about the here and now?”

“There is something you should know,” I heard. “And it has to come from me.”

“Who are you?” I said loudly. ” In this darkness I can’t see.”

Today I heard a voice. It was one I’d heard before.

It made me squirm a little. I couldn’t listen anymore.

“You don’t have to see to hear. You don’t need your sense of smell.

Don’t you recognize my voice? It’s one you know quite well.”

“Whatever do you want from me?” I asked impatiently.

“Ask that question of yourself and answer honestly.”

I want to live in gratitude, for all that I’ve been given.

I want to be responsible for this body that I live in.

I want to think of others who have challenges to face.

I want to see the light in the very darkest place.

I heard a voice today. It was one I’d heard before.

It said I must begin…by pushing down so I can soar.

Poem was inspired by the above “crown quote” that my friend, Karen Lindquist sent to me today…

Karen and me a few years ago.

Inspirational photographs by my friend, Dianna Diehm…(Used without her permission.)

I was over-the-top excited. It was May 6th, 1959. I was in the first grade and it was Rally Day. We didn’t have to go to school on Rally Day. Instead, we went to the football field, which at that time was near the high school and next to the auditorium. I knew I was going to run in races, participate in the sack race, and broad jump. Billy was 14 and I had been to watch his activities but today, I was going to participate.

There was another exciting thing. My number was pinned to my shirt and it was #36. It was May 6th, Mom’s birthday, and my number was 36. Guess what? That’s how old she was that day. (I have since recalculated Mom’s real age. I was 7 yrs old, which means Mom had turned 38. Maybe the number 38 was already taken and Mom didn’t want me to feel bad.)

From left: Harriet Parish, Loretta Gustafson (Mom), Elsa Peck, and Florence Murphy.

My first grade class with our teacher, Mrs Sandy. The future class of 1970

I remember as if it were yesterday, standing in the hallway of our house, waiting for Billy to walk me to the field. I was sure he was being slow just to make me nervous. Like always with our family, we were among the first ones to get there. It was a beautiful, sunny day and I couldn’t wait to win some blue ribbons. I was hoping Billy would watch me.

We experience many firsts in our lives. Some not planned or expected. Those events usually change everything.

I never planned to live anywhere but South Dakota, yet I have lived in 5 states. I would have called anyone crazy, if they had suggested I would spend 30 years (so far) in Texas. Mom once told me she had to get a new address book because she ran out of room under our name, and she knew we would move again. We’ve lived in 5 different houses in Texas.

I was talking to my cousin, Val, and she asked me if I had gotten 2 other cousin’s Christmas letters. Another cousin, Mark, brought up two more. I was feeling sad. My family must not like me. My cousin said, “No, that’s not it…they have no idea where you are.”

Our email address has changed and I’ve lost count of all the houses we’ve lived in. We tease that we don’t do windows, so when they get dirty, we have to move. We turn the mattresses then, too. It’s my fault, anyway, because I know where all my relatives live. I did send them all the Sanderson Christmas story a couple of years ago.

So here I am…in Texas. And I have the most wonderful friends anyone could ask for. As my thoughts and memories reach back over the years, I can see I’ve always been surrounded by genuinely amazing people.

I’m sure glad I wasn’t the one running things..

My Aunt Irma Sanderson’s house. L to R: Harriet Parrish, Marce Lillibridge, Florence Murphy, Marge Bork, Evie Johnson, and Mom…They have all been in my stories. The doctor, the banker, and the dentist’s wives, and the lady whose little boy fell from the slide…These lady’s stories, like everyone’s are about changes they weren’t expecting.

You don’t have to be embarrassed, about an imperfection.

Each day that I get older, I add to my collection.

It became such a problem, I gave it some attention.

And soon I had created, a nifty new invention.

Now when I see myself, not one single flaw appears.

I use one of my darkened, demagnifying mirrors.

My invention has given me a lot of extra time.

My hair and face look perfect. Do I dare say they’re sublime?

I walked the dog this morning, using time that I had saved.

Neighbors stopped to chat, or simply smiled and waved.

More free time was used to read books that might inspire me.

I will take care of myself… have that colonoscopy.

I’ll catch up with my friends and write to relatives.

Take the grandkids to the zoo or some alternatives.

I find I need more time now. Where do I begin?

I’m paralyzed! I think I feel rigamortis setting in!

I am drawn to my old mirror that lights up and magnifies.

I can see weird looking make-up and horror in my eyes.

I find the website of my Rodan and Fields consultant.

http://mmcninch.myrandf.com

I order all the things I need, and all the things I’ve wanted.

I made myself a promise to be forever faithful.

And for my healthy glowing skin, I’ll be forever grateful.

I’ll still save time and money, because won’t need all that make-up.

When I use R and F skincare, I don’t want a cover-up.

The last thing I’ll apply, to my glowing face,

Is a moisturizer with just a little trace,

Of color our solution tool has deemed one I can’t resist.

The frosting on the cake is at the top of Oprah’s list.

My lashes after Lash Boost are much longer than before.

I add a light coat of mascara and I’m ready to hit the door.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

To look the way you want to feel, I think you will agree.

Use the number 1 skincare. We all look our best in “healthy.”

I challenged myself to write a whole blog without mentioning me, myself or I.

