Those 70ish Girls

ONCE A JOKESTER ALWAYS A JOKESTER

Valerie Halla

When I was teaching elementary school, about 16 years ago, a couple great teachers had playground duty with me each Friday at 8:00 am sharp. We were always excited because the weekend was coming and we got a break from the routine. The two teachers and I came up with a joke plan. We decided we would each share a new joke every Friday. We even had another teacher who we liked, come out onto the yard to tell us a joke now and then and he did not even have an 8:00 am scheduled recess duty. He just liked us because we were laughing so much. So our joke challenge started. It would be an end of week challenge to make the other two laugh. Sometimes we would retell jokes, but that was all right with us because we had forgotten the joke and it would seem fresh enough to laugh again like mad.

I’m still close friends to this day with these now retired teachers and we are all in our 70’s, and we still tell jokes, silly ones, short ones, long winded complicated jokes, you name it.

As I care for my husband who has brain cancer, I am realizing how powerful and helpful laughter can be although it’s not a cure. Jokes, humor and giggles are a stress reliever. They can get his mind off his health. A sense of humor goes a long way in taking him to a fun place even temporarily. Relief from pain, anxiety and stress can come in the form of a belly laugh and sharing silliness. I got the idea to have him join the elderly jokesters.

In fact, I set up coffee or lunch meetups with these two friends and my husband often goes with us using his walker to get around . He starts smiling as soon as the joking and goofy stuff starts. He is lifted up and away from the depression, isolation and stress of his cancer and the immunotherapy treatments, blood tests, doctor appointments, medical advice, and all that. They are gone while we tell jokes and laugh.

It’s a laugh fest with a group of 70ish old timers telling jokes and sharing funny stories like this:

“Where does a bad rainbow go?” One friend starts after greetings and coffee orders are placed.

“I don’t know! Where?”

“To the prism so it can reflect on what it’s done.”

…Laughs and coffee all around.

“Hey, my first therapist said I am too vindictive! Well,” punching my one fist into the palm of my other hand, “we will see about that.” My friends burst out in laughter, knowing I’m just making this all up as I go.

Take another shot of coffee.

Then I continue, “My new therapist says I am overly condescending.” Then I turn and look down my nose at everyone seated around the table. “That means I talk down to people.”

We also tell true funny stories about our lives which are even better than a made up joke. Our good pal, whose wife passed away about a year ago, gave us his recollections of driving a rented camper through New Zealand on a trip with his wife many years ago. She was driving and naturally the driver’s seat is on the opposite side of the vehicle from American vehicles. They came to a one way bridge over a deep ravine. In New Zealand on a one way bridge, you allow the car which arrives first to cross. His wife looked then drove over the narrow bridge, but she could not find the brake as they were speeding along. She drove up one side of the bridges edge then criss-crossed over driving up onto the other side. They were careening all around the edges of this bridge. His wife had on big boots and she was flailing in the oversized boots screaming out: “WHERES THE BRAKE PEDAL? HELP!”

He said he just thought to himself : we are going to die right here on this one lane bridge. He was speechless. He tried not to look.

Finally his wife found the brake pedal and slowed down. She just looked over at him and calmly said, “Everything is under control” as she kept on driving.

He told us in conclusion, “I drove the entire rest of that trip.” We knew he held that special time deep in his heart because it was a memory of a trip with his wife of 54 years. He laughed as he told it.

“Why can’t you hear a pterodactyl go potty in the middle of the forest?“

“Why?”

“Because the pee is silent.”

The jokes roll on.

“I’ve been frustrated shopping for a camouflage jacket. I can’t find one anywhere.”

This one is kinda mean:

“What does DNA stand for?”

“I dunno!“

“National Association for Dyslexia.”

~~ So if you’re having a down day or someone you know is sad and needs help, tell them a joke or ask them their favorite joke. Best of all, get out for a meetup with friends. They say, “Laughter is the best medicine.” I think that’s true. Socializing also helps.

By the way, I am running out of jokes, so please send me some or let’s meet soon for a jokester chat.

Billy just turned 80.  There’s still lots he hasn’t done. I know that he’ll be going strong when he turns 81.

The horses will be racing, and he’ll bet on one or two. Please, Lord, let him win before he turns 82.

There are lots of Netflix movies that he hasn’t had time to see. Please let him view a few more… beyond age 83.

