Two days later, and I still think the sewing class is a good idea. It might not necessarily work at the community center in the projects themselves, but it might work at the Y. Could be sewing club, rather than a class. Rolling admission, me minding the store, fixing, helping, giving advice. I'm open to variations on the central idea. Among those girls hanging on the street at 9 at night, you figure at least one or two of them would like to make her own damn hot pants.
Where the hell am I gonna get a bunch of sewing machines? Ones that work. Will the Y, or whoever, let us commandeer some room permanently to keep them? And what if it actually works out? Ha, what then?
Saturday, January 31, 2004
Friday, January 30, 2004
A little scolding
What they call it is an "initial warning", but what it really means is that you're on notice--get up to speed or you're out of here in 60 days.
I started as a part-time check encoder at the bank because I needed a safety net until I got more database and web freelance business. What was supposed to be a 25-hour a week job turned into pretty much a full-time second shift one, since they couldn't get enough trainees to come in and stay. A lot of the old hands left when their bonus plans were taken away. For a while we were working til after 1 a.m. every night, sometimes til 3.
But now, things have eased up. I never got to be fast, in fact I never got up to "quota" speed. No complaints while they were so shorthanded. But the old hands, who had left months ago, asked to come back. They missed their benefits. And now, we've served our purpose.
Which is not necessarily a bad thing at all. Being on notice gets me the privilege of applying for another job at the company--from the inside, as a current employee. Not bad. Best thing the world would be to get out of that department.
I started as a part-time check encoder at the bank because I needed a safety net until I got more database and web freelance business. What was supposed to be a 25-hour a week job turned into pretty much a full-time second shift one, since they couldn't get enough trainees to come in and stay. A lot of the old hands left when their bonus plans were taken away. For a while we were working til after 1 a.m. every night, sometimes til 3.
But now, things have eased up. I never got to be fast, in fact I never got up to "quota" speed. No complaints while they were so shorthanded. But the old hands, who had left months ago, asked to come back. They missed their benefits. And now, we've served our purpose.
Which is not necessarily a bad thing at all. Being on notice gets me the privilege of applying for another job at the company--from the inside, as a current employee. Not bad. Best thing the world would be to get out of that department.
Thursday, January 29, 2004
Sew Kids
Can you imagine a world in which a 12-year old girl rushes home from school to cut out a dress pattern? I wonder ...
I think I've dreamt of this for years--teach an afternoon or weekend sewing class for kids. I learned myself, at about 12 or 13, when I took a class at the Sears store in the mall. It didn't start out that way--a friend told me about a knitting class starting up at the mall, and asked me if I wanted to sign up. I think I bailed when I saw what all that yarn would cost. But they had a sewing class, with sewing machines in the classroom. I had to buy a pattern and some material, which didn't cost that much. I still remember the teacher, Mrs. Parry. "I don't like sloppy sewing!", she used to say when she walked around the room evaluating our work. When I completed the class, I had made a simple peasant-style dress out of light yellow cotton leno with a gathered elasticized neckline and sleeves. My mother had helped me pick out the pattern, steering me away from something with pleats, as I recall. The fabric was my own choice. I did a respectable job of it, for a beginner, and wore the dress that summer and the next. I still have it.
My mother still had an old White machine at home. She rarely used it after her first couple kids were born, although I do remember her making me a simple dress when I was about 9 or 10. I made many more things after the yellow dress, using Mom's White for several years until I was able to buy a newer machine at the Singer store when I was about 16. I still use it.
The kid sewing project will be a huge undertaking, and I've never done anything like it before. I'm not sure where to start, but I'm going to talk to someone at the community center in one of the apartment projects I know. I've seen a lot of kids hanging out in the streets after dark in that neighborhood, some of them groups of young girls. Some of them might like to sew, I don't know. We shall see.
I think I've dreamt of this for years--teach an afternoon or weekend sewing class for kids. I learned myself, at about 12 or 13, when I took a class at the Sears store in the mall. It didn't start out that way--a friend told me about a knitting class starting up at the mall, and asked me if I wanted to sign up. I think I bailed when I saw what all that yarn would cost. But they had a sewing class, with sewing machines in the classroom. I had to buy a pattern and some material, which didn't cost that much. I still remember the teacher, Mrs. Parry. "I don't like sloppy sewing!", she used to say when she walked around the room evaluating our work. When I completed the class, I had made a simple peasant-style dress out of light yellow cotton leno with a gathered elasticized neckline and sleeves. My mother had helped me pick out the pattern, steering me away from something with pleats, as I recall. The fabric was my own choice. I did a respectable job of it, for a beginner, and wore the dress that summer and the next. I still have it.
My mother still had an old White machine at home. She rarely used it after her first couple kids were born, although I do remember her making me a simple dress when I was about 9 or 10. I made many more things after the yellow dress, using Mom's White for several years until I was able to buy a newer machine at the Singer store when I was about 16. I still use it.
The kid sewing project will be a huge undertaking, and I've never done anything like it before. I'm not sure where to start, but I'm going to talk to someone at the community center in one of the apartment projects I know. I've seen a lot of kids hanging out in the streets after dark in that neighborhood, some of them groups of young girls. Some of them might like to sew, I don't know. We shall see.
