Author: Donna Chandler

By:  Donna Hale Chandler

Are mother’s truly sane or do you think we’re all a bit brain damaged? I’m not quite sure when I lost my grasp on common sense but I’m positive it had something to do with the bearing of children. In the past I was under the mistaken opinion that once children grow into adulthood, go out and make their own homes, I might actually begin to regain a semblance of normality again. WRONG!

I am now pushing 70 years old, retired; living in a beautiful community filled with other retirees. Both of my children are healthy, settled, have their own homes and go to work every day. Have my brain cells recovered? Nope, don’t think so. It appears that I will never ever stop ‘mothering’ my off-spring, just as my own mother kept ‘mothering’ me, much to my discomfort, right up until her passing at age 80.

Knowing how much it irritated me to hear my mother say to my 60-year-old-being, “You’re are NOT going to wear THAT, are you?” Or, “Did you lose your comb? What is the matter with your hair today?” I find I do exactly the same thing to my own adult children.

 And I ignore the eye-roll just as my mother did. 

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Gram use’ta say

All jobs are important,
none more so than that of being a parent.

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By:  Donna Hale Chandler

I color my hair myself – which is the subject of today’s Beauty Advice.

For some reason (it seemed like a good idea at the time) I decided to color my hair in the morning before I started my day. When it was time for bed the night before, I set the alarm on my cell phone for 6:00 am. This would give me plenty of time to make myself presentable before the dead-line I’d set for myself of 8:00 am. (Everyone should be up and ready to ‘meet the day’ by 8:00.  A point that I’m sure would be debated by many who like to stay snuggled under the covers a bit longer.)

It felt as though I had just dozed off when my cell phone is playing that catchy little happy tune to wake me…………. Up I hop ……. Into the bathroom …. Mix the color …. Cover my head with goop, paying special attention to the grey around the edges … Set the timer for 20 minutes. Warm a cup of left-over coffee and prepare to read my morning newspaper while I wait for Lady Clairol to produce her miracle.

But the newspaper hadn’t arrived. My newspaper delivery person is never, ever late. Why do they have to be late today? I can’t think of any other way to get through 20 minutes with goopy hair, except to sit quietly and read. But there is NO newspaper!

As I walk past the kitchen, I glace at the clock on the wall. 12:45 am. Oh dear, my clock has stopped ……. Search for new batteries. No. Wait. The clock is running. WHAT TIME IS IT? Check the time on the cable box (that time is ALWAYS correct, right?) 12:45 AM! WHAT THE HECK? No wonder I felt like I had just dozed off. I DID. What am I doing up at 12:45 with color all over my head? I haven’t slept enough!

Wait! Did I set my phone alarm wrong? Nah, I wouldn’t make a mistake like that, would I? Go to the bedroom to check the phone …. Nope, I didn’t make a mistake. The alarm is set to go off at 6:00 am.

Oh my ………….. I have a voice mail. Someone called me at 12:45. There was a voicemail. It must be an emergency. Something has happened to one of my children. Oh goodness, why didn’t I realize it was the phone, not the alarm? Dreading to listen to bad news and already wondering how fast I could get myself together to go to the rescue (what happens to my hair if I rinse this stuff off before the 20 minutes is up? Or maybe I’ll just leave it on and only take time to grab my purse and go. What would happen to my hair then?)

Holding my breath, I punch in the numbers. My son is evidently in a bar with a group of his friends. He’s listening to karaoke and felt the irresistible urge to share with me the sound of his favorite singer of the evening. Maybe he was even the singer. Who knows? AT 12:45 AM,,,,, WHO EVEN CARES????

I do know one thing absolutely and positively …….. As soon as I rinse this stuff off my hair, I’M GOING BACK TO BED. (after I turn off my phone alarm, of course) and I don’t think I’ll be ‘meeting the day’ at 8:00 AM GEEZZZ!

(The complete story can be found in Life Happens (My Story). See our Book page.)

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Gram use’ta say

“Figure it out.
If you just can’t figure it out, read the directions.”

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By:  Donna Hale Chandler

Yes, there were absolutely rules regarding how and even when to wash your clothes (on a wringer washing machine, perhaps?) and hang them outdoors on the clothes line. I remember well my mother instructing me on the correct way to put your clothing out to dry.

1. You must have at least 3 clothes lines. They must be tightly attached to the poles so    they wouldn’t sag when loaded with clothing.

2. You must have a clothes pin basket of some sort. Most likely my mother made what we used for our clothes pins. It looked a little like a small dress hanging on a hanger. There was a large opening for retrieving or replacing clothes pins. The hanger hung on the clothes line and you slid it along as you pinned up articles of clothing. The clothes pin bag must never be left outdoors once the laundry in finished. It needs to be as clean and neat as the rest of the ‘wash’

3. Before pinning anything to the clothes line, you needed to make sure the line itself was clean by walking the length of each line with a damp rag around the line.

4. Large items, sheets, pillow cases, towels, etc. were pinned to the outside lines, leaving the inside line for your ‘unmentionables’. I’m not quite sure what would happen if your neighbors saw underwear hanging out on the line but it probably would not have been pleasant.

5. Socks were to be pinned by the toe, shirts by the bottom, pants by the cuffs, etc.

6. Never ever hang a colored item with a white item. The neighbors would surely decide that you were too lazy to separate your laundry properly before washing.

