Those 70ish Girls

I’ve often heard people say that “he” or “she” came from good stock. It’s a simple way of saying they came from a respectable family with qualities that others admire. I learned the most about the stock I came from through antecdotes my mother told me. I wish I had listened more closely or asked more questions, but one thing I know for sure is that I came from good stock. I’m writing a series of stories centered around things my mother told me about her family as they navigated through hard times and good times.

Uncle Wayne was one of my Murdo Uncles and the oldest in Grandma and Grandpa’s family.  It was said of him that during the tough US Depression and the Dirty ‘30’s he kept the family of eight alive and fed, working on the farm, trapping pesky birds and animals that plagued farm crops which  earned  money from the state and also working jobs on the side to help the family. During this time, he survived a rattlesnake bite. His dad, my grandpa, cut a slit near the bite and sucked the venom out. I don’t think they advise doing that anymore.

Wayne later started his own dirt moving business.

He bought a home and raised his own family while still living next door to his parents and helping others. He lost an eye as a young married man. I didn’t know him well but my Mom always spoke of him with great love and respect. He was my hero when I was about 8 and he bought me a black pair of cowgirl boots, the first pair I ever had. This happened during a summer Murdo trip we made from Pennsylvania. It was a highlight to my childhood.

Next in age from the six SANDERSON kids, came my Mom, Ella.

She also worked hard and learned to cook from her sweet Mother, Mary Sanderson. She told many stories of growing up poor during tough times. She remembered being kicked into a barbed wire fence by a horse when young, crying when the family feared Wayne might die from the rattlesnake bite, being ill with pneumonia and missing so much school, she went back a grade to be with her younger brother Jeff. The two were close and were nicknamed Mutt and Jeff after a popular comic strip.  I learned how to make pies from my Mom and try to be kind and forgiving.

Mom often said not to discuss religion or how much money you have with other people. She didn’t know what it was like to go into town until later. The kids pretty much just stayed on the farm and each one had chores. During high school she worked as a babysitter, a cook and a maid to pay for boarding so she could stay in town. Later she worked at the family’s general store.

She always liked nice clothing and shoes.  She went to California to work in the aircraft industry during WWII. She was always slim and beautiful with a big smile.

There is something I have been thinking a lot about, lately. In fact, I can’t get it out of my mind.

It’s food.

Not all food. Just the food I ate when I was a kid. Sometimes I crave things like a BLT sandwich. While on our trip, I saw them on the menu at a small cafe and ordered one. They asked me if I wanted it toasted. I thought they were kidding. Who would eat a BLT on anything but toast? I told them to be sure to put lots of mayo on it as well. It was delicious.

I also crave Grandpa Sanderson’s fried cornmeal mush with syrup on it. We always ate it when we were at the Nemo, SD cabin or when we came back to Grandma’s and Grandpa’s house after a long day of fishing.

I don’t miss minced ham sandwiches. Some people call it bologna. When he was little, my brother, called it new meat. I guess because it’s pink. He said we ate a lot of it. All I know is that I have never liked it.

Most of you know that I grew up in a small town. We ate breakfast, dinner, and supper. Our big meal was at noon. That was dinner. Supper was usually leftovers or sandwiches. When I was 11, I went to California where Billy was going to college. Several of our aunts and uncles lived there as well. One day my aunt made homemade spaghetti sauce. It simmered on the stove all morning. I sat down at noon to eat what I thought was going to be mouth watering spaghetti and she placed a minced ham sandwich in front of me. “I thought we were having spaghetti for dinner,” I complained. “We are,” she said. “This is lunch.”

When Mom made a tossed salad, she put a little Wesson oil on it. I had no idea there was any other way to eat it until I was in high school and someone introduced me to French dressing.

I miss Mom’s pot roast. She baked it in one of those oblong, egg-shaped, blue speckled pans. My cousin, Mark, sent me one that he found in his parent’s attic. It’s just the right size for a pork loin roast.

The only pizza we had was made from a boxed Chef Boyardee kit. The parmesesan cheese in it smelled so bad, Billy left the house when Mom made it.

We ate a lot of tuna and noodle casseroles with crushed potatoes chips on top. Sometimes, Mom made what she called a boiled dinner. She boiled cabbage with a ring of sausage bologna. We also ate a lot of Swanson TV dinners and chicken pot pies.

Mom made great chocolate chip cookies and chocolate cake, but we only had dessert on special occasions or when Mom got the urge to bake.

I have never liked Oreos. Mom took them to a PTA meeting once and it really embarrassed me. All the other moms made homemade cookies. Don’t ever feed me a minced ham sandwich with Oreos for dessert.

My very favorite meal was fried pheasant and corn on the cob, with mashed potatoes and gravy. We sometimes had strawberry shortcake made with Bisquick and thawed frozen strawberries. As dry as that bisquick cake was, when the juice from the strawberries soaked in, it became a soggy mess. Though better than oreos, it is not something I crave.

