Each Sunday at worship, we listen to several readings from the Bible. After the readings, we take a moment to ponder on them and pay attention to any word, phrase or idea that speaks to our hearts. We are then invited to share them with the congregation if we so choose. I noticed that what stuck out in my mind for the past two weeks had a recurring theme. We have been reading the Gospel according to Mark.
In chapter four, Mark tells of a time when Jesus was in a boat with His followers...sleeping. A great windstorm arose and the boat was being tossed about. Greatly frightened, the disciples woke Jesus crying out "Do you not care that we are going to die?" Jesus quieted the wind and commanded the sea to be still. Then he asked the disciples, "Why are you afraid? Have you no faith?"
Last week we read another portion of Mark, chapter five. A leader of the church approached Jesus, his name was Jairus. His young daughter was dying and he asked that Jesus lay hands on her and heal her. Jesus went with him to his home. On the way, a large crowd pressed in around Him. A woman who had been hemorrhaging for twelve years pushed her way to the front of the crowd, sure that if she could only "touch the hem of His robe" she would be healed. Jesus was aware of her touch and asked the crowd, "Who touched me?" The woman confessed that it was she, told Him the whole truth and fell to the ground before Him. "Daughter, your faith has made you well; go in peace, and be healed of your disease." In the meantime, a messenger from Jairus' home came with the news that his daughter had already died. "No need to trouble the teacher any further." Jesus overheard what was said and assured Jairus, "Do not fear, only believe." Leaving the crowd behind, taking only a few followers along to Jairus' home, Jesus went in, took the young girl by the hand and commanded her to get up. She immediately got up and began walking about.
When angels appear to people...very often the first words they speak are, "Don't be afraid." To me, that's like "step one." The first thing we need to do.
Frightening things happen...I know that. People often become anxious when they aren't certain what's coming up next for them. Will they have a job? Will there be enough money to pay the bills? Will they be able to stay in their home? Will they be healed of their disease? Will they ever really feel happy again? Will their kids be okay?
Right now, things in my own little world are up in the air. I don't know what waits around the corner for us. Many changes...that much is for sure! (And I'm not all that fond of change.) Perhaps that's why the Holy Spirit is speaking to me each week...saying "Don't be afraid...only believe."
My absolute favorite Bible passage to keep in mind is from Philippians chapter four; "The Lord is at hand. Have no anxiety about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made know to God. And the peace of God, which passes all understanding, will keep your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus."
To that...I say AMEN!
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Fire In The Hole
I'd wager that most everyone who has made spaghetti and toasted garlic bread for dinner...has at least once burned the bread. I admit, I have been guilty of extra-toasty garlic bread on several occasions. I was told long ago that eating burnt toast curls your hair...or puts hair on your chest. (Depending on who I listened to.) I know for a fact...neither of those statements are true.
Anyway...guess what we had for dinner last night...that's right...spaghetti and toasted garlic bread! The spaghetti sauce was simmering, the pasta was boiling...everything was looking...and smelling...great. I buttered up the sour dough bread and sprinkled it with garlic salt...turned on the broiler and popped it in the oven...on the top rack...door ajar. So far...so good. Mom was already seated at the table...waiting for her dinner. I gathered up the dog dishes so I could feed the dogs before we all sat down to our dinner.
We have one of those "galley kitchens." Long and narrow. It is affectionately known as a "Five Butt Kitchen"...but all of the butts have to be in a row. If you open the dishwasher, oven or fridge...or a drawer for that matter...no one can get by.
Now I'm not sure what exactly happened...if I had too much wiggle in my walk, or if I bent down to pick up something...but my booty bumped the oven door and smacked it closed. And I didn't give it a second thought. That is...until I smelled the smoke as I came back into the kitchen after feeding the dogs.
