Me and Daniel: Memories, Volume II

By Dianah Disandro

A colorful tale of travel, family, tragedy, and love starts the couple's endeavor with new beginnings and old ties. There's happiness, laughter and tears. Within all the emotions of true events, fear is a big and powerful component of two strong-willed people who won't stop, amid all that's thrown in their path. Their life wrapped in the family, though they were the outsiders, with the elderly, children, businesses, and miles of road travel along the byways of the states in this country. A well-written story of two very energetic creative lovers, both fearlessly independent who will continue no matter what the cost. The story is a page-turner based on memories of the love of life and the will to never stop.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Outskirts Press
• Release date: Apr 30, 2024
• ISBN: 9781977274519

Dianah Disandro

From a backwoods dairy farm to the wilds of Los Angeles, it was the beginning of how far do you push the envelope. Dianah and Daniel traveled from coast to coast, every state continental USA. Real estate being the mainstay, there were none too large or too small. Research and thinking outside the box never ceased. The door was open to any variety of ventures.     Dianah’s recreation embraced painting, reading, travel, time in the kitchen with Daniel and being with the children.     At the age of 79, the piano keyboard and reading music are being self taught, plus writing the next book, while building and landscaping a forest home.      Each day always starts with a great cup of strong coffee.     Inquiries     [e-mail]       

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1981

And now the rest of the story.

We have just left Central Wisconsin with a goodbye to Dianah’s parents and siblings.

The mobile home park purchased for retirement is in the hands of management. It’s winter, a cold November; the two are back on the icy road, over the mountain passes, caravan style headed west.

Daniel, in his blue and white Ford truck, was towing a 21 ft boat loaded with household possessions, and I, in my gray Ford LTD, also packed to the roof, driving Highway Interstate 80, destination Seattle, just before Thanksgiving Day. The weather has blown in upon us.

We have trekked through the snow and ice, and the closer we get to Seattle, the wetter it gets. It is so cold, and the rain has been continuous for miles.

The car heater works well but is not enough to get warm. And the water on the road, as the downpour hits the car, removes any stability to the highway. The long-haul trucks speed by, whipping the rain onto the windshield with enough force to obscure any vision. All I see in front of me is a river of water running down the window. It’s like falling into an ocean with only the sound of the truck tires as high as the car roof and only inches away. I pray that no one decides to stop or turn; the big rigs know they rule the road.

Traffic is bumper-to-bumper at 70 miles per hour, and going through the city still takes much longer than my stamina was prepared for.

I’m alone in the car and say, Dianah, this was your choice, so get yourself together; there is no one else to blame.

When I told Daniel I couldn’t live in Wisconsin any longer, he had asked where I wanted to go, and this was my choice, so don’t weaken now.

Managing to stay close behind Daniel is the necessary pursuit. The roads are foreign to me; if I lose him in the traffic, I’ll never find my way. The Ford pickup pulls the heavy wood boat, and it wants to walk from one side of the highway to the other as the wind keeps blowing. The boat and truck are loaded with everything that would fit. Vehicles are cutting in and out in front of him, but Daniel keeps his eye on the side mirror to be sure I am still behind him. He’s a skilled driver and uses the road for our safety as we stay in line with each other to caravan across this country and through the cities.

The boat has a blue tarp covering all our belongings, and one corner is flapping in the wind. I watch and hope the tarp blowing from side to side doesn’t break loose, cover my windshield, or wrap around the trailer’s axle. I can’t tell if what’s under the tarp is getting wet, and right now, that doesn’t matter.

Since coming close to the city, the rain has been flashing in sheets of heavy downpours. The highway water is slick; the old Ford LTD is attempting to hydroplane. It intermittently floats without control, and the city drivers don’t slow down. The windshield wipers are striking back and forth as fast they can, and as the wiper hits the metal with a thud, it gets louder and louder, and my head pounds at each beat.

All my energy and concentration are beginning to wane with each passing moment.

The mind and body say no further, but I must continue while the city traffic pushes you onward.

