Author: Donna Chandler

BY:  DONNA HALE CHANDLER

I don’t like bugs! I’m not afraid of them. They don’t give me the willies. I just don’t like them. I don’t keep a spotless house. I “live” in my home, and anyone can take one look and tell that. But just because I live here doesn’t mean I want to live with bugs… The nasty little critters carry germs and probably leave little tiny pee spots and itty bitty poos everywhere.

A couple of days ago, there was a bug crawling around my kitchen sink. A little black rascal about the size of a flea but it didn’t jump or bite … just crawled around like it owned the place. I squashed the bugger and didn’t think much about it. But later, I saw two more. I squashed them and went on a search for my can of Industrial Strength Bug Spray. I sprayed around the kitchen edges, trying to stay away from food and dishes.

Well, dang it all, yesterday I saw them again, so I sprayed some more and started the search for their hiding place. I checked the bread, nope none in there. I checked the coffee, nope none in there either. None in the instant oatmeal packets, or the hot chocolate packets either.

I knew the Whole Bug Family was living somewhere nearby so I started emptying my kitchen cabinets. While standing on a chair, peering into the clutter of various seasonings, plastic bowls with missing lids, I saw half dozen little bugs on the shelf. Squash, squash, squash, spray, spray, spray, wipe, wipe, wipe.

Finally, I gathered up my courage and looked into a container of Italian Bread Crumb Seasoning. Yikes! There were Zillions and zillions of bugs. Quick, quick, quick, get a plastic bag and start throwing every eatable thing that was up there away. Take every plastic dish and put it in the dish washer …… probably had bug pee or poo on them. I tied up the plastic bag, stepped out into the dark, watching for raccoons, and tossed that buggy stuff into the dumpster. Then I ran the dishwasher and scrubbed the entire kitchen.

This morning… No bugs! I won the war!

(Excerpt from Life Happens (My Story) by Donna Hale Chandler)

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Gram use’ta say

“When you give your word, keep it.”

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I know I’ve mentioned before that Little Miss Chatterbox, The Champion Questioner, was our very own second (and last) born child. The last question we discussed here was her concern for ‘handicapped cars.’ Some questions, however, could be more jolting. For example: Her dad and I were sitting in the family room one evening, each with a section of the newspaper. It was quiet, it was peaceful, but not for long. Into the room bounds Heather and up onto the couch next to me, “Mom, Mom, Mom.” (Every child knows that Moms don’t answer unless you say their name at least 3 times in a row.)

“Yes Heather.” I answered as I continued to read the article that had caught my attention.

“I have a question.”

“Ok, Heather,” I put down the paper, knowing I may never finish that article, “what do you want to know.”

“What is a blow job?”

I think my husband had a small convulsion because out of the corner of my eye, I saw the newspaper that he held in front of his face shake but to give him credit, he never lowered it an inch and stayed safely behind that flimsy paper barrier.

When I could breathe, I looked at our kindergartener and said, “Why would you want to know that, Heather?”

“Because, Mom, Jennifer went to the beauty shop and she got a blow job and her hair looks really cute so I want to know what it is so you can take me to the beauty shop and get a blow job for me too.”

When she paused, I said, “I think you mean Blow Dry, don’t you?”

“Yeah, isn’t that what I said? That’s what I want, a brow dry. What is it? Can I get one? Can I Mom?”

“A BLOW DRY just means that the beautician uses a blow dryer to dry your hair after she’s washed it. And yes, you can have a BLOW DRY the next time we go for a haircut.”

That brought about a big hug and off she dashed, temporarily on to some other quest.

When I was sure she couldn’t hear, I asked my husband, “Are you still alive and well over?”

All I heard was a grunt….. COWARD! ………….He’s getting the next question!

Of course this story has a moral: LISTEN before you speak or you may end up giving TMI.

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Gram use’ta say

“You’ll catch more flies with honey than with vinegar.”

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By:  Donna Hale Chandler

Does anyone even remember Service Stations? You know – gas stations. You pulled in, ran over a rubber hose making the bell ring and out came the Service Station Attendant. You roll down your window and say something like ‘Fill ‘er up.’ Or maybe ‘$5.00 worth of regular.’ Yes, $5.00 worth of regular went a long way when you were 16 with no place to really go except cruise around on Friday night.

While the gas was pumping into the tank, the young man would clean your windshield and your back window. If you popped the hood for him, he would also check your oil, show you the dip stick and let you know if you’re a ½ quart or quart low. Then he’d come back with that can of  Valvoline 10 w 30 and add the needed oil. If asked, he would check the air in that right tire that seemed a little low and bring the air hose over to fill it with the needed amount.

