Theme Week 5 Narrative

I never realized how hard they worked for our family, or said thank you to them for all they gave us, even though I probably never thought what they gave us was enough. My parents always worked while we were growing up. I know it was from them that I got my good work habits.

“Any job worth doing is a job worth doing right. Do it right the first time and you won’t have to do it again,” my dad would say. That’s why, when I got laid off from the local shoe factory, and I had a chance to go to college, I knew it was time to make a change with my life, a change that would be best for my family.

It was June 15, 2000 when the last employees of the shoe shop, including me, were given their walking papers. Ha, ha, walking papers from the shoe shop! That’s funny!

“This isn’t easy for me,” said my boss, the boss I used to make cookies for, the boss who still asks me for cookies occasionally. “If it was up to me, we wouldn’t be closing.” It wasn’t up to him. He just worked there, too.

We had been warned that this was going to happen, but it made it no easier. I had worked there for twelve years. For twelve years I sat at a sewing machine, pushing the leather through, knowing that the faster I worked, the better my paycheck would be. Twelve years of punching a time clock, taking vacation when they told me to, smelling like leather when I left at the end of the day.

So with pink slip in hand, I had choices to make.

“Stay home. Collect unemployment for awhile,” my husband said. “It’s fine with me.”

Those were options I considered, or I could search for a new factory to employ me. But a flashback of my parents again turned me against the factory route. I remember the shift work my father worked at the paper mill. He would be getting home in the morning, after my mother left for her day job at the shirt factory and before we kids got ready for school.

“Morning. Want something to eat?” I’d ask him. “No, just going to bed. I’m tired.”

Mum would be home late afternoon, tired, but made a meal for us, attended our school activities. Hours later, she’d pack a meal for my father, so he could start his drive up through the woods to go to work.

“Hope the moose aren’t out tonight,” he would say. “Saw a big one last night. Just missed me.”

Thanks to companies sending their work over seas to be produced at a cheaper wage, the reason the factory closed, I was eligible to participate in a government-retraining program, no charge to me.

“This is my way to get a better job. I can go to college on someone else’s money,” I told myself.

“I don’t know why you wouldn’t.” my husband said.

“I’m too old,” I said.

“No you’re not. Do it.”

“Not sure if I can do it.” Any excuse. Most people go to college right out of high school, not after working piecework for more than twenty years.

“Go to college,” I remember the guidance counselor saying to our junior class. “There’ll be more available to you if you do.” Good advice, but I never considered it because I had a child to support. (That’s another story.) Out of six children, only one of us had gone to college, and now I could be number two.

So, I have no job and I have free government money. What do I do? I started by listening to people tell me how to write a resume, “Always list your most recent job first, then the others with the first one being listed last” - they told me how to interview for a job with a new employer, “Remember, you never get a second chance to make a first impression.” - and I inquired at local job fairs to see what was out there. “What do you want to do?” the lady asked. I was really interested in nursing, but decided against it after interviewing a nursing supervisor. “Most new nurses end up working weekends and holidays. Maybe nights,” she said. Not for me. So my attention turned to EMTC – that’s what it was back then – not EMCC.

Scared shitless. That’s what I was as I chose a field, signed up for classes, and went the first day. “Don’t worry. You’ll be fine,” my husband and girls told me. “You can do better than those young kids.” They were proud of me…happy for me. They even got together and bought me my own L.L. Bean book bag. Ha ha. A forty-plus lady with a new book bag. And, an L.L.Bean book bag!!! “We never got L.L.Bean book bags!” the girls whined.

I often thought to myself, “What’re you thinking, going to college fulltime, instead of working?” It was different, but I adjusted. I did the work I was assigned, got used to campus, and met new people. By now I had buddied up with a girl who had also been laid off from the shoe shop. “Hey, Teena, we’re in the same classes. We can help each other out.” We often went to the library to work. That’s where I was warned about English teacher John Goldfine. “Who do you have for English?” the young kid asked me as we worked beside each other at the computers. “John Goldfine.” “Oooh. If I were you, I’d get another class and teacher. He’s hard!” (True story.) But I wouldn’t think of doing that. I was tough. I knew how to get work done. I stuck you out, and I’m glad to say all went well.

When I think back now, the two years of college flew by. I prioritized my workload at school, and kept the house together at home. When I wasn’t doing laundry at home, I was working on a science project, an I-Search paper, or writing a speech, one of I many had to read in front of the class. Standing in front of a class and speaking was the worst. The teacher would say, “Everyone’s here for the same reason. We’re all friends. Take a deep breath and speak loudly.” I still remember being so nervous my voice would be shaky. There were a lot of eyes looking at me. I think I started one speech three times. What can I say.

May 2002. My graduation from college! Never thought it possible. My father didn’t attend “Too far for me to ride,” but mum did, along with my family and siblings. Pictures, hugs, “We’re proud of you!’s.” “Now go get a job!” At the house afterwards, my dad gave me a hug–just a hug. He didn’t have to say anything. I knew he was proud of me, happy for me.

College was hard, it was a challenge, but now I know I made the right choice. I never believed I was too good for hard factory work like my parents had done their entire lives. I made many friends and had a good work record at the factories.

Today, I always give my all at my job. Just like my parents had. A person isn’t born with good work habits. They’re taught to you, and my parents were great teachers.

“Any job worth doing is worth doing right. Do it right the first time.” Thanks, dad.

