Women's Work

Irma, on the left, was one of my mother's favorite bosses (and not the subject of her notes). Norma is on the right.

My mother worked for years as a secretary in a public school district. I found this in a notebook my mother had with To Do lists. Even though this was written more than 30 years ago, I was struck by how much it applies to the district today. People are still being asked to do jobs that aren't their responsibility, still being asked to work without compensation during the summers. And when a "favor" is given, the compensation is quickly forgotten. Just goes to show, the more things change, the more they stay the same.


From my mother's notes:


For the past six years I have (on the whole) been a loyal employee. I have done tasks beyond my job description. Every summer, I have worked beyond my "last day" without any remuneration - monetary or otherwise. I did it again this year, working a day and a half moving the department things over to the workroom. The thanks that I received were... none. No money, no thanks, nothing. I was even asked to come back earlier so that "the department could begin smoothly!" Of course, this would have been the usual, a "take from Norma" and maybe let's give her a "thank you" or a lunch!


Thanks to the sarcasm of today, my extra mile has come to an end. I realize just what my station in the office is and certainly will not cross the line that is drawn. I now work eight hours and no more Ms. Nice Lady. I will not stay one minute beyond my scheduled time and will not do one job beyond my level. No more doing the coffee at 4:30 for a meeting. I will fix that first thing and then let the rest go to hell in a handbasket.


I don't want a promotion. It will just mean more work for me, more responsibility and I've decided it is not worth it. To put it pure and simple, today the boom was lowered and this will have far reaching consequences for me and my attitude.


For the first time, I really feel the class distinction and I doubt if I can ever fully forget it. I felt like a child being scolded by my mother or a teacher and when you are 58 it is a bitter pill to swallow. Gone was the buddy-buddy friend, there was just a stranger. Maybe it is time for me to get real and set a limit on what I will accept as the work to be done. Maybe I should set my own work rules. For far too long I have tried to do every job ASAP and left the tasks in my job description to be done last. No more. A job will be started when the last job is done, filed, mailed, whatever. No more Ms. Friendly. We are now quiet and all work! No more idle chitchat in Room 16, no goodies, no eating, no nothing.


I did not plan to be late on Friday, but I should have cleared it with you. I did not realize that you are a stickler for lunch hour time, but I should have known that. I was surprised by your reaction to it and my feelings were hurt when you pointed to your watch and asked where I had been. You asked what time I left for lunch. Since I have worked uncompensated in the past to finish jobs, I thought that my few times of returning late from lunch evened things out. I will certainly be more careful of the lunch hour and I will be a stickler about leaving each day at 4:30.

New Orleans

Dear Mom:

Mildred sent me a postcard of the Royal at St. Peter hotel in New Orleans last April when she was visiting her favorite city. I found it when I was cleaning and I've been meaning to write her and thank her. That's the kind of year its been: two months and not even a thank you yet for a friend.

You liked New Orleans and we talked about meeting Mildred there. First, came the hurricane.

I'm starting to slow down, although to look at me you probably wouldn't think I had been speeding at all. Anxiety does that to you: rushing around on the inside, somnambulistic on the outside. This last week, I've done very little except clean the house, which is oddly satisfying. Today I worked on my home office and now I can see the floor. (No, things aren't piled on the bed, either!) Now that the floor is clear, I have fewer excuses to avoid working. It is a home office, after all.

On June 6, I planned to post something on this blog, but I didn't. One more thing that I told myself I would do and didn't. One year. A milestone that felt so small. I remember walking Bob and wondering why you didn't answer the phone that Saturday a year ago. Like Aunt Polly, Aunt Joann and Barbra, I thought I got your schedule confused the way I always did. Sunday, no return call from you. That was odd. Monday, stranger still because there wasn't a call or an email. And then the call on Tuesday from Barbra, not you. I remember thinking that the word bereft was no longer merely intellectual for me.

I have felt guilty this past year. Not for our relationship because we had made peace with any differences we had had, but guilt for the way I have treated my friends in the past when their mothers died. I feel guilty that I guffawed when Denise, at the age of 28, referred to herself as an orphan. I feel guilty that I went to Margaret's mother's funeral, but left the church after and went to work instead of going to the cemetary. How could have known what losing a mother means? That's what Howard says, anyway. I say, I should have known. I thought I was prepared. I was wrong.