When I opened the oven door...smoke poured out. That oven was smoking more than our Traeger smoker! I've never seen so much smoke. Mom was in the dining room shouting "What's going on?" I shut the oven door quickly and turned on the exhaust fan. Jeff came rushing in the kitchen...grabbed a couple of potholders and pulled the rack out of the oven, with the flaming...yes flaming...garlic bread on top. He carried it out to the back yard and set it on the patio. In the meantime...of course our smoke alarm in the hallway is going off. "Beeep, beeep! Evacuate, evacuate! Smoke in the hallway, smoke in the hallway! Beeep, beeep! Evacuate, Evacuate! Smoke in the hallway, smoke in the hallway!" The dogs are running around in a panic and mom is totally disturbed. I open the front door (trying to get a breeze to blow through...and turn on the big box fan by the back door, trying to blow more of the smoke out of the house. Jeff is fanning the smoke alarm, trying to get it to stop screaming. Just then the smoke alarm in the basement started going off! (I guess my big box fan was not only blowing smoke outside...but also down into the basement.) I'm telling you...there was a lot of smoke. In fact...I think I heard the neighbor's smoke alarms going off. I'm really surprised no one down the street called the fire department.
Once things quieted down...and aired out a bit...I gave it another shot. I buttered up some more bread...sprinkled a little garlic salt on it...and put it under the broiler. Only this time...I watched it...like a hawk. Never taking my eyes off of it. It turned out okay. I would have liked it better if it were a little toastier...but I wasn't taking any chances...it was the end of the loaf.
Tonight we're having BLTs for dinner. Maybe I should refresh my memory on how to best deal with grease fires.
Anyway...guess what we had for dinner last night...that's right...spaghetti and toasted garlic bread! The spaghetti sauce was simmering, the pasta was boiling...everything was looking...and smelling...great. I buttered up the sour dough bread and sprinkled it with garlic salt...turned on the broiler and popped it in the oven...on the top rack...door ajar. So far...so good. Mom was already seated at the table...waiting for her dinner. I gathered up the dog dishes so I could feed the dogs before we all sat down to our dinner.
We have one of those "galley kitchens." Long and narrow. It is affectionately known as a "Five Butt Kitchen"...but all of the butts have to be in a row. If you open the dishwasher, oven or fridge...or a drawer for that matter...no one can get by.
Now I'm not sure what exactly happened...if I had too much wiggle in my walk, or if I bent down to pick up something...but my booty bumped the oven door and smacked it closed. And I didn't give it a second thought. That is...until I smelled the smoke as I came back into the kitchen after feeding the dogs.
When I opened the oven door...smoke poured out. That oven was smoking more than our Traeger smoker! I've never seen so much smoke. Mom was in the dining room shouting "What's going on?" I shut the oven door quickly and turned on the exhaust fan. Jeff came rushing in the kitchen...grabbed a couple of potholders and pulled the rack out of the oven, with the flaming...yes flaming...garlic bread on top. He carried it out to the back yard and set it on the patio. In the meantime...of course our smoke alarm in the hallway is going off. "Beeep, beeep! Evacuate, evacuate! Smoke in the hallway, smoke in the hallway! Beeep, beeep! Evacuate, Evacuate! Smoke in the hallway, smoke in the hallway!" The dogs are running around in a panic and mom is totally disturbed. I open the front door (trying to get a breeze to blow through...and turn on the big box fan by the back door, trying to blow more of the smoke out of the house. Jeff is fanning the smoke alarm, trying to get it to stop screaming. Just then the smoke alarm in the basement started going off! (I guess my big box fan was not only blowing smoke outside...but also down into the basement.) I'm telling you...there was a lot of smoke. In fact...I think I heard the neighbor's smoke alarms going off. I'm really surprised no one down the street called the fire department.
Once things quieted down...and aired out a bit...I gave it another shot. I buttered up some more bread...sprinkled a little garlic salt on it...and put it under the broiler. Only this time...I watched it...like a hawk. Never taking my eyes off of it. It turned out okay. I would have liked it better if it were a little toastier...but I wasn't taking any chances...it was the end of the loaf.
Tonight we're having BLTs for dinner. Maybe I should refresh my memory on how to best deal with grease fires.
Monday, June 22, 2009
Bobble Head
I guess I've been a bobble head most of my life. Not all of the time of course...just when there's music playing.
