https://maryfrancismcninch.com/2020/10/29/murdo-girl-a-hometown-poem-2/
Those 70ish Girls by Valerie
Part 2: Trippin’ in Canada- A New Food Frontier for Me
“I wanna try veggies!” My Granddaughter is reaching for food at my birthday dinner that I had requested. She couldn’t wait. It was the best birthday dinner ever.
I flew to eastern Canada recently. It felt like I was in another country. Right. It is another country – a beautiful, green, clean country. In Canada they eat poutine. It makes your arteries cry out, it tastes delicious but looks like three ingredients that met on a blind date, drunk and forgot one of them had made two dates at the same time.
French fries, gravy with cheese curds. It’s affectionately called “poutine” a national dish.
I had it twice and barely recovered. It looked pretty ugly yet comforting. It was gooey, floating with guiltless gravy smothered French fries, but daring a person to get to the crunchy brown and crispy fries at the bottom. Oh, and then we haven’t added enough fat and heart challenging delights, say Poutine creators. We will add – drum roll – cheese curds! I resisted, I fought it, I ate it. Poutine was delicious.
My birthday takeout dinner: four cheese raviolis, lasagna, canolini and a big salad with Italian dressing.
I requested we do takeout and eat it at home because it’s so much better and easier when you have kids, ages 22 months and 4 years. Gimmy knows. (That’s what my grandkids call me.)
Gimmy enjoying her bday dinner ordered from Little Italy in Ottawa, Ontario. So happy.
Four desserts: mini lemon meringue pie, tarramasu, raspberry cheesecake and chocolate mousse with hazel nuts. Sinfully delicious. Even the bakery logo was a square of dark chocolate.
We also went to special coffee shops which were recommended to us by family.
This one had cocktails also.
Mocha for the retired teacher.
Coffee shop way out in the woods with tree growing up through the roof and fabulous croissants.
A half eaten French croissant because someone couldn’t wait.
Layers of golden delectable thin pastry.
Once in awhile we would stop eating and drinking to ooh and awww at the fall leaves.
Then there were the better than restaurant dishes my daughter and husband prepared.
Homemade nachos. Mmm.
Veggie salad.
Polish sausage from Farmers Market.
Pierogis- just add sour cream.
This coffee shop had an old juke box and a laundromat in back so you could wash clothes and eat pastries and drink coffee at the same time.
Quinoa with veggies that my daughter made.
My son in law made mashed turnip with butter and bread crumbs with Parmesan cheese on top. It took hours to peel and mash the turnips. It was so delicious.
Aunt Gayle brought falafel with two flavors humus and pickled onions and peppers and pita bread- whole wheat or white from a local restaurant.
Grilled cheese was all right with Amelia especially with Dad serving.
Then we went one evening over to the Mexican restaurant across the lake with great views from upstairs and boats moored down below. One big boat was named “Doin’ Nothin’” which fit because it never did a thing the whole 11 days I was visiting Ottawa.
The food was awful but the service and location were amazing. Here’s what Everett ordered even before we got our drinks:
Mac and cheese is called KD in Ottawa. The refried beans were right from the can and Spanish Rice was almost as good as Rice a Roni from a box mix. Everett ordered some of it and a side of sour cream.
Nachos
Pretty presentation.
My daughter and I both ordered this enchiladas with rice and beans.
To save us from this Mexican food from a box that tasted like… uh, I don’t know, we got big margaritas. Sam, my son-in-law, had two just to help ease the food situation.
Margarita #1.
Thanks, family and Canada for a unique and fun food experience!
Breakfast kid style.
Donut machine making apple cider donuts when we were at the Apple orchard. We bought 2 bags.
The donuts were small but yummy and warm.
I think I will go grab lunch back here at home.
Hmmm, tuna sandwich or peanut butter?
Those 70ish Girls by Valerie
Trippin’ In Canada
Small jet not at all like mine.
Big jet.
Part 1- getting there:
I started my family trip on a recent Friday waking up at 2:00 am. Hey, when I got up that early, I thought, why not just stay up, since the Uber was coming at 3:40 am?
I was packed, dressed, and had my neighbors coming later that day to pick up my little dog, Nincompoop. I had prepped them about her and she knew them from other times when they had dog sat. She would really miss me but they loved her.
Ninny the Pomo poo being left with neighbors while I traveled out of the country to visit my daughter and family in Canada.
Me: Good dawg.
Ninny: You expect me to be loyal when all I get is a lousy cup of water?
