Author: Donna Chandler

Uncategorized

AM I THE ONLY ONE. . . . who had a mean grandfather?

Donna Chandler

MY GRANDFATHERS
By Donna Hale Chandler

I don’t know very much about my grandfathers’ history.  I do know how each of them made me feel when I was a little girl and I remember stories that I heard about each.  One grandfather had long passed away before I had my first child.  The other left this earth when my first born was quite small.  So, if there ever comes a time when either of my children would like to know about their great-grandfathers on their mother’s side of the family, maybe this will be a teaser that will cause them to investigate further.

Both of my grandfathers were interesting men even though they were complete opposites.  One was a good man, devoted to his family and community while the other was a womanizer who would most likely have been struck by lightning if he’d ever entered the church where my grandmother faithfully attended every Sunday morning.  One made me feel safe and loved.  The other terrified me with his loud laugh and jaw full of chewing tobacco.

The scary grandfather was Oscar Diamond and my grandmother divorced him in 1953 when I was just 4 years old.  You would have thought that after 41 years of marriage and 6 children that my grandmother would have been used to his wandering ways and would have taken the easy route by ‘looking the other way’, but bringing home an STD was perhaps the final straw.  Even though at the time the word divorce was almost a dirty word, my grandmother forged ahead.  Within a year of the divorce my grandfather married the Other Woman and moved into a house within sight of my grandmother’s home.

There are two stories that stick out the most in my memories of my scary grandfather.  One was a story of when Oscar and his wife, Rebecca were newlyweds.  Rebecca went to church faithfully every Sunday.  The distance was too far to walk so she would ride bare-back on one of the two plow horses that the couple owned.  Oscar wouldn’t dare darken the door of the church but he would climb on the other horse and ride along with Rebecca to visit with his buddies at the general store until church services ended.  As soon as he saw the first person start down the church steps, he would high tail it over there so he could see if there were any pretty ladies to flirt with while he waited for his wife.

This particular Sunday when Rebecca came out into the sun light, she spied her new husband laughing and teasing a pretty young lady.  Rebecca, incensed, held her head high, and walked quickly past the giggling couple to her horse.  However, her anger evidently increased her strength because when she grabbed the horse’s mane and attempted to jump on his back, she kept right on going, falling in a heap in the dirt on the other side of the horse.  To his credit Oscar ran to his young wife’s aid, helping her up and onto her horse.  I don’t know whether there was shouting or silence as they made their way home.  Either way, I’m sure Oscar got the message.  It’s too bad that he had such a short memory because his attraction to the opposite sex finally landed him in Divorce Court.

The second story I remember so well about Oscar happened when I was eight years old.  My younger sister was born on July 9th, which was Oscar’s birthday.  After my sister’s one year birthday family get together, my mother decided to take us both to see our grandfather to give him a pair of house slippers for his birthday.  We walked along a dusty road from my grandmother’s house to his in the hot July sun, with my mother holding my hand and my sister on her hip.

When we arrived, Oscar was sitting in a rocking chair on his front porch chewing tobacco and spitting in an old rusty can.  I don’t remember the conversation he had with my mother but I do remember that she never went up the three or four stairs to where he was sitting.  She wished him happy birthday and laid the shoe box on the first step.  He ignored the gift and spit tobacco at my new patent leather shoes making me jump just like in the old westerns when the bad guy shoots his gun at another’s feet making them ‘dance’.  My mother’s grip on my hand increased as we turned and walked away with Oscar’s loud laughter vibrating in our ears.  I don’t remember ever going back to see him again.

Some years later as Oscar lay very sick in the hospital, his home burned to the ground.  As he was not trusting of the bank, not only did he lose his home, all his worldly possessions, but he also lost every dollar he had hidden in glass canning jars in the home’s cellar.  I don’t know if anyone mourned his passing or if those who knew him best decided that ‘Karma’ had done its duty.