Saturday morning, Jeff and I were having breakfast at our favorite place...Sckvonnes. Unlike some restaurants, the background music there is totally unpredictable. Sometimes it's oldies, sometimes soft classic rock. Once in a while it's someones personal "garage band" recording...and occasionally it will be some middle eastern instrumental music. I think it might be chosen by whoever got to the CD player first...the cook...the waitress...the dishwasher. That's how it was in most of the restaurants I worked in. (One time I worked with this one dishwasher who only liked polka music. I listened to more polkas in the short time that we worked together, than ever in my life!) Anyway...this past Saturday it was early Beatles songs. In no time at all, Jeff and I were both swaying back and forth like a pair of metronomes. Our heads tipping to the left and to the right to the beat of the music. When the music stopped...we too were still. When the next song came on...so did we. Both of our heads bopping side to side. It was just an automatic response.
That got me wondering....when was it that my head stopped bopping side to side...and started bopping up and down? When did I stop being a side to side bobble head...and switch to being a head banging up and down bobble head? With a puzzled look on my face, I asked Jeff if he knew the answer. He was taking a drink of coffee at the time and I thought it was going to come spurting out his nose! When he quit laughing, he replied, "Whenever you started listening to Ted Nugent and AC/DC." He's right. That was it. They are definitely not side to side bobble head bands.
When our waitress came to the table with our food, I said, "We were just noticing that once upon a time...a long time ago...our heads bopped side to side with our music of choice...and then somewhere along the line, we switched to the head bopping up and down music...like this..." (And I demonstrated for her some mild head banging.) She said, "Oooh...I like the side to side bopping much better. The other would give me a headache." I'm guessing she's the one who got to the CD player first.
I wonder what will be playing there next time....
Saturday morning, Jeff and I were having breakfast at our favorite place...Sckvonnes. Unlike some restaurants, the background music there is totally unpredictable. Sometimes it's oldies, sometimes soft classic rock. Once in a while it's someones personal "garage band" recording...and occasionally it will be some middle eastern instrumental music. I think it might be chosen by whoever got to the CD player first...the cook...the waitress...the dishwasher. That's how it was in most of the restaurants I worked in. (One time I worked with this one dishwasher who only liked polka music. I listened to more polkas in the short time that we worked together, than ever in my life!) Anyway...this past Saturday it was early Beatles songs. In no time at all, Jeff and I were both swaying back and forth like a pair of metronomes. Our heads tipping to the left and to the right to the beat of the music. When the music stopped...we too were still. When the next song came on...so did we. Both of our heads bopping side to side. It was just an automatic response.
That got me wondering....when was it that my head stopped bopping side to side...and started bopping up and down? When did I stop being a side to side bobble head...and switch to being a head banging up and down bobble head? With a puzzled look on my face, I asked Jeff if he knew the answer. He was taking a drink of coffee at the time and I thought it was going to come spurting out his nose! When he quit laughing, he replied, "Whenever you started listening to Ted Nugent and AC/DC." He's right. That was it. They are definitely not side to side bobble head bands.
When our waitress came to the table with our food, I said, "We were just noticing that once upon a time...a long time ago...our heads bopped side to side with our music of choice...and then somewhere along the line, we switched to the head bopping up and down music...like this..." (And I demonstrated for her some mild head banging.) She said, "Oooh...I like the side to side bopping much better. The other would give me a headache." I'm guessing she's the one who got to the CD player first.
I wonder what will be playing there next time....
Friday, June 19, 2009
Comfort
I am all about comfort. Having been on the plump side all of my life, one of my personal descriptions of myself is that I am "built for comfort...not speed." This is evident by the fact that our 55 pound puppy, Becca, thinks I make a perfect pillow for napping on...as does our old cat, Buster. Thinking back now, I remember being referred to (on a couple of occasions) as a person who makes others around me feel comfortable too...like an old sofa. Funny.
In an online class I took last summer called "Practicing Spirituality During Illness" one of the lessons was about finding a source of comfort. The practice for that day was to recall a place where you were comfortable and to write about it. And then in moments of stress/distress...to close your eyes and picture yourself back there. Breathe deeply and go back to that moment of comfort and peacefulness. Today I will share what I wrote in my journal on that day.
