https://maryfrancismcninch.com/2017/05/31/murdo-girl-old-people-are-funny/
Those 70ish Girls
Get in Line on Time for Line Dancing Lessons
By Valerie Cowgal Halla
I’m ready to learn line dancing even though I don’t own a cowboy hat nor boots.
Howdy. I’m getting out of my comfort zone tonight to go to line dancing lessons with a friend. I’m not sure what to expect and I do not even know what to wear but I decided to just wear gym clothes and comfy shoes for my first time. I’m ready. I’m practicing saying, “Yee haw!”
Later:
Line dancing is fun and challenging especially for people in their ‘70’s. Heck, it’s challenging for people any age. We first had an hour lesson with a pretty, middle aged gal wearing jeans, surprise surprise, a white sleeveless billowy top, boots – hiking style not cowboy ones – and a cowboy hat with a shiny medal on the front like a medal for bravery maybe because she had the courage to teach about 40 older people how to dance together, without bumping into one another, hitting posts, chairs, tables and anything in our way.
Then my friend,who brought me there, and I danced up front right by the baby grand piano which we skillfully avoided. It was covered with a waterproof – maybe even bullet proof – black cover. There was a giant sign on top of the baby grand piano that said, “Don’t put anything on the piano.” About halfway through doing toe taps, Lindy steps and grapevine steps, both left and right directions, and the k step forward and then back diagonally I actually was tempted to crawl on top of that giant, solid piece of furniture called a baby grand to take a nap. So which is it? Is it a baby sized piano or a grand humongous one? And can a piano even be baby like?
Cover that sucker up!
The dance instructor had a sweet little microphone that bellowed out her instructions and line dance terminology from anywhere on the tiled dance floor. She mostly stuck to the front of the room right below the raised stage where the live band would perform later. She demonstrated each step and had us mimic her moves. She was strict, smart and wasn’t putting up with any wisecracks or crap. She got down to business promptly at 6:00 pm. She had a lilting kinda cool accent that threaded its way throughout her speech. Her dark brown eyes simmered at everyone as she viewed the crowd, calling to some experienced expert line dancers she knew to come forward and show their skills off, the dirty little so and sos and teachers pets. Uhh, I’m getting distracted. Couple deep breaths and I’m good. Here we go.
We had to stay in four straight lines she said or rather commanded. I was getting the hang of things (barely bumping into posts or walls or people) when the line style became a circle. I was not ready for that command. I followed the cattle into a big big circle or corral. Now I must do the steps I’d learned in a curve not in a line. One guy was actually trying not to get irritated as I kept grapevining into a line and not curving around. Clearly the experienced dancers were getting miffed at a newby like me. I was just concentrating on the instructors boots and her graceful moves, but when you must turn around she wasn’t there to watch so I kept an eye out for my friend or the smarty pants dancers to copy. The sweat was building up on my forehead.
Next we had an hour of dancing with the band. The teacher called for music and directed which songs we would hear and which steps we would do. The count was always 1/2/3/4 then the step would change. I could feel perspiration dripping into my bra and other places I cannot mention. I kept dancing- kinda.
She looks like she has it together out in the backyard but how’s she on the dance floor?
I liked the band. They all had gray hair but it didn’t seem to dull their musical abilities nor blur their voices or mess with their guitar playing talent. One song was about a Cattle Drive, which I could identify with and many were about lovey dovey romance stuff between dance partners. In line dancing you don’t have someone to hold onto. I had no time to sing along since I didn’t know the songs and my brain was concentrating on the next step. One lady next to me told me to, “Just copy what your friend does!”
Sure lady, easy for you to say. How did she know it was my first time? Right! True. I should have said: “This is my first time and you’re not the boss of me”but I was too nice and just swallowed my pride along with sweat from my lip.
The music helped as did the instructors crisp fast directing. Now more than my forehead was sweating.