It’s a hard day. As I watch how Daniel drives, I can tell he’s tired. As the lead vehicle, he needs the awareness of the freeway off-ramps and makes sure his lady is behind him when other cars are trying to separate us. We’ve been on the road for days and are now traveling through the city as the weather takes all his fortitude.

Since early morning, we have only stopped for fuel, and it’s now late afternoon.

We arrived at his daughter’s house in the pouring rain. Daniel pulls alongside the property so as not to block the driveway. I’m directly behind the boat and the blue tarp; one inch closer, I’ll be in the boat.

I was never so happy to stop moving and be stationary. But when I stopped the car, I felt like I was still on the move, that eerie feeling of movement.

Daniel has parked; the rain continues in sheets harder than before. He looks out his window, and I can see him in the sideview mirror as he points to the front door of their house. Our car doors open simultaneously, and we splash through the mud onto the sidewalk. The front door opened instantly; we attempted to leave the weather outside as the two of us all but fell into their home.

Each of us greets the other, and the first thing on the agenda is a strong cup of coffee, plus getting rid of the shakes. Removing our wet shoes and coats, Denise, Daniel’s eldest daughter, directed us to the spare bedroom, which, though small, was so welcome.

Conversation at dinner is easy, then excusing ourselves; because of the testy day, the bedroom awaits. It’s cold and damp inside the house; I put on another blanket, and we scramble between the sheets, wrapping ourselves in each other’s warm embrace. My feet are so cold. I long to be closer; Daniel flinches as my cold feet touch his leg, and his feet aren’t any warmer than mine. I cover my nose with a blanket, and snuggle into his arms. Ah, some comfort at last, and there was no saying good night; sleep was instant.

Morning arrives with more rain. Pouring a large coffee, we hurried to the rental house Daniel had selected from a newspaper ad. It was also damp and cold. No one has lived here for a long time, but his daughter and family are nearby. The living room fireplace encompasses most of one wall; however, no one could say the last time the chimney was serviced, so mark it as non-usable. I find myself in a situation that’s not terrible but undoubtedly uncomfortable.

I don’t like the house or the neighborhood and am so tired. I asked myself, Can I handle this?

Daniel instinctively knew what I was thinking. I was never good at covering my feelings. But neither of us said what was on our minds; this was the move I chose and the house he picked.

The following day, we went shopping for Thanksgiving dinner and bought a generous turkey with all the usual trimmings, while Denise did much of the cooking. We helped prepare the side dishes, and it was a meal befitting the day—a relaxation of mind and body after the many treacherous highway miles.

The month moved on as we moved into the house. One day into the next without letting up on all the many relocating requirements.

Christmas is a blur: calls, visits, shopping, and hoping to establish a home base. My oldest son, Toph, is arriving from Bellingham for Christmas, making life almost welcome.

Meanwhile, the property search has begun. Everyone we have contacted seems to be just getting by. Affluence is in someone else’s city.

On Jan. 2nd, the search took us to Federal Way and Gig Harbor, then the ferry to Vashon Island and Seattle. There was nothing we saw of plausibility. Every spare minute is spent driving, looking, and asking questions. It’s still raining and cold; we haven’t noticed any sunshine in a month. Where oh where do we want to be? Where can we be?

I am shipping boxes of clothes and toys to Tim; the items are still from Wisconsin. When this move was embarked upon, we were split as a family. My youngest son, Tim, went to California to be with his Dad. He wouldn’t have to keep moving, one school and one neighborhood. He couldn’t take much on the plane to his new home. One of the things Tim disliked most was being on the move continuously without established friends and not knowing what the next day might bring. Toph also desired a different lifestyle and found a manageable habitat north of us with his Aunt Jill and family.

As I talk with Tim, I can tell he is beginning to settle in; his new school is enormous, and he’s getting acquainted with his new stepbrother, an only child. Sharing between the two boys may take on a learning curve, but every part of life, regardless of age, seems to have something attached; no one thing is clear-cut and straightforward.