Sources of Comfort
Stretched out on an air mattress, the warm sun on my back, my arms dangling in the cool waters of Lake Merwin and doing absolutely nothing. Laying on my back, fingers interlocked behind my head, watching the clouds drift by on a summer's afternoon. Snuggling down in a warm sleeping bag, under the stars on a cool clear night. Leaning up against a driftwood log, watching the ocean waves. Standing near the base of a waterfall, with the mist spraying my face. Sitting around a campfire with friends late at night, singing and sharing stories. Sleeping under the Christmas tree while it's lights twinkle above me.
These are all places which have given me great comfort...repeatedly over the years. I see now, as I look at them, that although they involve many of my senses...they also, for the most part, require me to be still. I think of my sister's favorite Bible verse, "Be still and know that I am God." (Psalms 46:10)
The person who has given me the most comfort, and continues to do so now...is my husband. He has never asked me to "be more______" or "not be so ______." At night when we turn in, I am comforted by his presence, his willingness to listen if I need to talk, by his support and love. I am blessed.
In an online class I took last summer called "Practicing Spirituality During Illness" one of the lessons was about finding a source of comfort. The practice for that day was to recall a place where you were comfortable and to write about it. And then in moments of stress/distress...to close your eyes and picture yourself back there. Breathe deeply and go back to that moment of comfort and peacefulness. Today I will share what I wrote in my journal on that day.
Sources of Comfort
Stretched out on an air mattress, the warm sun on my back, my arms dangling in the cool waters of Lake Merwin and doing absolutely nothing. Laying on my back, fingers interlocked behind my head, watching the clouds drift by on a summer's afternoon. Snuggling down in a warm sleeping bag, under the stars on a cool clear night. Leaning up against a driftwood log, watching the ocean waves. Standing near the base of a waterfall, with the mist spraying my face. Sitting around a campfire with friends late at night, singing and sharing stories. Sleeping under the Christmas tree while it's lights twinkle above me.
These are all places which have given me great comfort...repeatedly over the years. I see now, as I look at them, that although they involve many of my senses...they also, for the most part, require me to be still. I think of my sister's favorite Bible verse, "Be still and know that I am God." (Psalms 46:10)
The person who has given me the most comfort, and continues to do so now...is my husband. He has never asked me to "be more______" or "not be so ______." At night when we turn in, I am comforted by his presence, his willingness to listen if I need to talk, by his support and love. I am blessed.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Honor Your Father and Mother
As a child I thought that the commandment "Honor your father and mother." really meant "Obey your father and mother." (And remember to make/give them a gift or card on Father's Day and Mother's Day!) If you did those two things...you had it covered.
Growing older, I see this commandment in a whole different light. It is more than obeying or paying tribute to. It's about respecting your parents. (Which doesn't mean that you have to agree with them...but allow them to have and express their own opinions.) There were many years where I found it hard to accept that my parents had the right to express their thoughts and feelings. (They were my pre-teen and early teenage years.) My parents were pretty liberal. Okay...they were very liberal...and I was not. They held "sensitivity group sessions" in our home every Sunday evening. People came over, sat around and drank pots and pots of coffee and discussed their personal problems and the community's problems. "Games People Play" was a popular book at that time...and the lingo from the book was used constantly. It was a bit much for me...at the time. Looking back...I see that those groups served a purpose...they fulfilled a need. They provided a support system for that group of people...and a safe outlet for their frustrations. No one was judged there. I see those Sunday night group sessions in a whole new light now. Kudos to dad and mom for opening their home every week...even when they were worn out themselves.
Honoring our parents also means that we should respect their wishes...even when they are not able to express them any longer. For instance...I know mom wanted to live here in her home until she was "carried out feet first." I am doing my best to make that happen.
On many occasions, I have commented on what a blessing it has been for me to be able to stay home and take care of mom during her last moments here on earth. I consider it an honor to be able to care for her, as she has cared for me and my family in the past. I know many children who would like to do the same for their parents...but are not able to. Even though it's hard sometimes and frustrating at other times...I am so thankful to be here tending to her needs.