(I also had a ‘good’ grandfather that I loved dearly. He will be the subject of a future story)

Humorous

AM I THE ONLY ONE. . . . . . . . . . . . who remembers their first experience with alcohol

Donna Chandler

By: Donna Hale Chandler

I was just 17 years old when I married my high school sweetheart and a year later saw him off to Vietnam.  We grew up in a small town in Kentucky where we were expected to go to church twice on Sunday and every evening if there happened to be a revival in town.  The entire county where we lived was ‘dry’, meaning no alcohol was sold or served anywhere.  Beer and cocktails were not part of my life and as my personal world was so small, I had no idea that this way of life was not the norm.

When my husband was discharged from the Army and returned to the states, we immediately moved to Michigan where he had a job waiting.  We were excited to start our new married life and once our meager furnishings that consisted of a bed purchased from the Salvation Army store, a small Montgomery Ward’s TV and 2 lawn chairs were set up in our tiny three-room upstairs apartment, I ventured out to the grocery store to stock our shelves with the staples.

Much to my surprise as I explored each aisle, I found beer – all kinds and brands of beer – right out there on the grocery shelf for everyone to see and anyone to purchase.  I was amazed and rushed home to spout all the details of what I had found to my husband.  Surprisingly to me, he was not astounded by this discovery at all.

I’ve always been a quick study and it didn’t take long for me to learn that drinking beer or having a cocktail did not cause the heavens to open up and lightning come down to strike me dead, to suffer in hell for all eternity.  The opportunity for me to personally indulge came at Christmas, 1968, at a party that Ford Motor Company had for their hourly employees.  I was so excited to see how this part of the world ‘partied’ and I knew there would be ALCOHOL there.

We went with another couple, Carol and Gary, both native Michiganders and both thought my naivety quite humorous.  I remember distinctly that Carol and I both ordered a Sloe Gin Fizz.  It was a pretty red drink and went down like Kool-aide.   Soon we were both giggling like 10-year-olds and having a magnificent time.  Everything was wonderful and everything was funny.

As the evening went on and the gaiety continued, we strolled off, rather unsteadily to find the lady’s room.  As soon as we walked in, we heard a voice calling out, “I need some help.  Please.”  At first, we were frozen in our tracks.  Did we really hear someone calling for help or was this just another bit of proof that perhaps we’d better switch to drinking water?  But no, we heard the voice call out to us again.  The sound was coming from one of the bathroom stalls.  We peeked under the stall door and sure enough there were feet, although something didn’t seem quite right.

Carol was the brave one who pushed the stall door open to find a very large, very drunk young woman stuck between the toilet and the stall wall, and of course with her underwear around her knees.  She had managed to miss the toilet seat and plop down into the air, wedging herself securely.  We were both far from sober ourselves and decided that this was absolutely the funniest thing we had seen all night.  In between our bursts of laughter and trying to pull the woman up, she asked us to please go find her husband, James.

Holding our splitting sides we laughed our way back to our table, having forgotten all about the purpose of our visit to the bathroom and told our husbands what we had found.  They were evidently more sober that either of us and seemed not to see the humor in the poor woman’s situation.  They left us with Coke’s to drink and went in search of the Husband James.  When we saw our guys plus another strange man heading for the woman’s bathroom, we were quick to follow.  We wanted to see how they were going to dislodge the unfortunate woman.

There was much grunting and groaning from James and lots of crying from the young woman.  At last James dislodged is wife and much to the disappointment of Carol and me, there was no loud ‘pop’ like a cork from a champagne bottle.  Our little group turned to leave James and his wife when she suddenly passed out cold, proving that the drama of the evening was not yet over.  To his credit James laid his lady as gently as possible onto the floor, arranged her clothing more modestly, left us to guard the bathroom door and went in search of his friends.