The weekend of Leah's wedding last July, we rented a suite at the hotel and you would have had so much fun. The hotel was beautiful and you would have enjoyed meeting Jeff's family. One morning, I sat at the kitchen table with my mother-in-law and we talked about you. She told me that at 84, she still misses her mother (and then she tried to do the mental math to figure out how long that's been, but she gave up.)

About six months ago, I wailed to Howard that what I miss most is your physical presence and he reminded me that we'd lived in different states for more than 30 years. Okay, point taken, I grumbled. What I mean, I said, is that I miss the immediate feedback. I miss our conversations. That's how this blog began. It's an attempt to connect with the ether.

Sometimes, for just a minute, it feels like I'm sending you an email. Just like before.

Love,

Connie

Grand Rapids

Dear Mom,

I should have sent this to you sooner. I went to a conference in Grand Rapids last month. I had hoped Jeff could come, but he couldn't get time off from work. Grand Rapids is so much more cosmopolitan than Dearborn; it made me homesick for New York. It's hard to believe I moved back to Dearborn 15 years ago. It's hard to believe that 15 years isn't a larger percentage of my life.

The conference was a general disappointment, but I'm not sure why. I don't want to sound like I'm bragging, but it could be that the sessions were too entry level for me. I think that was a problem combined with the fact that I really do want to focus on library work and the conference was geared more towards technology for classroom teachers. Sometimes I feel like librarians are the lone voices in the wilderness trying to stop administrators from shooting themselves in the collective feet. Some of them are so simpleminded and some of them seem to be so scared. I often think of "The Emperor's New Clothes" when I'm in meetings. One person will present a program that's framed in such a way that it is sure to solve every problem and it will have a glaring defect. Instead of asking a question or pointing out the potential pitfall, the administrators will look around the room, gauging the reactions of others and adjust theirs accordingly. I have to admit that I don't speak up much, either. But I'm not one of them. Yet.

I love you and I miss you. I wish you were here for a hug.

Connie

Miss Brahms Died

Dear Mom:

Did you know that Wendy Richard, who played Miss Brahms on "Are You Being Served" died last February?

I don't remember talking to you about it and I'm pretty sure it would have bothered you a lot to know that she passed away, just one more example of how we're all moving towards the front of the line. What bothered me was her picture in the Wikipedia entry about her character on "East Enders," Pauline Fowler, who the heck is that old woman? What happened to the pretty Miss Brahms? Could I possibly have aged as much as she? Birthdays and death days. They have a way of reminding us of our own mortality.

Last weekend, I spent your birthday at the Boat Show with Jeff. It was a good diversion and helped me to avoid getting maudlin. He looked at GPS systems; I looked at the selection from Ryba's Fudge Shop of Mackinac Island. We talked about buying a larger condo with a boat well but decided against it. We're going to stay where we are and fix things up. I feel better now that we have a plan.

I missed you, though.

Love,

Connie

House Stuff

Dear Mom:

Today Jeff and I went to Home Depot and looked at flooring for the kitchen - his idea! I think I surprised him because I picked out a relatively cheap and easy laminate instead of the tile that was featured when you first walked into the flooring section. I'm pretty excited about the updates he wants to do to the house. I really feel fortunate to have married someone who's so easy to live with.

While I was in the front bedroom working on my IT class, I heard a strange sound coming from the kitchen and it was Jeff drilling holes into the window frames to put the blinds he had found in the basement. I had only mentioned that I wanted to put them up. I had bought them years ago when I lived here by myself. We moved a cart from the basement into the kitchen and put the table in the laundry room. It's just a little thing: working on our house together, but it made me so happy.

Love,

Connie

Snow Train

Dear Mom:

Jeff and I decided to go to Canada for Winter Break because Michigan wasn't cold enough!

We drove up to Sault Ste Marie on Saturday and spend Sunday on the train; that was our Valentine's Day present for each other. It was about 8 hours on the train. We went north for about 4 hours and then the train came back. The scenery was very pretty and Jeff took a lot of pictures.

We had planned to spend Monday at the hotel water park and come home on Tuesday, but I developed a pretty bad ear ache and didn't want to risk swimming. I was really disappointed and so was Jeff; the pool area looked great. On the plus side, the hotel was very nice and we enjoyed the restaurant a lot.

Love,

Connie