Wednesday, January 28, 2004
Mom's friend Evelyn
Yesterday, mom called me to say that her old friend Evelyn had died. It had happened more than a week before she found out, when Evelyn's niece found her name and number among her aunt's things. I rarely look at the obituaries in our paper, so I wouldn't have been able to tell Mom about the funeral. She missed it.
Evelyn was in her 80s, Mom said, I don't know how old exactly. She was several years older than my mother. The two of them met when they worked together as secretaries in the 1950s. The last time Mom saw Evelyn was when I drove her up to her house for a visit, almost 2 years ago. Mom was in town partly for a dinner & opera birthday evening I'd planned for her, partly to see a couple of her old friends, and partly to accompany me doing some genealogical research--we visited all the old houses she lived in when her family was still here. In the last week or so, Mom and I had been planning her next trip up here in mid-February, mostly to see Evelyn.
Now both of her old friends, the ones she and I drove around to see over a day or two in early March of 2002, are gone. One died later that year, in November. And now Evelyn, just a couple weeks ago. I have pictures of those visits back in March 2002, somewhere. They're still on the disposable camera I was carrying around that day, still undeveloped. I need to find it.
Evelyn was in her 80s, Mom said, I don't know how old exactly. She was several years older than my mother. The two of them met when they worked together as secretaries in the 1950s. The last time Mom saw Evelyn was when I drove her up to her house for a visit, almost 2 years ago. Mom was in town partly for a dinner & opera birthday evening I'd planned for her, partly to see a couple of her old friends, and partly to accompany me doing some genealogical research--we visited all the old houses she lived in when her family was still here. In the last week or so, Mom and I had been planning her next trip up here in mid-February, mostly to see Evelyn.
Now both of her old friends, the ones she and I drove around to see over a day or two in early March of 2002, are gone. One died later that year, in November. And now Evelyn, just a couple weeks ago. I have pictures of those visits back in March 2002, somewhere. They're still on the disposable camera I was carrying around that day, still undeveloped. I need to find it.
Tuesday, January 27, 2004
Tug of War
I talked to my mom today, again about Dad. I tried to convince her to talk to his doctor, get him to prescribe some specific physical therapy for him, in hopes this would force him into some strengthening exercises for his legs. Her reaction seems so negative, passive, and it is so frustrating to me. I know I must be a pain to her sometimes when I get so determined to make a point. She often agrees at the end, probably just to change the subject. It's always an uncomfortable phone call, the old guilt returns--me harassing my mother, me being so ungrateful, me making her feel like crap.
I think Dad is in a real slide downwards, physically, and he seems so depressed, uninterested. It's not just that he can't get out of a chair easily, or that it hurts to move his leg from the gas pedal to the brake. It's those, too, but it's also that he doesn't answer my email anymore, and doesn't get me on the phone anymore with questions about the genealogical project I'm working on. He didn't sound right on the phone a few days ago. I know he is 76 years old, but he does not need to be doing this badly. I'm thrashing around, looking for some way to make it better, to get him a few more good years.
And all my mother has ever done is complain about him. He could be a bully, she could be a doormat. They argued violently when they were younger, they bicker and snipe in lower tones now. I suspect they were both disappointed pretty quickly after they got married. But, Mom's attitude...what it is, I can't quite put my finger on it. She really must not think I'm that smart--I suggest things that might be worth trying to improve his physical or mental condition. Instead, she tries to explain to me why his condition is the way it is. And it's a mixture of real causes and damning character flaws, as usual. He has diabetes II, and cheats on his diet. He's led a life of relative inactivity. He sits downstairs listening to the stereo all night, or upstairs on the computer all night. His mother never got up out of her chair, either.
I try not to sigh, try not cut her off. I really am trying. She sees the problem, but can't imagine doing anything to make it better. Whatever I suggest, she has some reason why it is pointless. And I cannot imagine how someone can give up like this. I almost think she doesn't care.
I think Dad is in a real slide downwards, physically, and he seems so depressed, uninterested. It's not just that he can't get out of a chair easily, or that it hurts to move his leg from the gas pedal to the brake. It's those, too, but it's also that he doesn't answer my email anymore, and doesn't get me on the phone anymore with questions about the genealogical project I'm working on. He didn't sound right on the phone a few days ago. I know he is 76 years old, but he does not need to be doing this badly. I'm thrashing around, looking for some way to make it better, to get him a few more good years.
And all my mother has ever done is complain about him. He could be a bully, she could be a doormat. They argued violently when they were younger, they bicker and snipe in lower tones now. I suspect they were both disappointed pretty quickly after they got married. But, Mom's attitude...what it is, I can't quite put my finger on it. She really must not think I'm that smart--I suggest things that might be worth trying to improve his physical or mental condition. Instead, she tries to explain to me why his condition is the way it is. And it's a mixture of real causes and damning character flaws, as usual. He has diabetes II, and cheats on his diet. He's led a life of relative inactivity. He sits downstairs listening to the stereo all night, or upstairs on the computer all night. His mother never got up out of her chair, either.
I try not to sigh, try not cut her off. I really am trying. She sees the problem, but can't imagine doing anything to make it better. Whatever I suggest, she has some reason why it is pointless. And I cannot imagine how someone can give up like this. I almost think she doesn't care.
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