Those 70ish Girls

PHANTOM AT THE WINDOW BY Valerie Halla

Standing at my kitchen sink, facing the green house window, rinsing off dishes, and I see a flash of yellow and a blurry figure barely peeking up from the bottom edge of the window below eye level. My eyes blink, my arms stop working and my shoulders jerked slightly. Was it a human sneaking up spying on me?

I stopped rinsing off the dishes and strained my neck looking out over the tiled shelf of the greenhouse window stretching up and onto my toes, but I couldn’t see anything. Maybe it’s just my imagination, maybe I shouldn’t have eaten those beans, or maybe I am overly tired. I laughed a bit under my breath thinking how silly I was to think a human was outside my window looking up at me from beneath the window.

I kept rinsing dishes there, while cautiously looking down at the base of the window. Now when I go to the kitchen sink to do anything, I look out. A few days later the flashing phantom popped up again. I ran to another window to look outside and down the side of the house. I couldn’t see anything.

Now I am scared to even water my plants which sit on a shelf in the greenhouse window.

Hey, I got some help, some confirmation, a tiny bit of support when our oldest son came for a few days to visit. He was washing his hands at the kitchen sink as I watched and chatted with him. All at once he took a half step back and said, “Whoa, there’s uh… something moving out there!”

“So you saw it? I’ve been there at the sink working and was seeing a flash once or twice that scared me also. Weirdly scary,” I said.

“I’m thinking it’s that bush under the window, and it’s windy so the leaves which are turning yellow flash up a bit into sight for a few seconds when the sun hits them. But it makes my heart stop and fight or flight takes over, Mom. We both saw it and had the same reaction. What a trip!”

Phew. Puzzle solved. It’s strange but even though the question of the phantom has been solved, it’s still spooky and interesting.

Part two- No, it’s not solved.

As I was outside pruning and putzing around the yard, I looked under the kitchen greenhouse window. The bush my son and I had mistakenly thought was the phantom plant brushing briefly up against the window and scaring us, was no where near the window edge. Here is proof that the phantom was not a light colored bush…

The mystery isn’t solved, I concluded, as I gathered more evidence outside my house. Now I’m not sure what to do. I think I need more expert knowledge and experience. I’m going to take a chance. I’m going all in. I’m going to call in Baba Wawa, an expert phantom detective. We will see what she can do to solve this mystery. She can’t make things worse, can she?

FUN TIMES…DARN IT – BY VALERIE HALLA

This week has been a challenge with a capital D, darn it. Seems like as we age, life tries to test our patience and mine has been on pretty thin ice with a capital C, crazy. No matter how you spell it, why is life tough? It’s tough especially in my 70’s it seems.

Here are a few things that have happened to me this week and I’m not admitting to any of these being my fault:

1. After making homemade beef barley soup for my husband, I put the leftovers in a sealed container and put it in the fridge. The next day I grabbed the lid of the container quickly and it opened unexpectedly. All the soup poured out onto the fridge shelf and down the front of the refrigerator and onto the floor. Naturally I didn’t cuss nor yell.
2. After cleaning up the mess, I did chores. (Since my husband has brain cancer, I’ve accepted more responsibility around the house.) Later in the day I took the overflowing compost bucket out to the bin but didn’t think clearly and dumped the stinky vegetable skins, egg shells and organic leftovers into the wrong bin. I threw it all into the recycling one. Darn it. After vocalizing a few more nice words, I turned the compost bin over and cleaned out the rotting compost, rotting juices, smelly waste and used a shovel to throw it into the correct bin. Darn. I was still irritated. Was this challenge the last one?
3. My husband has trouble walking, weak legs being an issue from the radiation he received on his brain tumors, so he uses a wheelchair sometimes. I have trouble lifting it, then throwing it into the car trunk when we go out. One time I must’ve used too much of my overpowering brute strength lifting the wheelchair, after folding it up, I threw it angrily into the trunk. The next time I took it out from the trunk, the wheels were jammed together. Now my husband had to hobble around using a walker because we couldn’t open the wheelchair. Guilt set in. Another challenge. I was fortunate that my brother -in-law met us at the cancer care hospital when my husband had his next treatment. He was able to pull the wheels apart on the wheelchair, but it took a weightlifter’s strength. He fixed the wheelchair. I thanked him profusely. He’s barely 70 which I reassured myself was why he got it open. He was young. Sorta.
4. Also this week, I volunteered with a new program at the SPCA in Monterey. I take one dog out in my car after having gotten training and I signed all the right forms and had an interview. I basically get a date with a dog who needs to get out and about. The dogs can get kennel anxiety. The powers that be at the SPCA asked me to take pictures of my doggy date and what we were doing. I picked up my cute date, a terrier, Corgi mix and went to Star bees and got my date, Lola, a pup cup. I introduced her to some nice customers sitting outside in the sunshine. They loved my date even though she was a bit overweight and short. She was friendly and liked to be petted. I asked one older man to please take my picture with the sweet little dog. I was loving my new volunteer job. This was easy and fun. The man did a nice job snapping several pictures, BUT the man corralled me into talking about my Doggy Day Out then switched to politics. Being a polite person, I listened to him for a bit. I didn’t need to hear about which websites I should check out and what is happening in the netherworld of political games. It was a trap, a trick I hadn’t seen coming. Lola didn’t mind as she lapped up the pup cup, even though she was overweight. Who cares? Woofs and slobbers. She even tore the paper cup to shreds. As the minutes went by, I struggled to be polite to the man with his many conspiracy theories like fleas consuming a dog. Lola seemed to like all the attention. Politics be damned, this was freedom from the kennel! It was time to leave with a capital A, adios! Somehow I got away. Lola seemed just as happy as I was as she wagged her tail and looked up at me. We had a nice long walk together to end our sweet time together.

I know you’re thinking what a complainer and sissy that 70’s gal is. I am. You’re right with a capital W.

However, I had another experience at the end of the week that was a quick reminder of how important it is to count your blessings.

I was leaving the grocery store after shopping. I had dropped my husband off earlier for Physical Therapy. I was offering a senior man a shopping cart as I left the parking lot but he waved it off saying, “Thanks anyway, but I’m heading to the bank,” as he pointed to Wells Fargo. He crossed my path.

“Well, if you don’t need my shopping cart, that’s fine but I sure can’t help you with anything at the bank!”

“Hahaha! I’m fine. At least I have money to live!”

“Yes. And I’m thankful for a roof over my head,” I replied laughing. “We’re gonna be fine.”

“And I have enough food,” he added.

“We’re blessed,” I finished chatting, turning to walk to my car. The man waved goodbye.

No matter how angry I get over the small issues in my life: spilling soup, jamming a wheelchair, crazy aggressive people- that short exchange with a stranger made me feel calmer, happier and more confident and connected with a good life. Sure it had been a tough week, but sharing another person’s thoughts helped me feel that I’m not alone. Things aren’t so bad.

Lola was tired and happy to get back to her temporary home at the SPCA. The attendant who helped me return her noticed how Lola looked at me. She said, “Looks like Lola really had fun and grew attached to you!”

“Yeah, we had a great date and it made me happy to help an innocent and incredible creature who appreciated me. She gave me more than I gave her today though. Thanks.”

Sometimes it just takes a dog, a pup cup and short chats with strangers to make us realize what’s important in life. Wonder what next week will be like.

https://maryfrancismcninch.com/2021/06/10/murdo-girl-be-a-goldenrod/

https://maryfrancismcninch.com/2023/04/14/those-70ish-girls-its-the-little-things/

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.