Toph is becoming educated, starting at the grassroots of the lumber industry while attending school. He is 16, and Tim is 13; Daniel’s two oldest are adults, and the two younger are slightly older than Tim and Toph.

As time passes, the children are growing, and I’m not with them, missing the daily happenings in their lives. It’s not what I intended, but choices don’t always turn out as expected. If there are no silver spoons, creativity is your only fallback. So, as you grasp for one more option, another part of life may be lost.

Things seem out of place for the first time in five years as we have moved from one place to another. Are we having trouble accepting all the family changes, or are the choices and forced decisions taking their toll? I wasn’t prepared for all this. Had I not considered the cost, financial, emotional, or state of mind? Did I know there were options? I knew things would change, but to say I had it all put together would mean lying, primarily to myself. So, I pushed these thoughts to the background for another day.

The atmosphere of Wisconsin hadn’t been welcoming, and to this point, Washington didn’t seem any more accommodating.

We left a garage full of belongings in Wisconsin, and the Mobile Home Park had been Daniel’s dream of retirement. He didn’t tell me about the plan to build a house on the lake lot until years later, so when I said I’ve got to move, I didn’t know Daniel’s future endeavors. He just looked at me and said nothing except where would you like to go?

We are generally better than others at discussing things, but when people get mightily stressed, they stop talking, including the two of us. We didn’t speak, just did our usual thing, shifted into high gear, and prepared to move. Separation was not wanted from either Daniel or me.

Daniel never mentioned how he was feeling. There would be no mention of when he wasn’t well until the pain or sickness was obvious. Back in 1976, as we became acquainted, Daniel had a constant bottle of Mylanta with him. It was in the car and the house, and asthma was the only thing he ever cautioned me about his health.

Daniel stated, If I stop breathing, call 911 and tell them to give me a shot of ACTH, it will bring me back.

I didn’t fully understand his comment then, but he meant that it would bring him back. Back from where? Death’s door?

Breathing is a necessity of life, and Daniel had been at that doorway more than once before we met. There was a standing order for the medication in Orange County, California. But we are no longer in California.

Coping with illness was another nuance in my life. My family household did not tolerate sickness. As farmers of German heritage, there was one thing you knew: work was above all else. There were the usual childhood diseases as youngsters, but no one paid much attention; we didn’t consider going to the hospital and didn’t complain. You just weren’t supposed to get sick. One time, my mother had a toothache. As with most toothaches, after a few days, it was worse. Then, her face started swelling. My dad gave her some whiskey that evening, saying it would help relieve the pain. Tomorrow, you’ll see the dentist and have the tooth pulled. There was no How are you feeling today?

When Dad was chopping wood, the wedge slipped, becoming a projectile, and struck his eye. Bleeding profusely, he looked terrible. As Dad stood at the kitchen sink attempting to stop the bleeding, I asked my mother if we would take him to the hospital. No, was the answer; he will be okay. It’s not that bad.

We had aspirin for aches and pains, Castoria for constipation, Vicks for runny noses, and fried onions in a handkerchief wrapped around your neck for the croup or common cold.

Pneumonia was a penicillin shot, and you’ll be as good as new in a week.

I told myself Daniel would be fine; we would find our way as we had before, and I hoped the rain would stop and things would smooth out after a few months.

I needed to get a job and start the real estate licensing process all over again. I have a license in California and Wisconsin, but I need to find a way to work in Washington.

Since Daniel’s Father passed away, he also had the burden of his mother’s care; she was of stout Lithuanian heritage and didn’t drive or handle a checkbook. Intimidated by upbringing and society, his mother had always tried to fit in with the rest of the Italian family. With the assistance of his Mom’s neighbor, Daniel keeps things running smoothly for her and calls three to four times weekly, asking how things are going and if she needs anything.

We knew there was a possibility of keeping her home in Pismo Beach even if a move for her took place.