The other day I was having lunch with a prayer group from the Oromo congregation that meets in our church. They hold a prayer service every Saturday and each month while I am at the Children's Clothes Closet I hear them praying in the next room. Both of our activities end at the same time and each month they invite me to join them for lunch. I always decline because I need to get home and relieve our respite caregiver. That particular day, my brother was with mom...so I had a little extra time to spare. As we ate, most of the group talked among themselves in Oromo. I had no idea what they were talking about. The young girl next to me thanked me for joining them. I explained why I was finally able to do that...and she asked me, "How can you stay home and take care of your mother? In Ethiopia, it is a given that families take care of their parents in their homes, but I thought that most Americans did not do that." I told her how I was already living with mom and that we have a great relationship. I also told her that I had married recently and my husband agreed to support me in this endeavor. He works hard, plus we don't have a mortgage payment, car payments or any huge loans to pay off. I closed with my usual..."It's been a blessing...truly an honor for me to be able to do this." The girl replied, "You are obeying God's commandment, 'Honor your father and mother'." I had never thought of that before. I found it very interesting.
By "honoring" my mother...I myself feel honored! Think about that for a moment. And about how many other ways God works out things like that in our lives.
By blessing others...we are truly blessed. Time and time again!
Growing older, I see this commandment in a whole different light. It is more than obeying or paying tribute to. It's about respecting your parents. (Which doesn't mean that you have to agree with them...but allow them to have and express their own opinions.) There were many years where I found it hard to accept that my parents had the right to express their thoughts and feelings. (They were my pre-teen and early teenage years.) My parents were pretty liberal. Okay...they were very liberal...and I was not. They held "sensitivity group sessions" in our home every Sunday evening. People came over, sat around and drank pots and pots of coffee and discussed their personal problems and the community's problems. "Games People Play" was a popular book at that time...and the lingo from the book was used constantly. It was a bit much for me...at the time. Looking back...I see that those groups served a purpose...they fulfilled a need. They provided a support system for that group of people...and a safe outlet for their frustrations. No one was judged there. I see those Sunday night group sessions in a whole new light now. Kudos to dad and mom for opening their home every week...even when they were worn out themselves.
Honoring our parents also means that we should respect their wishes...even when they are not able to express them any longer. For instance...I know mom wanted to live here in her home until she was "carried out feet first." I am doing my best to make that happen.
On many occasions, I have commented on what a blessing it has been for me to be able to stay home and take care of mom during her last moments here on earth. I consider it an honor to be able to care for her, as she has cared for me and my family in the past. I know many children who would like to do the same for their parents...but are not able to. Even though it's hard sometimes and frustrating at other times...I am so thankful to be here tending to her needs.
The other day I was having lunch with a prayer group from the Oromo congregation that meets in our church. They hold a prayer service every Saturday and each month while I am at the Children's Clothes Closet I hear them praying in the next room. Both of our activities end at the same time and each month they invite me to join them for lunch. I always decline because I need to get home and relieve our respite caregiver. That particular day, my brother was with mom...so I had a little extra time to spare. As we ate, most of the group talked among themselves in Oromo. I had no idea what they were talking about. The young girl next to me thanked me for joining them. I explained why I was finally able to do that...and she asked me, "How can you stay home and take care of your mother? In Ethiopia, it is a given that families take care of their parents in their homes, but I thought that most Americans did not do that." I told her how I was already living with mom and that we have a great relationship. I also told her that I had married recently and my husband agreed to support me in this endeavor. He works hard, plus we don't have a mortgage payment, car payments or any huge loans to pay off. I closed with my usual..."It's been a blessing...truly an honor for me to be able to do this." The girl replied, "You are obeying God's commandment, 'Honor your father and mother'." I had never thought of that before. I found it very interesting.
By "honoring" my mother...I myself feel honored! Think about that for a moment. And about how many other ways God works out things like that in our lives.
By blessing others...we are truly blessed. Time and time again!
Saturday, June 13, 2009
Some Things Never Change
I attended the funeral of an old co-worker and friend yesterday. I had worked with her and her daughter Judy, for about 25 years. They were the opening/lunch cooks at the same restaurant where I was the opening/lunch waitress. I referred to them as the "Judy & Ruthie Show." Both women were such hard workers, it was a pleasure to work with them.