I was excited to be flying to Ottawa, Ontario Canada to visit my daughter, her husband and my two grandchildren. My daughter and husband had just sold their house and everything they owned in the states to relocate to another country. Her husband had relatives there and things were calmer and less crowded there. It was a major change for them and they had been through a lot in these past two months. On top of that, they speak French in Ottawa and use metrics. They eat poutine and love Hockey. It’s a challenge just reading their signs. Mac and cheese is called KD.
I got dropped off by an Uber driver who talked my ear off. Then at the San Jose airport, I tried to check in but had not paid the extra $75 yet from when I had changed my flights.
At 4:15 am. I strode up to the desk to ask for help from the airline representative. The two ladies I approached were more than helpful. They walked me slowly through what I needed to do. I hadn’t even put a name tag on my bag so one gal gave me one and told me what to do kinda like a kindergarten teacher helping a 5 year old, me being the 5 year old.
The other sweet airline agent helped me with the app on my smart phone, since I wasn’t as smart as my phone and she knew it. I paid the $75 and was in their computer system and soon could go to my gate, if these two sweetheart women gave me the go ahead. I was patient, I was obedient and I needed them.
The one older lady must’ve felt sorry for me when she discovered my birthday would be in six days and I was definitely 70ish. I told her I was going to celebrate with my daughter and family. She said I could check my tiny bag for free as a complementary treat. I jumped up and down. I clapped. I yelled, “Awesome!” So that way now I only had to carry my purse and my bag would meet me in Ottawa at the end of this long day. Holy moly – I liked her! She asked me to show my passport even though I had it on file and told me where to go, nicely and patiently and what to expect. I was super relieved! I thought she’d give me a sticker but she didn’t have time.
I skipped away and up the escalator like a little kid. I was happy go lucky, even happy unlucky, to know that there are still helpful, kind people to assist 70 year olds who are more mentally like 5 year olds and act like clueless teenagers, and aren’t used to airports nor travel to another country. It warmed my heart to get help since I was…well…helpless. I was also well behaved and used eye contact as I smiled. I expected a gold star but sometimes just getting attention counts.
I got upstairs at the airport and walked around. I went through some magical area called Security and through X-ray machines. I bought a few snacks for the first leg of my flight to Chicago. I put them in my purse. Now I waited. I behaved and did not fuss. I sat quietly.
Next came the cattle call. You sit at the airport by your airlines gate with your boarding pass or have one on your phone app. You are quiet. You don’t talk to strangers. I was in Group 3 so I waited til I was called. A young guy and I let Group 1 and 2 people go ahead of us. As they walked by, I yelled snootily, “Prove it! We don’t believe you.” He was the only one out of about 100 who chuckled. It was a small chuckle. Then we walked by Group 4 with our noses in the air and boarded the plane feeling pretty special.
This was better than having a sticker or even a gold star.
I could even feel more prissy because I’d paid a bit extra for a bulkhead seat. The foot and half of legroom was to die for which I probably shouldn’t say since I would soon be 25,000 feet straight up kept aloft by jet engines in a tube with wings, piloted by people I’d never met but was asked to trust with my life and luggage.
I had to sit between two guys each about 30 years younger than me. They looked disappointed when I crawled over into my seat trying not to touch elbows. My purse was kicked in front under this bulkhead thing. I tried not to bother them. I read my book and ordered ice water and got a bag of about one tablespoon of pretzel mix as a snack. As I reached for my ice water from this kind flight attendant, I spilled half of it down the pant leg of my fellow passenger.
I apologized and he laughed saying his pants would dry. I also saw them pop out these cute little trays from out of nowhere! I asked both guys how they did that and they showed me these secret compartments hidden in the armrests. Ingenious.
After reading my book and using the restroom which was as big as half a small closet, and getting a second drink, we were landing in Chicago.
I waited by my gate and used my phone to contact people I hadn’t seen nor heard from in decades just to pass the time. I watched silly videos on Instagram and passed the time until I could board a smaller plane and found my seat which was in the very last row in back. I chatted with a lady across the aisle, looked out the window at no view whatsoever and watched people. A young guy came and sat next to me. I read my book. He just smiled and opened his giant four gallon water bottle after we got in the air.
His water bottle spurted water everywhere all at once…on me, on the seat on him, on the seat back in front of us. He apologized about 5 times and I gave him napkins from my purse and helped wipe up water. I blotted my pants. He kept apologizing. I told him he had apologized enough.