The mobile home park where she lived was in the process of reconfiguring ownership. As an owner of a house on a lot, you could buy the lot and only have an HOA. At the time, $35,000 sounded like a lot of money to buy into a mobile home park for just the lot and still have an obligation of the association dues. The house was too small for the three of us, but the hard part was that we all loved the area. The park was across from the Pacific Ocean, a 55-plus neighborhood with an upscale atmosphere. Pismo Beach was vacation land, a little resort town that was desired by anyone who could afford to live there.

Daniel and his mother frequently talked about her moving to live with us; we all knew it wouldn’t be easy. Daniel and his Mom were in each other’s way, even if they weren’t in the same room. I knew they cared for each other intensely, so I quietly continued my daily to-dos with no comment.

Mom would say, Daniel, I can’t move yet.

Still grieving for her husband of 50 years, she was not ready to leave her home with all his memories—a bigger deal than I realized at the time.

Daniel arranged for his mother to spend Christmas with us and stay as long as she wanted. Toph came from Bellingham to be with us over the holidays; having him home was a comfort zone, and now it’s not just a house. I was missing the kids and kept reassuring myself they were happy. Daniel and I went to Goodwill and the Salvation Army and bought furniture and bedding for everyone to be as comfortable as we could provide. All the moving, trips, losses due to divorces, Oklahoma purchases, and mobile home park purchase left us with a lack of dollars, but we would manage.

Before Christmas, I wrote to all my family and friends, providing a new address, phone number, and holiday salutations.

December came and went.

The season of merriment is now over; the kids are back to school, and the festivities have ceased.

Daniel is driving his mother home to Pismo Beach, towing a VW Beetle for his son CM behind the truck. The trip is over 1,000 miles to Pismo. The Beetle needs new wiring and TLC, a beginning as his first car. Along the way, Daniel and his mom stopped in Oregon at Charlie and her sister Jeanette, then it’s on to Pismo.

A roof leak was discovered in his mother’s house when they arrived. There’s never a one-day repair, and Danel’s been a fix-it person since he could pick up a hammer. There always seems to be something needed, so the work and effort to complete the job starts, even if it’s late evening.

Daniel called me every night, and we shared the day’s events and the plans for tomorrow. With the sound of each other’s voices, there would be a moment of comfort. Our togetherness was complete, even if the day’s events ran helter-skelter.

After completing the home repair for Mom, Daniel was in Orange County delivering and working with CM’s car and saying hello to friends and business contacts. It is then back to Pismo, where he checks on his Mom and stays for the evening. Daniel hooked up the Chrysler; it’s still the same car from the Atascadero departure intended for the Wisconsin move. But this car was not up to the task Daniel had designed it to do, so it stayed in Mom’s carport until now.

We still had some of Tim’s things, so Daniel stopped in Union City on the way back and dropped the items off to Tim with a quick Hello and was back on the road.

The many belongings are stacking up here in Washington: a Pickup truck, a four-door Ford LTD, the big Chrysler, and a heavy wood boat of about 20 feet on a trailer, the same vessel that sat on a rock in Lake Butte De More, Wisconsin, with a chewed-up prop and bent shaft. These not-so-small items remain parked in this short dirt driveway at the rental house.

In Wisconsin, we have a cabin cruiser, a garage full of household items and garage tools, and everything imaginable, plus the mobile home we bought when we moved into the newly purchased park.

In Pismo Beach, California, a collector’s Ford still sits at Mom DiSandro’s house; of course, her house is now Daniel’s responsibility, another item to care for.

We always have stuff, but now we are spread all over the country.

A little here, a little there, with no place feeling solid. There’s no wonder we are both feeling stressed.

I found a waitress job at Coco’s Restaurant close to our rental house, and my job will cover the basics, with Daniel doing his best to make progress on a plan. What was the strategy?

The cabin cruiser is still sitting in the cradle at a marina in Oshkosh, WI, and our calls to get the boat shipped out have yet to be fruitful. There are a ton of boat movers in the Seattle area, and they don’t want to be responsible for transporting a wooden cabin cruiser. They say their insurance won’t cover any damage, and it’s too easy to have trailer bracing go through a wooden hull over the rough highways. Because of the size of the craft, it would need the oversized wide sign for load accommodations and height restrictions, making it even more expensive and daunting to move.