All ten surviving children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren were there. Also in attendance were six members of the Wachsmuth family. (The family who owned and operated the restaurant where we worked together.) Also there was Ruthie, the head waitress who trained me. I was the last waitress she trained. Ruthie is 92 now.
Being with this group of people really took me back in time. So much is different...and yet...some things are just the same. Once strong and quick moving, Ruthie now uses a walker to help her get around. The Wachsmuth "boys" (now in their 60's) each took one of Ruthie's arms and helped her up the hill to the grave site as I tagged along behind toting her walker. After the service, when they were ready to drive Ruthie back home, she pulled me close and asked, "So kiddo...how's your mom?" Looking into her now cloudy blue eyes I replied, "She's getting weaker...but she's doing okay." (My pat answer to that question.) I remember when those cloudy eyes were clear and sparkly. When she would pull out her little note pad from her pocket and read off our side work for the day. "Carolyn and Anneliese...shrimp, Gretchen...lemons, Debbie...plate detail." Plate detail. What could that mean? It meant that I was to wash the several hundred plates that adorned the walls of the restaurant. Climbing up on chairs, using mild soap and water...washing and drying them, one small section at a time. On my first day, Ruthie had me carry stew bowls filled with water. For at least an hour. I practiced carrying them and setting them down on the tables. Over and over again. Once she felt I was doing okay with the water, Ruthie gave me one table. One "two top." The first guy who sat there ordered oyster stew. Okay. I brought it to him...no problem. The next guy who sat at my table also ordered oyster stew. And the third guy...and the fourth. When my fifth customer came in and ordered clam chowder...I was thrilled! Wow! Something different! (Same bowl, same stew pot, just filled with chowder base instead of oysters.) When one of the other girls asked Ruthie how she thought I was doing, her reply was, "A new broom always sweeps clean." I tried very hard to impress her. And in the end, I believe I did. Many times as we were "in the weeds" (extra busy during the lunch rush) and we were standing in the stew line waiting for our turns to have the boss fill our stew bowls...she would turn to me and say, "All this...and heaven too!"
It's been over 20 years since we had all worked together. Ruthie retired after putting in 50 years at the Oyster Bar. The boys still go to her home and visit with her...sometimes helping with the yard work. Their relationship was more than employer/employee. She had worked for their grandfather and their fathers...before she worked for them. In fact...she loved to talk about how she used to change their diapers when they were babies. (Which put me in a tough spot when she told me to do one thing and then they would tell me to do something quite different. Who should I listen to? The one who was in charge long before they were even born...or the one who signed my paycheck?)
So much has changed since those days. Time has flown. The next generation has taken over the business...and very few of us "old girls" are still around. We had been a great team. Helping each other over some rough spots. Both personally and professionally. Seeing the boys stepping up to bring Ruthie to the service, helping her up to the grave site, watching Judy insist that Ruthie sit next to her in the front, me standing behind them as backup...surrounded by the rest of the family...I realize that some things don't change. We still are a great team.
All ten surviving children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren were there. Also in attendance were six members of the Wachsmuth family. (The family who owned and operated the restaurant where we worked together.) Also there was Ruthie, the head waitress who trained me. I was the last waitress she trained. Ruthie is 92 now.
Being with this group of people really took me back in time. So much is different...and yet...some things are just the same. Once strong and quick moving, Ruthie now uses a walker to help her get around. The Wachsmuth "boys" (now in their 60's) each took one of Ruthie's arms and helped her up the hill to the grave site as I tagged along behind toting her walker. After the service, when they were ready to drive Ruthie back home, she pulled me close and asked, "So kiddo...how's your mom?" Looking into her now cloudy blue eyes I replied, "She's getting weaker...but she's doing okay." (My pat answer to that question.) I remember when those cloudy eyes were clear and sparkly. When she would pull out her little note pad from her pocket and read off our side work for the day. "Carolyn and Anneliese...shrimp, Gretchen...lemons, Debbie...plate detail." Plate detail. What could that mean? It meant that I was to wash the several hundred plates that adorned the walls of the restaurant. Climbing up on chairs, using mild soap and water...washing and drying them, one small section at a time. On my first day, Ruthie had me carry stew bowls filled with water. For at least an hour. I practiced carrying them and setting them down on the tables. Over and over again. Once she felt I was doing okay with the water, Ruthie gave me one table. One "two top." The first guy who sat there ordered oyster stew. Okay. I brought it to him...no problem. The next guy who sat at my table also ordered oyster stew. And the third guy...and the fourth. When my fifth customer came in and ordered clam chowder...I was thrilled! Wow! Something different! (Same bowl, same stew pot, just filled with chowder base instead of oysters.) When one of the other girls asked Ruthie how she thought I was doing, her reply was, "A new broom always sweeps clean." I tried very hard to impress her. And in the end, I believe I did. Many times as we were "in the weeds" (extra busy during the lunch rush) and we were standing in the stew line waiting for our turns to have the boss fill our stew bowls...she would turn to me and say, "All this...and heaven too!"