He said, “I can’t help it. I’m Canadian.”
I found out that most Canadians are super polite.
When I landed in Ottawa I had to go through customs, but it was easy using a machine that prompted me to enter my US passport for a closeup photo and answer a few questions like what my business was in Canada and how long I was staying and did I bring drugs or any guns or Pokémon cards or designer jeans into the country and at the end it said: Please don’t expect to learn French in the 11 days you plan on staying. Pick up after yourself and be kind to all peoples.
Meeting my 4 year old grandson after getting through customs in Ottawa Canada.
He wanted to see the waterfall inside the airport. He said he liked my shoes because he likes pink. I told him I liked his green ones.
My sweet daughter and her son met me after I went through customs at the Air Canada exit. I found my checked bag thanks to a kind Canadian customs officer who treated me like I was 5 years old like the US airlines lady had treated me back in San Jose.
I was so happy to be in Canada. They actually let me in. I had to shape up plus I was a grandmother visiting my two adorable grandkids aged 4 and 22 months. They would keep me on my toes. Plus I didn’t want to embarrass my grandkids nor my dog Ninny back home.
Merci.
Me trying to read the French signs and being kind to all people. I know. I should keep my mouth shut.
Those 70ish girls…The Jeep
Those 70ish girls…The Jeep
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Those 70ish Girls…The Jeep
Update from Mark Sanderson:
I wanted what dad would have wanted for his memory of the jeep and for himself. Dad wanted to be remembered for managing “The Boys Summer Baseball ⚾️ Program” that he so enjoyed! My dad’s dream was to be a coach when he went to college, but could not finish college due to lack of money and joined the Marines, etc……My dad took no compensation for himself each summer for about 20 summers…..
and never wanted to be paid for expenses he incurred for supplies and the many Jeep trips he made for games played across SD…….unlike how it is now! ❤ Dad did this at the same time he was running his own business…..”The Sanderson Store” ❤as well as farmed mom’s 2000 acres she received from her mother’s estate when she was 24 years old!
I love this story. I’m sure many years from now, our miss Murdo Girl will remember all the fun times she had with cousins and friends. Many of their adventures would not have been possible if not for the Jeep.
_________________________________________
We all love Uncle Jeff’s Jeep. It has taken us on some pretty great adventures. It has been stuck more than once, and driven where only rented cars and trucks should go. Although we have asked too much of it on more than one occasion, it keeps on providing fun transportation.
Not too long ago, we loaded it up for a trip to the cabin. The purpose of the trip was to spend a day skiing at Terry Peak, near Deadwood. The first stop is always McDonald’s in Rapid City. I get a big mac, fries, chocolate shake, and a hot apple pie. I guess that’s what everybody gets.
I didn’t have any money for this ski vacation, but at the time I still had the Texaco credit card Dad had given me to use in case of an emergency. In my book, a ski trip without cash is an emergency. It worked like this. I bought all the gas, and the other kids gave me cash for their share.
I consider myself athletic, and I’m pretty brave, so I was excited to have the opportunity to enjoy a day on the slopes. I should have remembered that I gave up on tennis after my very first try, so I can’t really consider myself an “all around” athlete. It only took one trip down the slope to realize that if I wanted myself and others to live, I shouldn’t pursue Olympic skiing…better stick to gymnastics.
I was the only one in our group of four who hadn’t skied before, and I was the only girl. I didn’t think I needed help, so I was willing to stay by myself at the beginner’s slope, while the other three went on to something more challenging. I told them I would join them after I got the hang of it. One of them said something about there being a lot of trees I could smash my face into, but I still wasn’t concerned.
I rented my skis, got a lift ticket, and up the mountain I went. It was a sunshine filled, ten degree day in the Black Hills of South Dakota. I was loving it! When I got to the top, I looked around for a minute, to see what everyone else was doing, and down the slope I went. I did okay until I got toward the bottom. It was then I realized that I was “alldumb.” Any fool would have gotten a little advice on how to stop.
After the fact, it reminds me of what my Dad says. “We must be getting closer to town, because we’re running over more people.” As I barreled toward a skier who was in line for the lift, the best I could do was aim to cross over the back of his skis and yell, “LOOK OUT!!”