He’s made lots of friends and he’ll need time to make some more. For that he’ll have to stick around until he’s 84.

In all his 80 years he’s been glad to be alive. He’ll still be really grateful when he turns 85.

If his body holds together and there won’t be lots to fix. I know he’ll still enjoy his life when he turns 86.

To him, life on earth is close enough to heaven. He’ll behave as much as possible when he turns 87.

And if he can continue on this side of Heaven’s gate. He’ll look forward to enjoying turning 88.

I could go on and on, but why all the fuss? Let’s skip right to 93 when he’ll be as old as Gus.

I hope you know this poem is really all in jest. As far as brothers go, you really are the best!

My favorite little Billy story…He said, “I’m not going to tell you what I got you for Christmas Dad, but you’re not going to have to use that old knife anymore.”

We lost our beautiful dog, Nellie. We had to have her put to sleep. We’re really feeling the loss, but the one I feel sorriest for is our other little dog, Rylie. He doesn’t understand why his buddy for all these years isn’t around anymore.

When we had the two of them, they could be left alone for several hours at a time. We left Rylie alone for a couple of hours this morning to see how he would do. We were able to watch him on our security camera, and he propped himself up on the arm of the couch and kept his eyes on the door the whole time we were gone. When we finally came through the door, he cried in relief. We didn’t go to church last Sunday because it was only the day after we lost Nellie, and we didn’t want to leave him alone that long. We’ll be going to church this Sunday as we realize he’s going to have to adjust to not having his buddy by his side.

Is it worth it to have pets when you have to go through the heartbreak of letting them go? It’s a resounding, yes. They add so much to the quality of our lives, and their unconditional love is too amazing to live without.

Nellie had so many endearing personality traits. We’ll always miss her.

Kip and I have owned 17 dogs in our almost 43 years of marriage. Usually 2 at a time, but once when we lived in the country, we had 6. All but 3 of the 17 have been rescued dogs, so some were older when we got them. All still have a place in our hearts where we store fond memories.

Goodbye, sweet Nellie. Thank you for being our faithful friend.

BREAKING DOWN LITTLE BY LITTLE

By Valerie Halla

Being older and having challenges thrown at us more and more, I’ve been thinking about how that can be a good thing. I am talking about physical and mental challenges.

First of all, these aches, pains, health and mental problems often can come at us over time and gradually. That’s a positive thing, because when they all get dumped on us at once, it’s just too much, as my Aunts used to say, just TOO. much. We can take one negative thing and deal with it maybe before another comes along. Humans can bounce back. When you are 70ish, it’s harder.

Secondly, it could be worse. I overheard- (of course I wasn’t eavesdropping) – someone say, “Oh no. She’s looking stooped and older. Sad.”

I’d rather be stooped than stupid.

My Mom and her sisters, when they were 70ish and older, were surprised when a good friend became hunched over in old age. They were sad at how she looked, but true friends stick by one another. They were close and communicated with Sugar, her nickname, til the end. That’s a plus, kind of, being stooped, but if you’re stupid you might not know it. That is a positive thing also. You can go gleefully through life and be oblivious to the consequences. When you’re stooped you can look down at your path forward. When you’re stupid, you don’t really know what the path is.

A dear friend I have known for decades and who knows that Ken and I are going through tough times with his melanoma brain cancer diagnosis, last August, texted me lately:

—-“Valerie- Just a reminder to you to take care of yourself through this. Sleep, exercise, social life, relaxation techniques…I know you know all this but stress is insidious…love you .”

I had to look up that word, insidious. It means:

So beware if you are a caregiver or just seeing yourself stressed out over and over. All this stress or effects from aging might not seem to be dangerous or harmful, but they’re INSIDIOUS. My longtime friend opened my eyes to my situation as a caregiver. My time caring for my husband can break me down maybe before he even gets worse. This could be harmful. The caregiver can pass away before the patient. That’s why taking breaks, going to the gym, or for walks and socializing often can ease the harm of caregivers and aging. Take care of yourself.

Changes can be gradual. Decline can be gradual. Pain and mental fatigue can creep up. Take care of yourself so you can take care of others you love.

Getting old is a challenge. Keep fighting it little by little.