If we’re talking about sweets, the thing I loved and still crave, is a Bing candy bar. That rich cherry mash covered with chocolate and finely chopped nuts is the best!

Tomorrow will be day 1 of my diet. I’m pretty sure the extra pounds will still be there.

What foods from your past do you crave?

We’re back home. Our house hasn’t sold yet, so we have moved back in for the time being. Here are some highlights of the last days of our 6 week road trip.

All told, we spent time in Arkansas, Tennessee, Missouri, Illinois, Indiana, Ohio, Kentucky, West Virginia, Virginia, North Carolina, Mississippi, Alabama, Louisiana, and then back to Texas.

We saw friends, family, and ended the trip with family and friends who feel like family. We stopped in Tyler, TX for 2 days. Kip had a doctor’s appt there on Monday. Sunday afternoon, daughter, Heidi and boyfriend, Joe, came to see us and brought friends, Ray and Janice. We got to spend a fun time relaxing on our RV deck.

That morning, Kip and I went to Cracker Barrel Cafe for one last food splurge. Kip’s HAPPY shirt aptly describes our final full day on the road

NEXT trip post: The Yays and Nays of RV living life… example: keep track of your purse. Some nays can create new yays

Baba Wawa has sunk to a new high. Or has she risen to a new low? She reports you decide…

Remember when I said I would tell you about the things that happened during our trip that weren’t funny at the time, but we laughed about, later? I think I should tell you about today because I need you to validate that it might be kind of funny…later.

I will admit that I might not be the sharpest knife in the drawer. Maybe the elevator doesn’t go all the way to the top. It could also be possible that I’m not dealing with a full deck. Everyone makes mistakes, but it is kind of nice to be blissfully ignorant of most of them. Today threw me.

We’ve had a wonderful trip. We have been having so much fun, that I have gotten behind in my travel posts. Thanks to Cousin Val/Baba/Lav, who is quickly growing a following, I can catch up as I have time. We have done a lot of things I haven’t told you about, yet.

We began today in Monroe, Louisiana and we ended the day about 90 miles down the road.

We were out of some necessities, so we stopped by the closest Walmart. The drill is that Kip stays with the dogs while I shop. I took an extra long time because Kip needed some things in the RV section and I couldn’t find the RV section. There weren’t too many people around to help. By the time I found what I needed, and had made my purchases, it was almost 11:00 o’clock which is kind of a late start even by our standards.

Kip helped me unload the groceries from the cart and began to put them away while I took the cart to the cart drop-off place. I’m not one of those who leaves a cart in the middle of the parking lot. I’ve had my car scratched up more than once by a wayward cart.

We finally got back on the road and had been traveling about an hour and a half, when I realized I had forgotten something at the store. When I told Kip I thought I had forgotten something, he said not to worry about it because we would be home in a couple of days and would have to make another run to the store, anyway. I hadn’t started to panic, yet. I was sure I had brought the item from the store, but after a quick perusal, I determined that I had indeed left without it.

“OH NO,” I yelled. “I left my purse in the shopping cart!”

Kip sighed a big loud sigh and said, “We will stop at this little town a couple of miles up the road and I will help you look for it. You wouldn’t leave your purse in a shopping cart.”

Fifteen minutes later, he became a believer. He decided we would find an RV park, get a spot, unhook the Jeep, and drive the hour and a half back to Walmart. I immediately got on the phone and called the store. After several rings, I heard, “Thank you for calling Walmart. We are very anxious to serve you. Please press 1 for the pharmacy, press 2 for the deli, press 3 for electronics, press 4 for automotive, and press 0 if you need to talk to an associate.”

I pressed 0 and after several rings an associate answered and promptly transferred me to customer service, who never answered. I called the associate back 3 times, no answer. I pressed 1 and got someone in the pharmacy who said, in not so many words, “Not my problem, lady.” I said, “Would you be a nice person and grab someone who can tell the people in customer service that you have a very desperate person on the phone, and she has been trying to reach them for 45 minutes?”

The nice lady at the pharmacy said she couldn’t do that because she was in the pharmacy and the pharmacy doesn’t do that. Before I could say something more convincing, I heard the sound of my call being transferred. No one answered. I was getting close to calling the gas station, nearby, to ask them to go to Walmart and find me some help. Instead, I called the store one more time, even though I could hardly stand to hear the recording tell me for the 10th time that they were very anxious to serve me. An associate finally answered. I began by saying, “Please stay with me. Do not transfer me, because I have called everyone in that store and no one answers. I have already pressed 1, 2. 3, and 4. You are 0, right? I am in an RV 90 miles from you and I think I left my purse in a cart that is in the cart return place. I can’t tell you exactly which one. I need to know if someone was nice enough to bring it into the store and hand it over to someone.”