After I got up from my fall, and made sure the other guy was alright, I noticed the lodge was right in front of me. I was already cold so I decided to take a break and get some hot chocolate. I rather liked being a spectator, so I watched everyone else from the inside. If you include the hot chocolate my half hour on the slopes was pretty pricey. I was hoping the Jeep would need some gas soon, because I was running low on funds. I wanted to have at least one more big mac before we headed for home.Terry Peak..the view from inside the lodge
The Jeep gets us where we want to go if we treat it right. One cold day, Mark and I went for a drive. We were hoping to find an abandoned farmhouse to explore. Well, we got distracted and we were farther out than we thought. After the ski trip, the Texaco card was removed from my possession, so we were pretty low on gas. Actually we were out of gas.
We had to walk about a mile before we even got to the highway, and we were still at least three miles from town. I didn’t even have to think about it. When the next car going our direction got close, I planned to stick my thumb out. Mark said that under no circumstances would he hitchhike. We argued about that for a while, and kept on walking. Neither of us had to worry either way, because it was a cold winter day, and there weren’t many people out for a drive. Wait! We saw a car approaching. Even Mark got excited because we knew the people. It was Eldon Davis and his wife. Eldon and Alma are janitors at the school. We started yelling and jumping up and down! Eldon and Alma, smiled, and waved, even honked the horn…and drove on by.
We could not believe it! We finally got back to town (just before dark), and went to the store to tell Uncle Jeff we were going to have to get a gas can and a ride back to the Jeep. Shortly after we got to the store, who came in but Eldon and his wife. Mark and I started yelling at them. “Eldon, why didn’t you stop?”
Eldon said, “I told Alma, why that’s Mark Sanderson and Mary Francis!” He said he thought we were just out for a stroll.
Mark said, “Eldon…We were three miles from town, and freezing!”
I guess all is well that ends well.
We try to plan our outings around any pending rain because if you’ve got the windshield wipers on, you can’t step on the gas. Yesterday after school, I talked Mark into taking me to Kennebec. My friend Josephine got some penny loafers there, and I wanted some exactly like them. If the apparel I buy isn’t Connie like, it’s somebody else like. I don’t know what my personal taste is until I see it on someone else. I have quite a few Connie like things, but I’ll have to tell you how that worked out for me in another paper.
Anyway, we got to Kennebec and I found the shoes. They didn’t have them in my size, but I didn’t let a little thing like “not fitting” bother me. They had some a size too big, so I got them.
On the way home, it started raining. It was really coming down, so here’s what we had to do. We gunned it, then let up on the gas so the wipers would work. As soon as we could see a little, we gunned it again. We had to do that all the way back to town. Can you imagine what that must have looked like to the other cars on the road? Its a good thing the cops didn’t see us. We sure don’t have a ticket fund going.
We really love that old Willys Jeep! Uncle Jeff is going to give it to Mark when he turns 24.
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(From Mark Sanderson) I want what dad would have wanted for his memory of the jeep and for himself. Dad wanted to be remembered for managing “The Boys Summer Baseball ⚾️ Program” that he so enjoyed! My dad’s dream was to be a coach when he went to college, but could not finish college due to lack of money and joined the Marines, etc……My dad took no compensation for himself each summer for about 20 summers…..The Jeep hauled baseball players to all the games.
He never wanted to be paid for expenses he incurred for supplies and the many trips he made for games played across SD…….unlike how it is now! ❤ Dad did this at the same time he was running his own business…..”The Sanderson Store” ❤as well as farmed mom’s 2000 acres she received from her mother’s estate when was 24 years old!
Murdo Girl…Inside my Grandma’s trunk
Those 70ish girls… A message from Grandpa Sanderson
Those 70ish girls…The Wayne Sanderson house by Mary Francis McNinch and Valerie Halla
Uncle Wayne Sanderson
It feels strange to me that my Uncle Wayne’s house, which was at the end of Main Street in Murdo is no longer there.
I remember the dark gray color and the big front porch. Uncle Wayne and Aunt Emily lived there for years and raised their son, Terry there.
I remember their dog, Smokey. He was all black and I think he was mostly cocker spaniel. One time Grandma Sanderson who lived next door fed Smokey some of Uncle Sandy’s homemade caramels. She gave him one a day out the back door of her house until Smokey got sick. It was a while before they figured out that Grandma was the culprit.
Aunt Emily was a great cook. She made the best oatmeal cookies. “Do you know who the best cook is?” Grandpa Sanderson asked my mom once when he was eating noon dinner at our house. Mom smiled all big until Grandpa said, “Emily.”
I remember Uncle Wayne parked his big dirt mover between his house and the little park to the south of it. He built many a road in his day.