Well…it looks like I already blew that, so I’m going to tell you about my bad haircut. Without checking first to see if my girl was there, I went with Kip to get a trim. When we got to the haircut place, I said I wanted Nancy to cut my hair. Nancy was standing just a few feet away. The girl helping us said, “Oh, I’m sorry, Nancy doesn’t come in until 3:00.”

Kip gave me a look because I had mistaken someone else for Nancy the last time we were there. Anyway, They asked me if I wanted to come back or stay and have someone else give me a haircut. I said, “I’ll stay. No, I’ll come back. Final answer, I’ll stay.”

We sat down to wait. “Are you sure you even know the girl who cuts your hair is named Nancy?”

“Yes, I have her card…somewhere.”

Eventually, it was my turn. The stylist seemed nice enough and I felt a little better. I thought I should give her all the information I could about how to cut my hair, but I think I lost her about the third descriptive sentence into it. I decided to try to find some pictures on my phone. The stylist became impatient. I could almost here her thinking, “What do you expect from me? You’re a senior! You are only charged $12.00…(They went up a dollar since last time.)

“It says on the card here that your hair is cut in the swing-bob style.” Shall I just trim it a little?”

When I left there I didn’t have a bob and my hair was way too short to swing. I couldn’t believe I got a bad haircut when I didn’t even have a reunion or something to go to. The last time my hair was this short, Kip told me it was okay to have hair.

I’m showing my swing-bob while whitening my teeth,

It doesn’t matter. I got over it quickly. I was excited to go pick up my tooth tray and the whitening solution. I really laughed when I saw what I had gone through 3.5 hours of being waterboarded for. By the way, if you see the container they gave me to contain my trays, be sure and return it to me. They only fit my teeth, anyway. I recognized the trays as soon as I saw my own crooked teeth made from plastic.

Yram Sicnarf is on her way back to Gun Barrel City. Her reasons are simple, but then Yram is simple. She hasn’t snagged any bigshot interviews in Murdo for months. That last one with Dean Lindquist pretty much nipped her budding career in the bud. I mean, it’s pretty impossible to get a good interview when you have to stay 500 feet from the interviewee. Well, at least there are no restraining orders against her around Gun Barrel…at least not yet!.

Though she doesn’t have an appointment, (it usually works out better that way), Yram follows the directions to the address she was given by some guy at the Church by the name of Jube. Yram wondered why he uttered these words as he handed her the folded slip of paper.

“Heed my words, crack-up reporter. Don’t park behind her.” Then he grabbed her arm and said, “And don’t park in front of her, or beside her, either. Maybe you should walk from here!”

Yram thought Jube was kidding around with her, but as she drove up Church Lady’s street, she noticed there were no cars, anywhere. The only sign anyone had even been on the street was a broken up statue of an Eagle and several for sale signs.

Yram, not being one to walk very far, parked in the driveway, right behind the Church Lady’s car. She got out of her vehicle, walked up to the front door, and rang the doorbell. Minutes later, a lovely lady with a big smile on her face, opened the door.

“Come on in,” she said. “I’ll make some coffee and cook a big breakfast! Are you related to Murdo Girl? Except for the yellow hair, you look a lot like her.”

“Everyone says that, but my teeth are whiter. My name is Yram and I’m a crack-up reporter. I’m from here, but I went to Murdo, SD to advance my career. I came back.”

Church Lady: What can I do for you, Ymam? I have to get to the church in a few minutes. I left too late the other day, and knocked that big eagle over. Oh well, there’s another one right beside it. One is enough, I’d say.

Yram: Please call me Yram. Ymam was my mother. Say, that bacon smells good! I can take it with me if you have to leave before I eat it. I’m parked behind you, so I’ll have to move my car.

Church Lady: That won’t be necessary Ywhatever, I’ll just take the ditch. Say…did that policeman who mistakenly said I was speeding to Church send you over here to investigate me? This can’t go in the paper. I don’t want to put the choir in a bad light. I have cinnamon rolls, too!

Yram: Well if you insist…Oh my, they look homemade. Listen, Church Lady, we’re going to have to talk about another interest of yours, so we don’t have to leave the choir in the dark. What else do you like to do besides speed?

Church Lady: Well, music is my life, but I’m also a belonger. If there’s a meeting somewhere, I’m in! I moved a lot closer to the Church, but I still speed to get there. Oh, and I judge things, like pies at the Texas State Fair, awards show performances, fashion shows. Wherever something is happening, I’m there! Now grab your food and let’s go. Your coming to the Church with me. I want you to meet our choir, and of course Lance…..and and and…. We all need a good preacher in our lives. Do you sing alto? Can you put a hat on that yellow hair? I’ll take you to a couple of places and we’ll find you something you’ll love.

Yram: What’s that noise? It sounds like a siren. Is that a policeman behind us? I don’t need anymore trouble.

The Church Lady screeches to stop and a policeman walks up to the car.

Yram: Please don’t tell me you have a restraining order!

Policeman: Heck no! I can see you have your seat belt on. Mrs. Church Lady, follow me. I’ll make sure everyone’s safe while you drive to Church.

Yram: I’ll be able to say hi to Jube and tell him I get it!

Church Lady: You’ll see all five of them.