WHEN YOU GOTTA TAKE THE KEYS AWAY by Valerie Halla

It’s inevitable and most likely that a cancer patient will have his/her driving privileges taken away. My husband had seizures a few months after being diagnosed with metastatic brain cancer so the doctor had to let the DMV know and they suspended his license. We never questioned this nor followed up to check if his license was intact or revoked permanently or temporarily. We were just glad medication was prescribed that halted the frightening crippling seizures. Driving wasn’t important.

However, being the nice person I am, I never took away my husband’s car key fob. It sat on the counter and once when I was out with friends, my husband took the fob and escaped and drove to the larger town 10 miles away. He got lectured by me when he returned. He could’ve gotten in an accident and killed someone. Our insurance costs could sky rocket. I thought it was over. He wouldn’t cheat again. Then a few weeks ago he really started to improve his walking and talking abilities. We attributed it to the steroids he had started. I was having a colonoscopy and foolishly didn’t set up any friend or neighbor to drive me home. You guessed it. I had Ken drive me home. He did well. But after admitting to my daughter, since she asked who drove me home, I got the totally royal, “you are guilty, Mom, this is your adult-kid-lecture and you should be ashamed treatment”. WOW. ZOW. POW.

All three of our adult kids told me to hide his key fob so I finally did. It’s in the cupboard in Great Grandma’s gravy boat. I don’t think my husband will be making gravy in the near future and find it.

Other people have been telling me stories of how they had to take charge and hide a loved one’s keys. My Grandpa Sanderson was in his nineties when his two sons talked to him first and then had to take his car away. He was reasonable. They put his car in the driveway of one of their homes. He knew it was safe. He took it well. He told us that he was driving the interstate once and fell asleep at the wheel of his white Ford. He woke up to find himself on the shoulder of the busy highway. He often drove up one side of the burm of a road and down the other side pretty recklessly . It had been apparent to many of us that he shouldn’t be driving for a long time, but someone had to make the final decision. It’s for the best. Some people take it calmly and others fight it. No matter; it far surpasses the alternative of killing yourself or someone else in an accident.

Aunt Loretta knew, too. She had not driven much in Southern California having been a country gal and used to the more tame roads and highways of South Dakota. Moving to California was a big change. She went to get donuts one morning and accidentally drove onto a ramp heading onto one of the busiest Southern California freeways in the state. It was rush hour. It was crazy. She was ill prepared to say the least. She got in one lane and tried to maneuver into a slower lane but California drivers don’t know slow. She panicked and tried using the blinker to get over to the right and exit. Drivers don’t always let you get over and you’re often stuck in a lane going insane. (There are about a thousand lanes on CA freeways.)She swore to herself that if she got off the freeway and back home again, she would never drive again. And she didn’t. No one had to take her keys. She surrendered them gladly.

If you know someone maybe close to you who shouldn’t be driving, please talk to them. Follow the little voice inside you which might give you advice or a warning to take the responsibility of making your community safe by making an unsafe driver stop driving – at least temporarily. The unsafe driver may not even realize they aren’t capable of driving. Or maybe you can talk it over with a friend, your pastor or a relative who can give you counsel on taking the keys away. It’s also done with drinking and driving situations. Take the keys and take an unsafe driver off our streets.

I’m sure there must be an enormous number of 70ish people out there who play Wordle. A friend of mine recently suggested I give it a try and now I’m hooked. If you haven’t played, Google it. It’s a New York Times word game. You have 6 chances to guess a 5 letter word. It has all the letters of the alphabet at the bottom so you can keep track of the letters you have used. If you get a letter right, a gold tile turns over. If it is in the right place, a green tile turns over. It is addictive. It usually only takes a few minutes, and there is only one word each day. When you get the correct word, all the tiles turn over green, and it is such a thrill. At least it is for easily entertained, me.

So what do I do with the rest of my day? Of course, it varies. Sometimes, I do mundane things like housework and laundry. I usually bake something once a week, and I have recently started reading again.

We have been doing some yard work but only to further our goal to make our yard low maintenance because we still have some long RV trips planned.

I don’t do a lot of things with friends, which I miss, but since our move, I live 40 miles from my old stomping grounds. Kip and I only have one car right now, and it seems silly to get another one because we usually go everywhere together. We still make the drive to church each Sunday, but that’s about it as far as going to Mabank.