Daniel and I looked at the map to determine the feasibility of having a captain power the boat down the waterways. But that, too, was not practical.

Daniel hasn’t complained; he’s been working for months, trying to transport the boat that’s now for sale. Another part of Wisconsin didn’t come together. I can’t begin to say how scattered I feel. I know the only thing to do is to keep working on all the problems, hoping that the effort put forth will return positive results. In the back of my mind, the committee is saying, but what if nothing comes together?

This boat we have tried to resurrect for our pleasure now has a hole in the side of the hull, a gift of Midwest weather. The manager at the marina eventually sells it at a giveaway price.

Daniel’s investments profited from the initial cash layout, some better than others. The cabin cruiser had been an exchange for a gem, the gem received from a trade of rental property. Suppose you can determine what the initial cash layout was started over thirty years ago, and then from point A to point D, with income, expenses, and maybe a little trade or a new partner, and you say, wait a minute, I think I lost a step along the way.

Daniel is a numbers man; he could complete a transaction as complicated or simple as the situation warranted or as he determined it should be. If he didn’t want you to get the complete picture, you better listen because you will get lost in his description and complexities. There was a time when I didn’t follow what he was thinking or planning, but as life evolved, conversation and a few dealings, I became more adept at understanding the financial element.

Initially, I had not had the best dealings with men saying they would help me out, and I discovered that the statement meant they would help me right out of my wallet, with nothing left to show for it. So, with Daniel and I, we watched each other very closely in the beginning. Neither of us had a positive financial history with our former mates. There was love, and then there was finances. So it wasn’t that we didn’t trust each other, but you never know.

February has arrived; Daniel is home after getting his mother settled back in her Pismo Beach home. I have completed the fingerprinting again for my Washington Real Estate license.

Daniel’s, Uncle Charlie, and Aunt Jeanette have stopped by to visit. Charlie and Jannette, retired and living in Oregon, had their preferred way of living, lots of food, essential down-to-earth people, and they were family.

We took them on a Rainier Brewery tour and then to dinner. It was enjoyable to get away from planning and working.

Daniel says all work and no play makes a very dull person. I didn’t begin life learning how to play. As farmers, we worked 24/7. I wonder how Daniel slipped in the fun times, getting as much done as we did.

Searching for a new variety in our life, the play Oliver, at a local high school performance in Federal Way, is rumored to be exceptional, so we attended. The students and staff, an orderly group in a packed auditorium, contributed to a delightful evening. It was an outstanding performance by the young students who did their best to entertain us. With many compliments to them, the play rivaled most professional groups.

We once went to an afternoon chamber music recital. The hall was warm, with attendees elbow to elbow; the show was long, and we fell asleep. The two of us were not the only sleepers. Chamber music isn’t our best fit.

We were introduced to a Merrill Lynch Seminar. Again, this is a new item on the list of things I have yet to experience.

Daniel explained, It’s free; they’ll serve coffee and snacks, and you never know what pearls of knowledge one might gain.

I hadn’t looked at it in that light; there is always something to be learned, plus it could reveal new contacts for my real estate business. I was intrigued, for who knows what tomorrow may bring. It’s the theory of leaving no stone unturned.

The conference was in the evening, informative, definitely better than sitting in front of the TV, and we met a new group of people. This large group sought a brighter future and wanted to enhance their lives. Nothing worldly was discovered, but it was interesting.

When we sold the Atascadero real estate in California and moved to Wisconsin, we held a Second Trust Deed on the property, and the buyer now wanted to refinance the real estate for improvements. She must pay the existing loan to us to restructure her financing for a new loan. She asked for a discount because of the early payment on her second trust deed, which is due in four years. We asked for an increase in loan payment, as we would receive less interest on the loan than if it went the full term. Eventually, we all settled on the actual yield due at this date.