It's been over 20 years since we had all worked together. Ruthie retired after putting in 50 years at the Oyster Bar. The boys still go to her home and visit with her...sometimes helping with the yard work. Their relationship was more than employer/employee. She had worked for their grandfather and their fathers...before she worked for them. In fact...she loved to talk about how she used to change their diapers when they were babies. (Which put me in a tough spot when she told me to do one thing and then they would tell me to do something quite different. Who should I listen to? The one who was in charge long before they were even born...or the one who signed my paycheck?)
So much has changed since those days. Time has flown. The next generation has taken over the business...and very few of us "old girls" are still around. We had been a great team. Helping each other over some rough spots. Both personally and professionally. Seeing the boys stepping up to bring Ruthie to the service, helping her up to the grave site, watching Judy insist that Ruthie sit next to her in the front, me standing behind them as backup...surrounded by the rest of the family...I realize that some things don't change. We still are a great team.
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
Stepping Back in Time
Yesterday I received a phone call from a woman I had worked with, at Dan & Louis Oyster Bar, for 26 years. Judy was a co-worker and a friend. She called to tell me that her mother had died. I had also worked with her mother, Ruthie, at Dan & Louis, for 26 years. In this day and age, that's kind of an unusual statement. For several reasons. First off, it's unusual for workers to stay employed by the same restaurant for 26 years. And here you have three people...same restaurant...same 26 years. And two of them were family. Two generations! And that's just the small picture.
When I started at the Oyster Bar, most of the people who worked there had been there 20 years or longer. And several of the women worked well into their senior years...one of my partners retired when she turned 80! The woman who trained me as a waitress, retired after putting in 50 years, the cashier retired after 47 years, and my last partner at 45 years. Although there were some women who came and left...many, many women...came and stayed. Now, when you have a group of women who come to work at a restaurant when they are young...and they stay until they are old...their personal lives go through many changes over that stretch of time. They marry, have children, raise those kids...and often help them get their first jobs. No doubt Ruthie helped Judy get her job there. (And actually, during that time...Judy's daughters also did their own stints at the Oyster Bar.) Three generations...all behind the counter cooking in the same restaurant!
My daughters accompanied me on "Take Your Daughter To Work Day" beginning when they were in kindergarten. They tagged along every year, peeling shrimp, preparing half-shells, cutting lemons, setting up the restaurant in the morning, waiting tables with me at lunchtime...and splitting up the tips at the end of the day! It was fun for everyone. And by the time they were old enough to get their own jobs...guess where they went...to Dan & Louis! And why not? They already had put in over 50 hours of "training" over the course of ten years! Jenn and Steph knew the place inside and out. They knew the owners, my co-workers and "the regulars." They knew the menu and were comfortable there. It was a great first job for them. Again...two generations working together in the same place, at the same time.
Today, I was thinking about how many other employees there worked with their own children. I can think of at least a half dozen more...and two more who also worked with their granddaughters!
In the "Purser's Room" (a waitress station in the back of the dining room) there was a little sign that said "Clean it up yourself...your mother doesn't work here!" And someone scribbled next to it..."Oh yes she does!" And it was quite true.