For the first time in my life, and now in my early 70ish years, I do find myself getting bored. My writer’s block persists. The poetry won’t come to me. What I need to do is find a local fitness class and maybe do some volunteer work, whatever that may be.

Kip stays super busy with projects I can’t help him with so I’m left to my own resources. Yes, as I write this I realize I need to get involved in my new community. I will search things out keeping in mind that we still plan to travel as soon as we get some things on the RV fixed. To be honest, the high temperatures keep us from doing much outside after noon. The dogs hate it. They keep asking to go out, forgetting it’s hot so it’s a constant in and out for them.

So have I rambled on enough? What can I say? I’m 70ish. At least I wrote something.

THINGS GET LOOSER IN YOUR SEVENTIES

By Valerie Halla

I’m not one to write toilet humor nor about disgusting physical failings that are often unmentionable but it hits us all including my dog. Incontinence is no fun.

One morning recently it seemed like my life was full of cleanups. I had to help my husband, who has melanoma brain cancer, to the bathroom but he didn’t make it in time. In fact I already had two pair of his sweatpants in the wash from previous accidents. So I did a couple loads of laundry then went to check the dog pad on our front room floor. What a mess met me there as I looked on the floor. Nincompoop had peed not only on top of the pad but urine had flowed under the edge of the pad also. It was a poodle – er – puddle of wetness. She had also let loose over in a corner on the hardwood floor and then moved onto an electric cord with poop. She was living up to her name! It was poop galore. It was one dirty mess after another. It was stinky. It was ugly. It was old age.

I started the cleanup, all the while knowing my old dog can’t help it since she’s almost 13. It was not only incontinence in my husband’s case but also in my dog’s. It might hit us all. We might have to clean it up for ourselves or get help. The physical therapist who helped my husband said to use briefs. I remembered my mom calling them “adult diapers”. It did sound kinder to say “briefs.”Accidents in our 70’s do happen, so briefs are insurance. You pay for it not just for your car or house or boat, but just in case an accident happens even in embarrassing circumstances with loose bowels or kidneys. Although it’s more fun to think of your car, house or boat needing insurance instead of your pants.

I’m not an expert at discussing the medical aspects of incompetence or incontinence or incompleteness or infidelity or any “in” words. A lot is being done for we 70ish kids in the medical field. If you have incontinence, see your doctor. If your dog has it, see a vet or buy doggie diapers…uh…. briefs. Your dog won’t care what you call them. Just don’t let it go, so to speak. You don’t want to be in a store with a puddle suddenly surrounding you on the floor. Nor do you want your dog lifting his leg on a stranger’s pants. My mom used to say, “You can’t teach an old dog new tricks.” That’s true about people also. I will probably have trouble learning to use briefs but when that day comes, I’m sure things like muscles won’t he so strict and tight. I’m sure things will be loose and flowing along. Just go with it the best you can. And seek help.

It’s just a part of life in our 70’s. Our body parts get looser and our brains get weaker. You can take care of yourself by exercising more and eating right but research shows that socializing also is a big benefit to anti-aging. My Aunt Loretta used to discuss either taking care of her figure or her face but she couldn’t do both she said, so she was going to sit around mostly. She had a strong social network and was great at socializing. Nowadays there are even armchair exercises and physical therapists who can help you tighten those muscles. There are apps to help you find the nearest restrooms if you’re traveling and need to get to one fast. There are portable commodes to put next to your bed and I could go on but just know that you’re not alone in this incontinence problem. (You’re not even safe laughing at a good joke.)

My cousin on my Dad’s side who is ten years older, told me she got a nice set of bowls as a gift for her first wedding long ago. She was writing her thank you notes, like we did in the 1950’s, and wrote to the gift giver: Thank you for the pretty bowels.

Here’s hoping our bowels are pretty and work for a while longer.

BLESSED WITH THIRTEEN by Valerie Halla

Being an only lonely child growing up, I was in kid mode heaven when I slowly realized I had 12 cousins on my Mom’s side. We would visit South Dakota in the 1950’s and 1960’s driving for days from Pennsylvania where we lived and my whole world opened up like a combo- Disneyland with friends welded onto a “toy store” of family members my age, all in one, with love, fun and life showering down on me. It was magical. It was life changing. It was grand. Cousins were a life saver.

I used to want to play nonstop outdoors with kids in my suburban neighborhood growing up in Pennsylvania, but they often got called home or went inside to play with their brothers and sisters. I was alone with all this juvenile energy and a huge imagination, but there weren’t always other kids around. It got lonely.