In the blink of an eye, two more men were there to help James with his dilemma.  The three of them got her up, placed an arm over the shoulder of the two helpers and out of the bathroom they came, heading toward the entrance as James called to them that he’d run ahead and bring his car to the front door.  Sounds pretty easy, right?  Not so.

Carol and I had maintained a reasonable amount of decorum and were beginning to feel a bit ashamed at how much we had laughed at the poor woman.  That is until we saw the men start down the stairs with her.  They each had a right grip on their burden and as they began their decent the woman’s feet and shins were dragging down the stairs behind them – bump, bump, bump, with each step they took.  This sent us into another fit of laughter erasing all feeling of shame that almost invaded out conscience.

As a side note, I was the only one of our groups that had to go to work the next morning.  I awoke with a blinding headache (duh), put on the very same clothes and I wore to the party and somehow made it through the day, hoping that karma was not paying attention to my behavior the night before.

Uncategorized

Am I the Only One . . . . who feels jinxed at times

Donna Chandler

After the loss of my husband, it took quite a while to work up the courage to get out into the world again.  Dating is a scary prospect if your last date was 40 years or so ago.  My first date didn’t go very well.  I nearly destroyed a nice fancy restaurant.  My Second First Date was even more disastrous because my ‘date’ had a heart attack and died.  I’m sure everyone has had a bad date or two but DEATH is definitely a bad date with a capital B

I decided though, that perhaps the third time would be the charm and signed back into Match.com.  Discouragement was looming on the horizon and I was ready to give up.  A trip had been planned to visit my children in Michigan and my paid membership to the site was about to expire.  The decision wasn’t difficult.  I would let my membership expire.  If it was meant to be, I would meet someone.  Otherwise, forget it.  I’d just get old (well, OLDER is probably the better word) alone.

Then I spotted him.  He had a nice smile.  His name was Richard, but he liked to be called Dick, Just Plain Dick.  He even signed his notes J.P.D.  I read through his profile and we shared quite a few likes and dislikes.  I thought, ‘Why not give it one more shot?”  I sent him a ‘wink’ just to see if he might be interested.  He was and we started emailing back and forth. 

I left on my trip to Michigan without having met him face to face.  I was away for about a month and Dick and I continued to email back and forth.  The more I heard from him the more I found to like about him. 

By the time we finally arranged that face-to-face meeting.  We each felt like we knew the other.  We were comfortable with each other.  We talked and talked and talked.  I met his family.  He met my family.  Things were going very well.

Then one evening I became afraid that perhaps the third time would not be the charm.  I became afraid that perhaps I was jinxed and would spend the remainder of my days alone after all.

The evening started normally.  We were going to a Mexican restaurant with another couple.  The restaurant was just down the street from where I live so everyone met at my place.  We chatted and laughed until the hunger pains reminded us that we needed to go to dinner.  The restaurant was busy but there was a table by the window and the four of us began studying the menu.

Once our order was placed and we were waiting for our food, Dick turned to me and said he didn’t feel very well.  When I looked at him, he was as white as a ghost with a sheen of cold perspiration shinning on his face.  Swallowing the thought of another DEATH DATE, I suggested that we go to the emergency room.  But, of course, being a typical stubborn male, he said that wasn’t necessary and he probably just needed something to eat.

By the time our food was served, Dick was looking and feeling worse.  He said he’d like to go out to the car and lay down for a few minutes.  He was dizzy and light headed.  Once he was out of hearing range, I asked the other couple if they thought we should be going to the E.R.  They agreed that was exactly where Dick should be right now.

We asked for our food to be boxed up and hurried out to the car.  Half expecting to find Dick unconscious, I slowly opened the car door and peered in.  Amazingly to me anyway, he was still alive.  The three of us told him that we’d decided he needed to be at the hospital and that we would be headed there as soon as the car was put into gear.

Dick would hear none of it.  He insisted that if he could just lay down comfortably for a while, he’d be alright.  “Just take me to Donna’s” he said.  “We’re practically in her back yard.  I can lay down there.”