Yes, it feels strange to me that that house is now gone and in its place is a new house. Someone else will make new fond memories there.
The new house just put up on our Uncle Wayne’s old house lot.
Delicious cookie recipe by our Aunt Emily Sanderson. Aunt Emily was a hard worker, my Mother, Ella Sanderson (Leckey) used to say.
Part 2- Corny But True by Valerie Halla
I remember getting to go inside Uncle Wayne’s house when my family visited Murdo from Pennsylvania almost every summer as a kid. It felt like a sanctuary to me being allowed to go inside their cool, dark, mysterious old house. Uncle Wayne adored my Mom since she was the next oldest of six Sanderson kids, with him being the oldest. I often thought it was interesting that the two oldest kids each only had one child. Was it because of the tough times they knew living on the prairie being raised in poor, almost poverty level circumstances on the farm on Horse Creek during the Dirty 30’s ? WWI was raging across the Atlantic when Wayne and my Mother were born and farm goods were in demand for the troops. The two oldest Sanderson kids knew life was a battle and not like the battles of WWI but at home with little cash and less food a different kind of battle. Some nights my Mom related to me that dinner would be boiled beets. That’s all. That was dinner. They knew the meaning of “dirt poor”. Wayne must have felt good to start his own family as a young man, and buy such a solid comfortable house when he finally broke free from hard farm life to start out on his own.
The brick trimmed house at the end of Main Street in Murdo must’ve seemed like a mansion to Uncle Wayne and Aunt Emily. So much nicer than the log cabin at Horse Creek. It seemed sadly nostalgic and tragic when I heard it was being torn down to make way for a new specially constructed home by the state of South Dakota to accommodate low income families. It is a refreshing new chapter though in Murdo life and changes in life move us all forward. Progress can be positive.
Aunt Emily getting ready for a Sanderson Christmas gathering.
Grandma and Grandpa Sanderson opening gifts with Aunt Elna at their house which was next door to Uncle Wayne’s.
On the other hand, I’m having deep, dark, dusty spiderweb like thoughts between the house I remember and the new one just recently built. Can I please just believe that the old comfy, cozy, warm home that we thought of as Uncle Wayne’s House is still standing? Too many fuzzy, foggy memories there for me to give up and sling aside like an old lint filled hokey, hole infested sock.
Also some people in my wonderful Sanderson side of the family might not feel the same way about the feelings I have regarding the past with Uncle Wayne and Aunt Emily. Plus their old house isn’t equivalent to them. It’s just a shelter for humans. To me it was a part of my Aunt, Uncle and cousin all rolled into one with the house as the symbol to my childhood.
As a young kid visiting in the 1950’s and 1960’s then living there in Murdo for two years in junior high, I was naive about who this uncle was. To me he was loved by my mother and her four siblings. Aunt Elna said Wayne literally kept the family alive during tough times growing up down on Horse Creek as a young boy and one who felt responsible for seven other family members, a young boy being a man before his time.
When a relative to my Uncle Bill Francis visited from Southern California in the early 1960’s, we cousins looked at her like she had two heads. She wore her hair styled and ironed her Bermuda shorts and lightweight blouses every day when she stayed at Aunt Loretta and Uncle Bill’s house. She had big expressive eyes. She was petite. Nadine was like a magnet to young girls like us. She talked kind of loud and told entertaining stories. She seemed carefree. No job, no working in her world was crazy yet seemed normal. We were mesmerized. She also started riding around town with Wayne’s son, Terry Sanderson, in his new VW bug- a car which we had never seen before. It clearly was not a Ford nor a Chevy. We were astounded by it all. To us she was like a TV celebrity, new and different. Murdo seemed too small and confining for Nadine. We thought it so romantic that she was hanging out with our oldest cousin.
In the early 1960’s the Bug was new and unique. Our oldest cousin dared to have one and drove it all over. Terry was suddenly cool.
Now the house we knew is gone but it’s around somewhere yet. It’s in old photographs of Christmases spent there, in pictures of the family visiting there, with Grandma and Grandpa living right next door to Uncle Wayne and Aunt Irma and Uncle Jeff two doors away. It will stay with the folks who are now the “Old Folks”- namely all of my family, with my dear cousins. It will stay in our memories, no matter if the house is gone or just a ghost from the past. It held a lot which will never be replaced.
Those 70ish Girls 
baseball team all over the country. He spent so much of his time coaching us; but as I recall we WON!Liked by youEdit