Until I met 12 amazing humans as a kid on one trip to South Dakota during a family reunion in Murdo who I happily discovered were my cousins.

Terry is the oldest of the 13 cousins and my first impression of him as a kid about 10 years younger than him was how tall he was. He grew up in Murdo as an only child. He liked fishing, hunting and playing sports. As a young adult, he had one of the first Volkswagen bugs we had ever seen in smalltown Murdo. We all stared at the car since all we had ever seen were Fords, Chevys and GM cars. After getting his college education, he became a banker.He married a wonderful woman and went on to have four sons and lots of grandkids. He lives in Sioux Falls, South Dakota.

The next oldest cousin is Bill. I didn’t get to know Bill too well until he was tasked with taking me to the movies one warm summer night when we were visiting South Dakota, as my Mom visited with her parents and brothers and sisters. Bill paid for us, got popcorn and snacks and we started to watch an old King Kong movie at the little movie theater. I only saw part of King Kong. I was terrified looking up at the big screen as the eye of King Kong looked through a window of a building. Hey, it was just a scene in the movie but it reached out from the screen and shook me up. I was about 8 years old and I hadn’t seen any scary movies ever. I started crying and Bill tried to calm me down to no avail. I was interrupting everyone in the small town Murdo Theater. Bill somehow got me outside and someone called my Mom and Aunt Loretta who came and got me. Bill was happy to get rid of me and went back to watch the rest of the movie. I didn’t realize it until later that Bill was one of my closest friends when I was a toddler even though we both were too young at the time. He would be dropped at our apartment above Sanderson’s store where Grandma and Grandpa lived across the hall and they were supposed to babysit him, however Grampa would be napping. My Dad had to entertain Bill. Bill was a fun “big brother” type cousin and good with engaging people and telling stories. He lives in Los Angeles and has two children.

Jeff H comes next. He’s the oldest of Uncle Jeff and Aunt Irma’s two children. We called him Jeff H to distinguish him from his dad. Jeff H and I didn’t get to know one another at all since he seemed to be working on highway construction during summers or at his family store or playing sports. My parents thought he was a cute little boy when they were living in Murdo after the war. They even babysat sometimes. He said things they thought were funny when he was just a little toddler like calling deer “dur” and saying someone got “drosted” meaning hit with rocks and dirt. Jeff as a young adult took me to a dance in Draper once with another highway worker and the two guys pretty much ignored me. I don’t think I got asked to dance once. The big excitement was when a fistfight started out front. Jeff went into banking for many years and loves fishing. Jeff has one daughter and lives in Minnesota.

Bobby and his brother and two sisters didn’t live in South Dakota but were born in Michigan since their father got a job with a division of GM there many years ago. When Bobby and his brother and sisters came for summer visits to Murdo often, we would just see each other off and on. He would go fishing a lot with Grandpa and the guy cousins and I would stay to play with other cousins or take care of a litter of kittens that popped up in the neighborhood. Bobby would hang out with the men cousins and uncles and Grandpa.

We cousins would act out skits or sing songs like Purple People Eater or Yellow Polka Dot Bikini to perform under Grandma and Grandpa’s trees in their yard where it was cool. The younger neighborhood kids and cousins would be our audience. I really only got to know Bobby when we were preteens and everyone in Murdo thought he was so cute. He could have charmed the girls easily with his good looks and personality. Also in later years we would meet at family reunions. He has volumes of information and archival materials on our family tree. He’s written loads of papers on our family history and done research interviewing relatives and friends of our families. He’s good at genealogy. Bobby is an accomplished highly intelligent human being and worked at Buick for decades. He’s our family historian. He is also kind, caring and generous. Bobby has three sons. He lives in South Dakota.

Blake is Bobby’s younger brother and they don’t look alike but they’re close in age. Blake had rheumatic fever when he was a kid, I think. Our mothers wrote letters back and forth when the families were young and I remember my Mom being worried about her sister’s son, Blake. I didn’t know Blake very well either until he was married and bought a house in California. He invited my parents and I over to their big house and Aunt Loretta and Gus also. I went once when my kids were little. Everyone got dressed up because to my parents, it was a big deal going to Blake and Melanie’s. Another big deal was when Blake and Melanie bought an old building in Deadwood and after years of renovation opened it as an historic hotel with a ballroom on the top floor. It’s a quaint boutique hotel and walking inside, you’re taken back to the 1860’s or thereabouts. Blake has a lovely wife and three adult children. He has some funny stories about Grandpa Sanderson, as we all do. Blake lives in Deadwood, SD and sometimes in Michigan.