In my mind, I was screaming, “No, no, no, don’t take him to my house.  No, no, that’s not good.  I don’t like this.  I don’t like this at all.”  But aloud all I said was, “I really think the hospital is the best idea.”

“No,” Dick insisted, “Your house is closer.  All I want to do is lay down.  I’ll be fine.”  “Steve, ” he addressed our friend who was driving,” take me to Donna’s”

Now I was starting to break out in my own cold clammy perspiration.  This can’t be happening!  Am I jinxed or what?  When we arrived, I asked the other couple to come on in.  However, they declined.  They didn’t want to be in the way.  (They didn’t want to be in the way of what?  The gurney that bound to arrive here within the hour?)  I was near tears as I watched them drive away.  These are all new friends.  Friends that don’t know about the DEATH DATE.  Friends that have no idea about the danger that Dick is about to step into.

Worrying and fretting, we walked into my home and Dick went straight into the bedroom and lay down.  I stood there in the middle of the living room wondering if I should just go ahead and dial 911.  Instead, I tip-toed in to check on him.  He was already fast asleep and breathing evenly.  Was the color coming back to his face?  No, actually, it wasn’t.  I just wanted it to really, really badly.

Every fifteen minutes I made that short trek into the bedroom and watch quietly for the rise and fall of his chest, knowing that as long as he was breathing, everything was ok.  Dick slept for a couple of hours.  The longest two hours I could remember enduring.

When he woke, he felt fine.  He looked good.  He mentioned that he’d started some new blood pressure medication and probably had just had a reaction to it.  I told him that he had scared me half to death and the next time he would not be sleeping in my bedroom, he’d be in the emergency room where he belonged.  He was very surprised at my agitation so I fessed up and told him about the last date who hadn’t felt well in my home.

That was 13 years ago.  I’m happy to tell you that Dick is still alive and well.  He proved to me that the third time truly is the charm. He has brought laughter and happiness to my days.  We look forward to traveling through our sunset years together.  Plus, as an added bonus, no more of that difficult disastrous dating for either of us!

Uncategorized

AM I THE ONLY ONE …… that has lost a family treasure?

Donna Chandler

THE LOST RING
By:  Donna Hale Chandler

All sorts of strange things happen to the members in my family.  From a wandering happy birthday helium balloon that escaped its owner and landed in my daughter’s yard ON HER BIRTHDAY, to my son talking to his deceased grandfather when he was a small child, to the ring that I lost.  The lost ring is what I’m going to try to explain today,

The ring belonged to my mother, who passed away several years ago.  It was too small for my ring finger and a little big for my pinkie finger.  It was a beautiful ring but why have beautiful things stored away for safe keeping? I wear the ring, not often, but I wear it.  I wear it on my pinkie finger and keep a close watch on it so that it doesn’t slip off.

I came home from running errands and doing a little shopping a few weeks ago.  I was exhausted, fixed myself a cold beverage and fell into my recliner to wait until my ‘second breath’ kicked in.  It was then that I noticed that the ring was gone.  It was not on my finger.  I racked my brain, trying to remember when I last saw it.  I’m sure I had it when I had lunch with my daughter, at least I think I did.

I was carrying several large packages when I got home so I dug out every bag to make sure it hadn’t slipped off as I was unpacking.  I retraced my steps to the car, checking the sidewalk and the grass.  I practically stood on my head, checking under the car seats.  Sadly, it was nowhere to be found.  I told myself that it wasn’t the end of the world, I would not let myself stress over the loss.   But of course, I did.

If, I had it on at lunch, I only stopped at one store after that so maybe it came off in that store as I struggled with two rather heavy bags.  Even though I told myself not to stress, I decided I would call the store and see if anyone turned in a ring.  I severely doubted it but it was worth a try and I could stay in my recliner as I made the call.