My friend said she usually leaves the dance at 8:00 pm when everyone takes a break so she kept looking at her old timey watch and let me know when our two hours was almost up. When the time came, I skipped or rather side stepped and sashayed outa there.
Thank goodness for signs, pardner.
Then I drank about a gallon of water and my good friend drove me to my car. I thanked her, got in my car and stepped on the gas. I couldn’t wait to get home to rest. Maybe I would even practice the line dance steps. Naw.
It was fun line dancing and also great exercise. I will definitely go again. Maybe I will even take in a rodeo beforehand. Of course it won’t be my first rodeo. Might be my second. Yeehaw!
Those 70ish Girls
Those 70ish Girls
When You Honor Your Lover and Best Friend by Valerie Halla
Ken in happy times several years ago.
The summer July day this year dawned sunny and warm. Perfect. My kids and I planned to take Ken’s ashes -accompanied by some friends and family – with us up to the top of a nearby mountain peak. We have lived nearby for 39 years. Ken had always liked the place and often came up to the top of the peak which exuded peace and tranquility.
It would be a memorial and a final goodbye. Nine of us drove in three cars about 30 minutes outside town up to a well know campground, famous peak and short hike up to a 360 degree view of the Pacific Ocean, Salinas, San Juan Bautista and Hollister and the nearby mountain range. Everyone slathered themselves with sunscreen, grabbed their water bottles and visited the outhouses then started the hike up through, oak, maple and madrone trees, thick chaparral and even thicker poison oak.
At Fremont Peak last Saturday.
A beautiful group of people.
When you get to the first part, almost to the top of the peak with less vegetation, you breathe in deeply and your eyes adjust to the intensity of the view, in all directions a wide all-encompassing view that makes you feel on top of life’s beauty in that moment, in that place, in this godly place, in that experience while taking it all in. “Incredible” doesn’t capture it but comes close.
Ken’s brother, his wife and oldest daughter came from San Jose. Our oldest son and his friend had driven up from LA and our other son had come from San Francisco after teaching the day before, and our daughter flew in from Portland, OR and rented a car to drive here. She did it all in one day, leaving their two little kids with her husband. Our friend of many years arrived from Santa Cruz loaded down with bags of food, a cocktail shaker and booze and fresh lemons. I was delighted this group had assembled to honor and celebrate Ken, my husband of 53 years, but also my long ago ignored high school acquaintance, occasional meetup in college and someone whom falling in love with in my early 20’s had been divine, a gift, a joyous memory in life.
We all chatted then left for the mountain top. We found a place to gather and admire the views near the top. We took many pictures and I stayed away from the highest part on a rocky narrow trail while the others hiked to the top. The trail skirted immense slides and steep slopes. One poorly taken step would kill you in the fall. We were up high to say the least; we were at the edge of a 3,169 foot tall mountain in the Gabilan Range. The group left a couple of us to rest as they ascended to the summit. They were on their own communing with nature, the mountain and Ken’s spirit. They returned to where we two were and we nine descended together
We left feeling fulfilled and filled full of emotion and love.
We came home and ate some Polish dishes Ken used to fix. Our one son prepared traditional food, my sister in law made grilled asparagus and set up snacks while we waited for Polish sausage to boil, also we had pierogis and everyone contributed a dish. Our daughter made sour cream cucumbers with dill and our son had made Pierogis, our good friend, (whose Dad was Ken’s good friend), made salad. After we had eaten and had my pies for dessert, and all had relayed old stories and memories of Ken, our friend made some margaritas with fresh squeezed juice, tequila, Grand Marnier and coarse salt. Then we toasted our shared love, our father, our brother and brother- in-law, our uncle, our friend, and my husband.
Two sons boiling fresh Polish sausage and pierogis for our family dinner.
Lotsa sausage!
Good food shared by all.
Fresh fruit and an apple and a blueberry pie.