It was a service we evidently took for granted because I can remember when self-service gas stations started popping up here and there. My young, supposedly economically conscience self was appalled and voiced loudly to anyone who would listen that I would NOT be pumping my own gas. Think of the man who just lost his job so I could pump my own gas! He might have a family or he might be trying to put himself through school. I had all kinds of reasons for protesting self-service but of course progress arrived whether I approved or not.

I actually think of those same arguments when I am in a store with self-checkout. For a fleeting moment I wonder who has lost a job – someone with a family to feed or a student trying to go to school. But the thoughts vanish quickly because the line is shorter and moves faster in the self-checkout section. What happened to that idealist young person? Life – life happened.

Progress is arriving every day. Good? Bad? Each person decides for themself.

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Gram use’ta say

“Never shop for groceries when you’re hungry.”

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By:  Donna Hale Chandler

I think I have mentioned already that my daughter was a Little Chatterbox. She was the Champion Questioner. Some questions were innocent and would bring a smile to my face. Some questions were more likely to bring about a life threatening stroke.

One cold, snowy, winter day in Michigan, we were hurrying into the grocery store. The wind was wicked, we had to park in the ‘lower 40’ of the store parking lot, and I had a death grip on Heather’s hand. As I practically dragged her little 5 year-old body along past all the empty handicapped parking spaces, she suddenly planted her feet and came to a dead stop asking, “Mommy, why didn’t we park here? It’s a lot closer.”

“Because it’s a handicap space,” I said and with an even firmer grip, urged her on, trying to quicken the pace.

Once we were finally inside the warm walls of the grocery store and staring down the first aisle, Heather asked again about those empty parking spaces, “Tell me again Mommy. Why couldn’t we park in those closer spaces?”

“Because they’re handicap spaces, Heather.”

Then it came, the long drawn out, almost but not quite, whinny voice, “But Mommmmy,I don’t understand, what does a handicap car look like?”

That is a question that brought a smile, “It’s not the car that’s handicapped, Heather, it’s the person that drives the car. If the PERSON is handicapped they get to park closer so they don’t have to walk so far.”

To which, she shrugged her shoulders, and in an exasperated voiced said, “Well, why didn’t you say so in the first place.”

Moral of the Story: Take the extra steps; leave the handicap spaces for those ‘handicapped cars’ that benefit from them — and of course teach your children to do the same.

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Gram use’ta say

“You’ll catch more flies with honey
than with vinegar.”

 

I am definitely an ‘animal person’. Three of my grandchildren have fur, four legs and a tail. They are treated like members of the family. And as a grandchild they are expected to behave. Parents teach children manners (or at least they should) so why not this family member.

Recently we were having dinner at a restaurant that provided outdoor seating. We had just placed our beverage order when two gentlemen (?) were seated at a nearby table with two rather large dogs. Number 1 complaint, the dogs barked at EVERYTHING. Number 2 complaint, server stopped to pet the dogs. Did she go inside and wash her hands afterward – doubtful. Number 3 complaint, the leash on one of the dogs was long enough for him to come to our table and lay his drooling snout on the arm of a member of our party.

At that point the dog owner was asked, by our friend with the slobbery arm, to please keep the dog at their table. To his credit the dog owner complied but seemed surprised that we were not as enamored with his lumbering ball of hair as he was.

A different time, a different day, we were again seated outdoors at a restaurant. After all we live in Florida; we should enjoy the fresh air and sunshine. A young couple came in as we were eating with a tiny little pooch that they actually picked up and SAT ON THE TABLE. Yes, it was small but it was still a dog and it still felt it necessary to sniff all around the surface plus the condiments leaving behind wet doggie nose prints before it stretched out for a little snooze.

The examples of poor parenting could go on and on. The poor dogs are just being dogs. It’s the doggie mommy and daddy that need a good slap up the side of their head. We love our life in this warm climate but there are drawbacks, such as pet owners who think that everyone should share the same pet germs, pet hair, pet drool and pet misbehavior that they do. NOT SO.

If Fido is truly a member of your family, teach him to be polite and don’t try to inflict him on everyone within leash distance. Just use some common sense, PLEASE.

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Gram use’ta say

“Don’t judge people by their appearance.
They might be as ugly as home-made soap,
but still as beautiful as a rainbow on the inside.”

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