Some real estate, such as the Atascadero property, was purchased with minimal dollars and a lot of work. Dollars come in and go out; you try to keep doing more. The IRS always wants to see if you made two cents or three. So you keep the books and tell yourself you are one step ahead.

Hot fudge sundaes were our weakness, but they were always better at the ice cream shop. Daniel would say, Let’s have some ice cream, and we would be on our way to satisfy our sweet tooth.

Sporadically, we would avoid restaurants and enjoy home cooking by the one who wasn’t working elsewhere, or we might both be in the kitchen. Sharing the kitchen was a treat. Daniel and I had worked individually in restaurants, so maneuvering around each other was never a problem.

My family’s household dictated cooking was a woman’s work. Sharing the cooking and cleanup with Daniel became a way of life and enjoyment. It was no longer drudgery and the expected duty of the female.

The restaurant is my day for eight hours, then preparing for the Washington Real Estate test, helping Daniel trade gemstones, and selling or exchanging the Wisconsin mobile home park while still searching for that investment that will make life easier.

Daniel came across a trade, a 1967 bright orange cargo step van for the wood boat from Wisconsin.

The van wasn’t beautiful, but more valuable and beneficial than a boat and would be an easier sale. A California Highway Department vehicle, it’s rusty and well-used. We had some orange spray paint, so I fixed it up. I covered the rust, plugged the drilled holes in the panels, and cleaned the van.

In April, Daniel joined President Reagan’s Republican committee. I had voted for President Reagan when he ran for Governor of California; though never too deep into politics and even less swayed by most politicians, I had an interest this time. Reagan happened to be a public figure I liked, and his wife Nancy, though some thought her overbearing, I admired her. A woman will never get anywhere if she doesn’t speak up for herself.

We drove up to see Toph and spent the afternoon at lunch; I always tried to assess whether the kids were happy or doing well in their current environments, and he seemed pleased. Even though I miss him terribly, if things are going well, that’s all that matters. When I don’t see him for two months and finally get the Hello hug, it appears he has grown two more inches. If the kids were in our same household because Daniel and I worked so many hours, they would hardly see us. But with the boys living elsewhere, I would tell myself they are getting a better education and environment than living in a household with no one around.

Daniel arranged for the tree forest planted on the mobile parkland in Wisconsin to be thinned out by a logger.

The manager, Steve, and his wife, Leona, have lived in the back of the park for years and have kept an eye on things. They did an excellent job of managing and keeping things under control. Steve helped us sell the mobile home we had purchased and lived in for a year. He ensured the roads were plowed and graveled where needed. The logger sent us about three grand for the timber. Daniel thought it should be more, but Steve said it was fair, so we went with it.

One month later, Steve sent us a bill for a yard tractor; Daniel said, Steve, what is this?

Steve stated, "The road always needs maintenance, and rather than everyone waiting for a guy to come and take care of it, plus charge you more, I can use the little tractor. It will take care of about 80% of what’s needed. We said okay, and it kept everyone happy.

Steve and Leona, an elderly retired couple and former gas station owners, became friends over the short time we lived in Wisconsin.

One of the tenants told us Steve was spending a lot of time in the garage where we had everything stored. When we asked, Steve said he checked on the place to keep the mice out. As Steve visits the garage, we discover he keeps himself warm with a bottle of this and that, not too particular about what brand or kind. Meanwhile, Leona would be sitting in their house crocheting; she had a lot of arthritis and didn’t move about too much. She was a lovely lady and always smiling.

The continued property search is taking us to Oregon. On the way south, we again stopped at the Olympic Brewery for the tour; this time, it could have been more friendly and informative. It was still a nice place, but there was a different atmosphere, and it wasn’t just our perception. A new corporation took over. The brewery now existed to make money; it was no longer a family business with caring individuals.

We continued to Bend, Oregon, where 240 acres with the possibility of a trade for the Wisconsin property lay in wait. There was disappointment upon arrival; it was dry and rocky, and the town wouldn’t be our fit. It’s time to start back. I must get back to work, so it’s a short trip.

I have my real estate license for