You would’ve liked today, my angel. Thank you, pal. Thank you for all you gave me. The day had gone as needed, your day. It was a perfect day, with the perfect ending.
Paying homage to Ken. Enjoy the view always.
Love to you and to your memory.
Our three best creations by far at the mountaintop.
Murdo Girl…Saving time
Murdo Girl…The food swap ladies
Mom thinks that I complain too much. That really isn’t true.
I’m happy with a lot of things, if you want my point of view.
She said if I was seated upon a pot of gold
It would take me just a minute to find the pot too cold.
I’ll give you one example, though I have quite a few,
I’ve always told my Mother I hate her homemade stew.
Tonight I had a bowl full, and I ate every drop.
I didn’t even tell Mom her recipe’s a flop.
She said it was Bonna’s stew, as I tried to get it down.
I said,” Well that explains it. It’s been all over town.”
Bonna, Kitty, Elna, and Mom make casseroles galore
They’re the food swap ladies like you’ve never seen before.
We all sit at our tables and stare at empty plates.
My brother runs the food around while everybody waits.
Will we have Mom’s beans tonight with Kitty’s southern cornbread?
Or Elna’s tuna noodle dish that her kids have all been fed?
The food swap ladies method works , with just one small exception
One they didn’t think about upon the plan’s conception.
When Billy walks through the door with his heavy sack,
We’ve said a prayer Mom doesn’t get her own leftovers back!
Mom, Ella and Helen
Those 70ish girls…Palo Duro Canyon State Park.
We arrived at Palo Duro Canyon State Park on Sunday, the 29th. We got a beautiful camping spot with lots of nice areas to walk the dogs. We got concerned that our dogs weren’t eating enough so we bought some canned dog food to mix in with the kibbles. They gobbled it up. Monday night was spent taking care of two dogs with diarrhea. They were so good and were able to hold it each time they had an episode until we could get them outside. They finally settled down at 4:00 o’clock in the morning.
Monday night, we went to the beautiful amphitheater to see Texas, a spectacular musical play. Needless to say, we slept great on Monday night.
We thoroughly enjoyed our time in the canyon. We didn’t have cell service or internet, so no TV. We actually visited a lot, read our books, and took long walks with the dogs. We saw wild turkeys and a deer.
We left the canyon on Thursday and stopped in Clarendon to see the Charles Goodnight home place and museum. Kip had read a book about him and how he at one time owned a huge cattle ranch, which included what is now the State Park. I’m reading the book now, and it’s a great story.
We are now in Wichita Falls and will head for home tomorrow. It has truly been a great trip!
Those 70ish girls…FANdangle
Kip and I, along with the dogs, are on a West Texas RV trip. Our first stop was Albany, TX which is near Abilene. We’re having fun, but we’re not escaping any Texas heat. It’s in the 90’s.
Several years ago, our friends, Pat and Jerry Davis invited us to go with them to Albany to see Fandangle.
The Fort Griffin Fandangle is a historical, musical production presented by approximately 300 local residents. It’s quite a feat considering the population of Albany is only about 1800.
Beneath the summer stars of the Texas sky, history comes alive the last two weekends of every June with singing, dancing, pantomime, and pageantry. The Albany performers authentically recreate the Texas of the 1800’s in a beautiful acre size outdoor amphitheater. We got to see Pat and Jerry’s son Jeff, his wife Gaye, and their 2 kids perform in the one of a kind show. This year, we came back for more. Jeff was one of the cowboys. I couldn’t get really great pictures sitting amongst the crowd.
For over 85 years, the townspeople have told the story of the founding of the area, complete with the Plains Indians, soldiers, and settlers. You relive the heroism and hardships, the humor and humility of the early settlers. Covered wagons, horses and riders, and a majestic herd of longhorn tell the tales of the cowboy. You see the founding of a fort on a hill and the town that sprang to life beneath it in the merriment of the dancing, singing, and storytelling. It’s truly an awesome experience. We went Friday night, and we thoroughly enjoyed the show.