Cousin Andrea is six months older than me and you cannot find a more honest, trustworthy, beautiful lady. When we were toddlers together in Murdo, the local hairdresser nicknamed her “bug eyes” because she has large brown eyes that stare unflinchingly at you and I was nicknamed “pickle puss” since I loved sour dill pickles from Sanderson’s Store. We partly grew up together and when my family had left South Dakota for my Dad’s home state of Pennsylvania for about ten years and moved back to South Dakota, Andrea and I were in 7th and 8th grade together. What a pair. I copied everything she wore, how she talked, walked, and terms she used. She always said she tried to be different and I was totally following her by NOT being different at all. Andrea went on to become a popular student and was Homecoming Queen . She was close to her family and loved going skiing with them out on local dams after her Dad bought a boat. She had organized the cousins to sing carols at the annual Christmas get together one time which was a lovely tradition. The Murdo families all got together to open gifts and eat delicious food at a potluck. The aunts and uncles took turns having the celebration at each others home. Later in life, Andrea helped with her younger brother, Greg, to build a motel in town and a doll museum. She’s a successful businesswoman and a strong woman both in her community in Pierre, and in her beloved state of South Dakota. She has two sons and one stepdaughter and lots of grandchildren . She lives in Pierre.

PART 2

Next, we have yours truly. I am Valerie, in the seventh position among the 13 cousins. I’m honored and in awe of being in the Sanderson Cousin Clan of 13. I am a baby boomer, born in Pierre, South Dakota and raised in Murdo and the suburbs of Pennsylvania then back again briefly to SD then to California for high school. The surfer craze was on then, and the turbulent ‘60’s had started. I went to college and got my teaching credential. I taught for 34 years and now I’m enjoying retirement life having a good time. I have 3 children and live in California.

Mark comes next as younger brother to Jeff H. He grew up in Murdo and played in the high school band. His parents were well known and active in the community. Mark had the best yard for kids. He had a hut playhouse, a treehouse, a big stock tank to swim in, a barrel hanging up to ride and Uncle Jeff made rubber band type play guns for us. Mark grew up involved in school with perfect attendance. He went off to college and studied business. He traveled around a bit, then bought a place out in the country and got busy remodeling and rebuilding a partially constructed house there. He and I biked out there decades ago and looked it over. I kept feeling like he was planning on something big. It was a mystery to me. He was being secretive. He was planning a life changing adventure. He built a motel out in the country. Many years later now he lives there part of the year after also having a successful business in California which he eventually sold. Mark enjoys managing and maintaining his Country Inn with its beautiful prairie setting, indoor pool, and many unique rooms he rents out to travelers, many of whom return year after year to stay at his motel. Mark lives in California and South Dakota.

Mary is just a few weeks younger than Cousin Mark. She’s the younger sister of Bill. I remember first seeing her, a darling little girl with her dark hair in curly ringlets, bouncing along on her pony Governor. I didn’t know if the curls were bouncing more or the pony. As she grew up we all learned how cute she was and strong willed, talented and imaginative. We tried playing Rawhide together when we were about 10 and 12, she on her horse and me borrowing Mark’s horse, Prince. We were trying to herd dairy cattle one warm summer day. We lazily settled out in a pasture, not a care in the world, not only were we trespassing but we were running another man’s cows without permission. That already meant trouble. Mary and I in our youthful wisdom decided she would ride back to town to get us food and water. I would stay with the saddle which I had removed from Prince as the horse munched grass. I would faithfully wait for Mary to return and I waited, and waited , and waited. Mary didn’t return and I was getting thirsty plus I wondered if rattle snakes were out there on the prairie with me just lying around in the grass. Duh. She never returned because she got distracted and decided to play with other kids and forgot about me, until my mom drove around looking for me and ran into Mary. Luckily my dear mom found me after Mary gave her directions. After that I wasn’t ready to play Rawhide again no matter what Mary said. Lucky for us we didn’t get in trouble with the law, Rawhide or no Rawhide. Mary was a true Murdo Girl and later wrote her own blog with fantastic stories of growing up in a small town with lots of relatives around to keep you honest. Mary lives in Texas and doesn’t own any horses nor cows. She has four kids.