The store was pretty busy when I was there and it must still must have been because no one answered the phone.  Oh well, I told myself, I tried.  However, within a very few minutes I was gathering up my car keys to drive back to the store and ask in person, plus look around the floor, of course.  (So much for not stressing,) As luck would have it, the owner greeted me as I walked in the door but the answer was not what I wanted to hear when I asked if anyone turned in a ring.

I started to leave but something held me right there by the checkout counter where I had paid for my purchases.  I looked all around the floor, nothing.  I remembered grabbing those heavy bags and hastily getting out of the way so the customer behind me could check out.  Next to the checkout station was a stack of boxes waiting to be opened.  I had stepped to those boxes, sat my bags down so I could put away my change and get a better grip. 

Maybe that’s when the ring came off, when I was readjusting the bags.  I scanned the floor around the boxes, again nothing.  And again, something held me there.  I just didn’t feel ready to walk through that door and go to my car.  My mind was whirling.  As people walked past me, I looked again at the boxes.  They were about an inch away from the wall.  I peered down that little crack and there it was.  The Ring, I FOUND IT even though it was almost hidden and probably would not have been found until someone moved those boxes.  By then I would have moved on, minus one ring.

I was so happy that no one answered the phone at the store when I called, because if they had, and they told me ‘No ring’, I most likely would not have made the trek back to the store and would not have stood around long enough to cause concern by the owner.  I would not have peeked into that small crack.

It couldn’t have worked out better.  Well, better would have been not losing the ring at all, but you know what I mean.  I found a needle in a haystack.

Uncategorized

AM I THE ONLY ONE . . . whose family experiences impossible happenings?

Donna Chandler

A few years ago, my daughter and her husband lived in New Orleans.  His work had transferred him there and as with any move there was a lot to learn.  They had been there only a week, barely long enough to know how to get from Point A to Point B when their car was stolen.  The police were called.  A report was written but according to the officer there was not much hope of ever recovering their car.

Husband found a ride to and from work each day with a friend and life continued in this new city.  A few days later as they were crossing an overpass on their way from work, Husband glanced at the street and homes below.  Suddenly he was very excited and started giving his friend directions on where to turn and where to go because he was sure that he saw their car parked on a street below the overpass.

Now, there was nothing unusual about this car.  It was an older model grey Ford Taurus and sure enough there was one parked on the street.  Walking up to it Husband realized it really was his car.  Against all odds he found his stolen car.  A call was made to the police that the car was found and within minutes, an officer was there to look around.  There was a still carton of cigarettes in the back seat and $20.00 bill still remained above the driver’s sun visor.  Also, a man’s wallet laying on the passenger seat. Apparently, it pays to leave your car’s gas tank on empty or nearly empty be it wasn’t that far from their home and the thief had run out of gas.

One would logically be led to believe that the wallet belonged to the car thief and the police would track him down.  For Daughter and Husband, they were just happy to get their car back undamaged.  All they had to do was fill the gas tank and it was good to go.

Fast forward a few weeks, Daughter was at a gas station, filling up when a man pulled up to the gas pump next to her.  As he was taking care of his car, he addressed Daughter, “I see you have a Michigan license plate.  How are you liking New Orleans?”

Daughter, trying not to be suspicious of this stranger answered, “So far I don’t like it much.  We were barely settled when our car was stolen.  But as you can see, we got it back.”

Several seconds passed before the man asked, “Was there a wallet in the car.”

“Yes,” Daughter answered becoming leery now.  “Why would you ask that?”

Still friendly and smiling the man explained. “It was my wallet.  It had been stolen.  The police came to visit me asking why it would be in a stolen car.  Fortunately for me, I could prove that I was at work when the car disappeared so finally my wallet was returned.  But I sure was nervous there for awhile because I knew they thought I stole that car and I knew I didn’t.”

Who would believe that a car would be stolen, recovered with a wallet and then meet the person who belonged to the also stolen wallet?  Yes, it really happened.