Tomorrow, we’re off to Palo Duro Canyon to see another production called, TX.
Those 70ish Girls
Pt. 3 Life’s a Trip by Valerie Halla
Pam my high school friend forever, and I sunbathing on the beach in Southern CA back in the day.
When I drove to LA, my plan for the third part was to visit my High School friends in Orange County which is further south in Mission Viejo and San Juan Capistrano. More driving on my agenda but it was worth it. “Old friends improve with age.” Uh, no that’s not the right saying. “Old friends are good at any age?”
Wine improves with age or is it “Good wine is good with any friends who age with enough good wine?” I think that’s it.
Anyhow, I got the GPS warmed up in my car, after making a reservation at a hotel, and headed out to meet my good friend of 60 years that I had met in junior high. It’s incredible that I made it without getting lost with thousands of freeway signs, traffic , and exits and driving past all the Disneyland turnoffs and attractions I had recognized from my teen years living there. Driving the Southern California freeways is kind of like the rides at Disneyland, exciting and interesting and imaginative while at the same time as unreal as Peter Pan, Snow White or Cruella de Ville
I got to the hotel and my high school friend, Pam, picked me and my dog up to go for dinner – which we had arranged with our other old high school friend, Jerry, and his wife, Pam. My friend, also a Pam, came and we hugged and chatted for a while then left for the restaurant. We ordered Cadillac margaritas while we waited. Pam said drinking alcohol makes you relax more when you’re socializing especially with some high school friend you had not seen in 50 years. After waiting for about 15 minutes, in walks Jerry with his wife. They were obviously in their 70’s walking bent over, stiff and wobbly. Jerry looked like his handsome self except with more gray, as I had remembered him being a close friend with my deceased husband, Ken. In fact Ken had been best man for Jerry at his second marriage at which I had attended. The wedding had been on a small yacht in the harbor at Newport Beach, so we as young newlyweds felt privileged to be there. Ken wore this cream colored tux with ruffles on the peach colored shirt. That by itself was shocking to me because Ken – the ex hippie – disliked dressing up like that but he did it for his buddy, Jerry.
Jerry visiting us in the mid 1970’s at the remote school where we taught k-8th grade.
High school buddy Jerry, now 70ish but still with the same smile and shy demeanor.
We hugged Jerry and Pam as my friend met Jerry and wife since she didn’t really recall much about Jerry at our huge high school. We had about 300 in our graduating class in the late 1960’s. It took a while for Pam to warm up to Jerry. He mentioned that maybe she knew his first wife from high school, also a Pam. This was getting more interesting every moment. We talked about Ken’s passing and how much Ken and Jerry were alike: both were quiet, did not like crowds nor people and rebellious, also super good looking, which I noted.
His wife mentioned their two grandsons and their divorced daughter living with them. They were busy with responsibilities and the graduation party and the ceremony that week for their oldest grandson. Pictures were shared. The contrast with high school now compared with our high school years was apparent.
All the old days came swooping over us as we talked and ordered our dinners. The years since the Vietnam War, Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young, The Beach Boys and hanging out on Huntington, Balboa, and Redondo Beaches. Our yearbook which no one could find now, packed away in some cardboard box to be forgotten. The years melted away like the ice cubes in our margaritas. We connected. We joined our teen years again and lamented losing classmate and pal, Ken.
All in all it had been a sweet reunion. Later Jerry texted that he had a tough time holding it together and that he had cried later. He had lost a good friend, his best friend in high school. We swore we would get together again and search for the old high school yearbook from 1967, but would we try, would it matter? Maybe it would matter to a few of us old folks.
Maybe I’ll go buy a bottle of wine to see if I can find the memories, the good friends, and the good times in the bottle, with each glass, each aging sip, each memory.
Pam and I during our teen years.
Pam and I still toasting the good times. Cheers.
Those 70ish Girls 