The nice associate said, “I remember talking to you a while ago. You’re looking for your purse, right? I transferred you to customer service and then I went on my break. I just got back. Lady just take a breath, and I will find out if anyone has your purse. Are you for sure that it was this Walmart? We have more than one Walmart in Monroe.”

“I called the Walmart that I left 90 miles ago. My husband has all of the information in his GPS. The phone number was in the same area that has the button he pushed that said, DIRECTIONS and then START!”

“Okay lady,” the nice associate said. “Take a couple of breaths while I go find out if someone has seen your purse… Oh, what does it look like?”

Kip had been on the phone trying to find an RV park. When he hung up, he asked me who I was talking to. I was busy taking deep breaths so I didn’t answer him. By that time the nice associate came back on the line and asked me if they did happen to have my purse, what would be in it that would identify me as the owner?

I won’t go any further with the blow by blow. They did have my purse, and I am very thankful to the person who found it. I am also very thankful that we weren’t 300 miles down the road before I discovered my purse was missing.

Kip has been biting his tongue, hard. I don’t think he enjoyed driving the same route 3 times. I also don’t think he’s even one bit grateful.

Why isn’t he laughing? 

I have been watching the World Serious this week. It’s the biggest baseball tournament in the World and it is serious.

These two teams try to score with one guy at a time, taking turns by hitting a small hard ball after a guy from the opposite team throws a ball at about 90 mph at the guy who is home (you’d think he would feel safe being at home. He is not ). The guy at home tries to defend himself with this wooden stick. Naturally he doesn’t want to get hit with a 90 mph hard ball. The guy with the stick gets a few chances.At least there are two other guys behind him, one crouched way down protected with a big mask and mattress in his mid section and another guy behind crouching guy called an Emperor. That guy kinda runs the entire game and yells out, “Ball” or sometimes, “Strike”. The Emperor is dressed in black and is also disguised with a mask and mini-mattress to protect himself. He yells a lot.

So the stick holder is out front with NO PROTECTION and two cowardly types stand or crouch down behind this poor fellow who only has a stick while a thrown hardball comes hurtling toward him. But sometimes the stick holder hits the ball away and naturally runs as fast as possible. Now it gets interesting. The police should be called and lawyers brought in but noooo—the guy running often tries to steal a base, often not even feeling remorse. And get this: there is actually a baseball diamond somewhere on the field and the players don’t try to steal that. They try to steal bases!Who the heck wants to steal a base?

I would much rather have a diamond. The other guys in the team even encourage this thievery yelling, “Run!” Or certain helpers whisper what a player should do next. They coach them on when and how to steal. I just do not believe the lack of common decency in this game. Stealing and trying to hit poor defenseless players. I can see why everyone at the stadium needs to stretch and sing after about seven parts or innings. “Take me out of the ball game” is what they all sing and can you blame them? I would want to get out of there, too.

Here’s the unvarnished truth about life on the road. Sometimes it’s hot and sometimes it’s cold.

Some days the sun shines and some days it rains. If the wind doesn’t blow, no one complains.

Each morning we rise and go walk the dogs. We love to build campfires, but have to buy logs.

We drive our big rig from Walmart to Walmart. We feel right at home and load up our cart.

We find places to eat without even looking. Anything is better than Mary’s cooking.

We raise our eyebrows at the high price of gas, but an electric bill is a thing of the past.

One of  our pleasures is now long gone. Its not possible to order from Amazon.

We don’t really have a permanent address and tomorrow’s location is anyone’s guess.

We don’t have grass that grows under our feet. We don’t have to mow or pile leaves in a heap.

We visit old friends and make new ones, too. They always make sure we have fun thing to do.

Rick Spahlinger and wife, Rita, helped make the day so special.

The highways and byways make us ooh and ahh. We can’t believe all the beauty we saw.

There is so much more to share on this venue. We’ll keep you posted as our adventures continue.

As I write what I can, I really must hurry. It’s time to move on and today we must flurry.

We’re hoping we can make it to Vicksburg, where a battle was fought. (Maybe you’ve heard.)

We can’t stay on the road for ever and ever, but we always say. Never say never!

Whatever we see. Where ever we roam, Texas (and Murdo) will always be home.

I’ll write about the funny things and the things that are funny now, but weren’t at the time, later…And we have so many more photos. I’m not keeping up very well, but that’s life on the road…

Baba Wawa is back on the streets of Anytown USA which we all know is Happy Down in the Valley, CA. I’m just sayin. I happen to be a no opinion editor. All of us no opinion editors have no opinions. I’m just sayin.

My name is Tiny. (This Is Not Yram.)

Baba Wawa…

https://videopress.com/v/ISD7opSH?resizeToParent=true&cover=true&preloadContent=metadata&useAverageColor=true

Happy Halloween every BODY!!!

BWAAAHAHA…Tiny