Stephanie was the younger sister of Andrea. She was a beautiful little blue eyed girl who grew up in Murdo. She had a talent for organizing people and bringing them together. She broke her tailbone as a cheerleader in high school and worked hard to organize a large pep rally to cheer on the team. She met her husband in college and he became a doctor and she worked as an EMT. They had three girls. Stephanie worked for Governor Janklow. She also helped her community financing Dolly Parton’s movement and getting free books to children from birth to age 5. There is a Stephanie Miller-Davis Day held in Murdo in her honor for all she’s done for the library and community. She and her sister, Andrea, organized several Sanderson Family Reunions in the Black Hills which were fun, well done and a chance for our families to come together from far and wide. Stephanie was liked by all who met her.

Suanne is the younger sister of Bob and Blake. We cousins who didn’t know one another rarely met up since she lived in Michigan most of her life until she and husband Ray decided to sell their house in Michigan and move out to the Black Hills where she helped her brother for a while. Later she helped other businesses in Deadwood. Suanne took care of her mother for many years. She’s a caring, intelligent and family person. She and husband Ray have settled into life in the Hills ambitiously building two houses. In retirement she is active with the Animal Shelter in Deadwood. She has always loved horses so they have acreage for horses and their umpteen dogs. She lives in a lovely area outside Spearfish.

Cousin Greg is 5 months younger than Suanne. He was born on June 26, 1955. The first time I met Greg, who is six years younger than me, he was hiding behind an easy chair in the living room of Aunt Elna and Uncle Jerry’s cozy house. He was tiny and thin with big eyes like his sister Andrea’s, and he didn’t say anything to the group of strange relatives descended upon him all giggling and talking at this little toddler. It was our first introduction to Greg since we lived in Pennsylvania and visited South Dakota every two years.After we all had given up coaxing him out from behind the easy chair, out of the blue we hear, “Gum, gum?” He finally talked. So his Mom- my dear Aunt Elna – gave him a tiny bit from a stick of gum. That broke the ice. He was shy but could be bribed. I’m not sure if he’s like that today but I do know he was a musician, a skilled carpenter, and a successful businessman and father and grandfather, on and on. I didn’t get to know him real well. He’s always there when we visit. He’s usually so busy with Range Country Motel that we don’t get to chat. I need to take care of that. I need to get to know Greg better. He has three grown kids and multiple grandkids. He lives in Murdo, a solid member of that community.

Last and not least of all we have the “baby” of the 13 Sanderson cousins, Patrice, who goes by Trice. She’s the youngest in her family of four kids also. She had a gorgeous wedding at her folks’ home years ago, at least it looked romantic from the pictures. She has three talented adult children and lives in Illinois. When she was a little kid on a regular visit to South Dakota with her family, somehow Trice and her sister, Suanne, were riding in the backseat with Grandpa Sanderson. He had his fishing rods and tackle box on the front seat. I guess they were going fishing together. Grandpa in his later years would talk away nonstop telling stories and pointing out certain places on the ride, all the while turning to look in back at the two grandchildren who were starting to look concerned, if not frightened. He would drive down dirt roads taking his big old car up the sides, into ruts and holes in the country road and then down into ditches at top speed. The girls were holding on for dear life in the back seat and wondering what they had gotten into. After a long ride finally getting back to where their folks were with all the other relatives, my Mom, their Aunt Ella, said, “You didn’t ride in the back seat with Grandpa- did you?”

The girls replied that they had. They were still pretty pale and shocked.

My Mom said, “Don’t ever ride in back with Grandpa, it’s dangerous because he constantly turns around to give you a long running monologue!”

Trice and Suanne replied together, “Now you tell us!”

*Those are write ups on my 12 cousins each of whom I am proud to say are related to me. How can I be so lucky?

If I’ve made errors, please let me know. I tried to recall my memories of all 12 cousins and being 70ish, some recollections are hazy and blurred. Plus being a Sanderson, I have embellished and skewed lots of facts. Forgive me.

I am truly blessed to have these cousins in my lifetime.

What a great group that I’m happy to call my cousins.