7. Don’t waste clothes pins. Pin the edge of one garment to the edge of the next.

8. The laundry absolutely must be taken in before the evening meal. Again, the neighbors would decide lazy people lived there if the wash hung outdoors too long.

9. As you removed clothing from the line, the pins went back in the clothes pin bag and the article of clothing was folded and placed in a clothes basket. This would make it easier to iron later when it was ‘sprinkled’ and smoothed out on the ironing board.

10. Of course it doesn’t even need to be mentioned that you never ever, under any circumstances did laundry on Sunday. You’re probably be struck by lighting and sent straight to hell for that.

We’ve come a long way — now I throw everything in the washer and when I think of it, move it to the dryer. (Grandmothers around the world are turning in their graves each time laundry is washed in these modern times.)

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Gram use’ta say

AGING –
“That’s when everything that doesn’t leak, dries up.”

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By:  Donna Hale Chandler

I tried to be a good mother. I truly did. I tried to be involved in my children’s activities. I’m not particularly skilled in the kitchen but I’d burn those cookies and send them off to school. I’m just not very ‘domestic.’ My son and daughter, now adults, survived but it was probably touch and go there at times.

Growing up I had one very well-mannered younger sister, so when our first child, our SON came along, I wasn’t prepared for that ball of energy who was into anything and everything. There came a glorious day when he asked if he could join the Cub Scouts. I thought this was a fabulous idea. Nice, supervised activities that would teach him lessons while burning some of his ever-present energy.

Cub Scouts were great. He loved working toward a ‘patch’. I was so proud of him when he was awarded the first patch. But there was a problem. That little patch needed to be fastened to his shirt. A seamstress I am NOT and I really didn’t believe that a safety pin would be acceptable. So I sucked it up, went to the store to try to buy a needle and some thread. The cashier at Joann Fabrics probably is still talking about the woman who tried to purchase ONE needle. (Did you know that needles are sold in a package containing several?)

Finally, back home I went with my important purchase. I sat down with the Cub Scout shirt, my new needle and a spool of navy thread. I tried to keep my stitches small so they wouldn’t be so visible. I tried to not pull the thread too tight so the material wouldn’t pucker. I tried to do everything right. When I was all finished and held up the shirt for inspection, THE PATCH WAS CROOKED.

I had to pick those itty bitty stitches out and start all over again ………………. TWICE! By the time I was finished I felt like I had sewn a complete wardrobe. But, when we went to the next Cub Scout meeting, his patch was firmly attached in the right place. It wasn’t crooked. It wasn’t puckered. I was almost as pleased with myself for sewing the patch as I was of him for earning the patch.

As I was sitting there with the other mothers watching the ‘cubs’ go about the business of working toward yet another patch, the woman next to mean leaned over and said, “Isn’t it wonderful that they’re making iron-on patches now. I just hated sewing those on for my oldest son.”

Wait! What did she just say? When I turned to look at her she must have been able to read the disbelief in my face because she repeated herself, “I said, aren’t the iron-on patches great?”

I tried to smile and said, “Yes, they sure are.”

(The complete story can be found in Life Happens (My Story). See our Book page.)

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Gram use’ta say

“Misbehavior is sufficient justification
to have a knot jerked in your tail.”

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By:  Donna Hale Chandler

Do you believe that Christmas is the season of miracles? I believe that every season is filled with miracles. My life has been filled with them, some small, some amazingly unbelievable. The first that comes to mind happened in 1968.

I lived in Kentucky. I was 19 and I was waiting for my 21 year old husband to return from Vietnam. Around midnight the phone rang. It was him! He had just arrived at the Lexington airport and would need to take a bus the remaining 125 miles. He’d been told that there was only 1 bus per day and that would be the next evening. After much discussion and happy crying, we agreed that he would stay right where he was and I would come to him – be there in 2 hours or so.

I knew that Lexington was an exit off of I-64 and I knew how to get onto I-64 so I figured I was all set – grabbed my keys and my purse and set out. As I neared Lexington I realized that I really had no idea how to get to the airport once I exited the freeway. The worry gnawed away at me until I spotted an all-night diner just off to my right.

When I walked in the diner there were two men sitting at a table watching me closely. I tried to look brave as I walked up to the men and asked for directions to the Lexington Airport. One man was quick to answer with a, “Which one ya going to darling?” Which one? There was more than one? Oh no!

The other man took pity on me and asked why to needed to get to the airport in the wee hours of the morning. Once I explained about my husband returning, he said, “Oh you want the big airport” – and gave me directions.

I found it with no problem but had failed to ask my husband which airline he’d arrived on. No matter, I parked in the first space I found and ran into the first doors I saw. As I stood inside the airport wondering what to do next, I heard footsteps coming closer. When I turned to look, it was him!

You don’t see the miracle? There were so many miracles that night. My husband was returning safely. A 24 hour diner appeared just when I was beginning to despair. A kind gentleman had decided to meet his friend at the right time to give me directions. I found the airport and somehow parked at the exact terminal where my husband was waiting. My 19 year-old Kentucky steps had been guided that night. Nobody can convince me otherwise.

Full story can be found  in Life Happens (My Story)

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Gram use’ta say

“The man always walks closest to the street
when he’s walking with his sweetie.”

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