Why?

 The sun woke me up.  It was a school day.  Why weren't we all getting ready?

Why was everything so quiet?  I found my mother sitting up in her bed.  Aunt Doris was there. Why?

Very softly, mother said: “I have something sad to tell you Joanie.  Your father died in the hospital last night,”  I was eight years old.  None of this made any sense.

 I’m old now and, looking back, I see that moment as a preview of a life in which things are not expected to make much sense. And, I suspect we all live with one moment or another that keeps tapping us on the shoulder. Grabbing our attention. 

I’ve missed him every day. 

Mysteries of Life

 My first awareness of the "mysteries of life" occurred the summer I stayed with Aunt Doris and Uncle Frank at the cottage.  One day I hated everyone, just couldn't stand to be there for one more minute.

I knew I had a dollar in my drawer.  I figured that was enough to buy a bus ticket back to Detroit so I could be with my friends.   I opened the drawer.  No dollar.  It wasn't there. That was the end of my secret plan.

A few days later, I went back to the drawer and the dollar was there.  Exactly where it was supposed to be.  By then the urge to leave was long gone.

No one has ever been able to convince me that the scientific, rational approach to life explains everything. And, I have a few more stories like this one to keep that belief in place.  There's always more for us to explore.

Grandma Duncan

 

Grandma Duncan's husband (my mother's father) was long gone before I was born.  No one talked about him and I never thought to ask.  She was what they call now a "single mother." She worked in the alteration department of the B.R. Baker Company, Toledo, Ohio, men's clothing.  Her job was called seamstress.

I bet she never thought of it this way but sewing was her special talent.  She made beautiful doll clothes for my Shirley Temple.  There was a patchwork quilt that was the kind they hang in museums today. Natural talent has a way of showing up in small places among the unrecognized.

When my mother wasn't around, she let us have pie for breakfast.

Uncle Frank

My mother's family was Aunt Doris, Uncle Frank, Uncle Elwood and, of course, Grandma Duncan.  Yesterday, I was complaining about my cough and June recommended Fisherman's Friend.  The only fisherman I ever knew was my Uncle Frank...and I was by his side.

When we were at the summer cottage he would wake me up at 4 a.m. to go out on the lake. I felt so special.  In the dark, we would tiptoe out with the pole and bait and make our way to the boat. The water was calm so I wasn't scared.

Funny, I don't remember whether we caught any fish, or if we did, how big they were. What stays with me is the companionship.  Uncle Frank's gift for the two of us.

Charlotte the Smuggler

Writing about my Aunts and Uncles reminded me of this favorite story about Aunt Charlotte.  It was in my book : Joan Chandler Today.

 Charlotte the Smuggler

“Jeanette, I don’t know why to do.  Jay is crazy.”  Charlotte was obviously speaking to her sister.  “You know those big cigars Jay loves to smoke? With this Castro thing you can’t buy them here anymore so Jay wants me to buy them for him in Windsor.” He called me last night.  “Char honey, please.”  “Jeanette, that’s when I realized it’s illegal.  He thinks no one will suspect me.”

Charlotte was right.  A plump housewife no one would notice.  Jay was right too.  He knew if he sweet talked his sister he could get her to do just about anything.  He was the smart, sophisticated, handsome one.  His sisters loved him to death.

And thus began the time of Charlotte the smuggler.  She took a bus from Toledo to Detroit and over the bridge to Canada.  She went about once every six months for three years.

And much later, when Jay was gone, it became one of her favorite memories.  “Of course,” she would say to herself, “I never got caught.'

Still Curious

 

I bought myself a new notebook and started jotting down childhood memories.  When remembering my Aunts and Uncles, I started thinking about my Aunt Jeanette. She was always off to the side.  Never married. Didn’t seem to have much of a life of her own.  She took care of her parents until they died and then counted on her brothers and sisters to take care of her. She had a job as a clerk but her main activity seemed to be talking to my Aunt Charlotte on the phone two or three times a day.

She came to a sad end (suicide).  I'm tempted to say tragic but that word seems too large for what happened.  Aunt Charlotte was killed in a car accident and Aunt Jeanette decided to join her a short time later. 

As I write this I wonder if the Jeanettes of the world have secrets, plans, or dreams that we never find out about.   Or are they content.  Beyond the reach of imagination or mystery.