Theme Week 4 Re-do

The workday is over, the weather isn’t too cold, and I’m off for a walk. The extra layers under my jeans and shirt are enough to keep me warm. With my I-pod on I don’t hear sounds around me, only my music. Today I noticed cars getting too close to me, dogs on porches, and puddles from melting snow. Half way through my walk the sun went down and it got colder. I had to zip my coat up higher, put my gloves back on, and walk faster.

The long workday is over, the weather is warmer than it’s been and I’m off for a walk. The extra layer of clothing that I have on will keep me warm. With my I-pod playing under my ear band, I practice my singing, knowing that I am nearer to my new career. Nobody is invited to go with me. Today I noticed cars getting too close to me, dogs on porches, and puddles from melting snow. Half way through my walk the sun went down, and the walking got slippery in areas. Twice I had to throw my arms out to my sides to use as balance poles to keep from falling. I had to zip my coat up higher, put my gloves back on, and try to walk faster.

The long workday is over, the weather is warmer than it’s been, and I’m off for a walk. The extra layer of clothing that I have on will keep me warm, but it does make me look ten pounds heavier. With my I-pod playing under my ear band, I practice my singing, knowing that I am nearer to my new career, the next American Idol. Nobody goes with me. They don’t like my singing. Today I noticed cars getting too close to me, and dogs on porches…or that’s where they started. When almost home, the little black poodle five houses from mine jumped off his porch and came running at me. With my music on I didn’t hear him, but I saw him, and could read his mouth movements. I stopped quickly and turned to him, throwing my arms in the air. He stopped, and that’s when I ran towards him. He turned around, ran like hell to the porch, and proceeded to hide under the chair in the corner. I kept an eye on him as I slowly continued on. As it got colder, walking got a little treacherous in places. I can still see the look on the drivers face as I almost went down two times. I felt like a tight ropewalker as I used my arms as balance poles. Maybe walking today wasn’t a good idea.

Theme Week 4 Truth or Consequences

We’re sitting around waiting for the game to come on. Almost time for supper. Not sure what we’ll have. Toys are all over the floor. She gets out another without picking up the others first. That’s what four year olds do.

In our sweats and pajama bottoms, we wait for the Super Bowl to come on – or at least two of us are waiting. The black clock on the wall shows that some kind of meal should be being served, but not sure what will be fixed, or by whom. Maybe hot dogs. The living room floor is cluttered with dolls, puzzles, tea sets, and a crazy Zhu Zhu pet running around. The girl with light brown hair has no concept of one toy at a time. She’s just a normal, healthy child having fun.

We’re dancing around the room. He has his Steelers game shirt on, she’s wearing her new black leather pants and two inch heals, and I‘m wearing my now-too-small mother-of-the-bride dress from ten years ago. The sixty -inch television is set to broadcast the World Series. The grandfather clock that sits in the foyer strikes seven o’clock. It’s time to eat. We’re ready for the chef to serve a meal. Smells like roasted chicken, twice-baked potatoes, green bean salad, and fresh yeast rolls with cinnamon butter. The floor of the sitting room looks like Toys R Us emptied it’s stock there. The blonde headed boy sits and cries because there are too many toys for a twelve year old to get a handle on. He should be happy, but he’s not. He just sits there.

Theme Week 3 Scene Setting and Dialogue

We’ve put it off long enough. We have to do it. I get out of my comfy chair at home and go to the phone. I call my sister to tell her it’s time…time to face the inevitable. Mum’s house.

“Meet you up there in twenty minutes?” I ask her.

“Okay,” she replied.

Twenty minutes later, we walk through the door together. We’ve been here before, but never has it seemed so empty, thought it’s not.

“Where do we start? One room at a time, or jump all around?” I ask my sister, my sister that has been here just as many times as I have in the last few months. She shakes her head, looking at the memories around the room, and says, “I don’t know. I don’t want to do this.”

“Neither do I, but we have to. Why don’t we try to clean off this island to make more room.” What I really mean is “let’s take care of all these things that remind us of her.” Her memory is so strong. We find numerous lists that she made. Lists of birthdays of family members, lists of all her doctor appts., lists of who will be on D.W.T. S. – she loved that show.

“What should we do with these knitting needles and yarn?” she asks. “Do you want them, or do you think Sandy does?”

“I don’t want them. Hey, did you see the crocheted dress she had started for the doll? I found it stuffed in a bag in the closet. It’s red and white and it’s almost done. I wonder if Sandra would finish it? I think mum wanted it finished for the little ones.”

“Ask her. I bet she would.”

We both go to different areas of the house, she tackling the cupboards, me looking through the dresser drawers, drawers that contain her personal things. I find a paper that tells when each of us had our polio shots. A picture of my brother as an enlisted man. The wedding invitation for my oldest. A picture of mum’s niece who died twenty something years ago. That was her memory keepsake.

“Do you think we could give these Tupperware containers to anyone? Or just throw them out?” she hollers into me.

“Throw them out! Hey, do you remember who gave her this locket? There’s no picture in it.”

She comes into the room with me. She looks at it, holds it in her hand, turns it over.

“No,” she sighs, “just another unanswered question.” She forgets about the mess in the kitchen as we get caught in with the other treasures that belonged to her. We work in silence for a while, knowing that the end line is far away.

“Let’s finish this part and take a break - get something to eat,” I say.

“Sounds good to me. We’ll come back later.”

Minutes later, as we head for the door, we walk through the room where she used to sit, making her lists. The table has papers, books, and pictures on it, ready to be claimed by family members, members who will (hopefully) treasure them as she did.

“There’s a lot to be done, still.” I mutter.

“Yep,” she says, “but not now. A half hour won’t make much difference.”

We step outside and close the door, knowing we’ll be back to get the job done…later.