The restaurant itself has been in operation over 100 years now. It is currently being run by the fourth generation. Another amazing fact. When I started working there, I met the second generation. (They were then retired.) I worked for the third generation. It was a good fit...I think for all of us. My boss' children were small at that time. His daughter would be running around the restaurant while I was setting things up, pretending that she was a waitress. His youngest boy spent most of the time crawling under the front counter looking for any change that might have fallen on the floor, out of reach of the cashier. His oldest boy was a bookworm...holed up in a corner table, quietly reading. After my boss finished his morning duties, they all had ice cream sundaes for breakfast. During my last few years there, those little boys were the ones signing my paychecks.
Years ago, this scenario would have been the norm. A business would be handed down from one generation to the next. Employees would stay...forever. Their families would be connected. I consider it a privilege to have worked in a place such as that. It was like stepping back in time. The dynamics of it were so interesting. The kids did their best (most of the time) not to embarrass their parents. People were more careful with their criticism, not wanting to cause trouble with both the child and the parent. And when compliments were given...pride was felt by both the parent and the child. Double bang for your buck.
Three generation households are making a comeback. They too, used to be the norm. But as people got more mobile, they often became more detached from their family. Now, as in the past, many families are finding it necessary to either move back in with their parents, or have their parents move into their homes, with their families. I personally think it's a great idea. I love it. Maybe I'm old fashioned. That's okay.
Perhaps we'll soon see more places like Dan & Louis Oyster Bar emerging. Two and three generations working together. Just as we're seeing the return of the three generational households. I would like things to slow down a bit. For people to stop and reassess where they are, where they're going...and to step back in time...and reconnect with their families...their roots.
I'm not talking about living in the past. After all, here and now is all we have. I'm simply saying that we shouldn't be so quick to let it all go. Mixed generations working, playing and/or living together is a blessed...live...history lesson in the making!
When I started at the Oyster Bar, most of the people who worked there had been there 20 years or longer. And several of the women worked well into their senior years...one of my partners retired when she turned 80! The woman who trained me as a waitress, retired after putting in 50 years, the cashier retired after 47 years, and my last partner at 45 years. Although there were some women who came and left...many, many women...came and stayed. Now, when you have a group of women who come to work at a restaurant when they are young...and they stay until they are old...their personal lives go through many changes over that stretch of time. They marry, have children, raise those kids...and often help them get their first jobs. No doubt Ruthie helped Judy get her job there. (And actually, during that time...Judy's daughters also did their own stints at the Oyster Bar.) Three generations...all behind the counter cooking in the same restaurant!
My daughters accompanied me on "Take Your Daughter To Work Day" beginning when they were in kindergarten. They tagged along every year, peeling shrimp, preparing half-shells, cutting lemons, setting up the restaurant in the morning, waiting tables with me at lunchtime...and splitting up the tips at the end of the day! It was fun for everyone. And by the time they were old enough to get their own jobs...guess where they went...to Dan & Louis! And why not? They already had put in over 50 hours of "training" over the course of ten years! Jenn and Steph knew the place inside and out. They knew the owners, my co-workers and "the regulars." They knew the menu and were comfortable there. It was a great first job for them. Again...two generations working together in the same place, at the same time.
Today, I was thinking about how many other employees there worked with their own children. I can think of at least a half dozen more...and two more who also worked with their granddaughters!
In the "Purser's Room" (a waitress station in the back of the dining room) there was a little sign that said "Clean it up yourself...your mother doesn't work here!" And someone scribbled next to it..."Oh yes she does!" And it was quite true.
The restaurant itself has been in operation over 100 years now. It is currently being run by the fourth generation. Another amazing fact. When I started working there, I met the second generation. (They were then retired.) I worked for the third generation. It was a good fit...I think for all of us. My boss' children were small at that time. His daughter would be running around the restaurant while I was setting things up, pretending that she was a waitress. His youngest boy spent most of the time crawling under the front counter looking for any change that might have fallen on the floor, out of reach of the cashier. His oldest boy was a bookworm...holed up in a corner table, quietly reading. After my boss finished his morning duties, they all had ice cream sundaes for breakfast. During my last few years there, those little boys were the ones signing my paychecks.
Years ago, this scenario would have been the norm. A business would be handed down from one generation to the next. Employees would stay...forever. Their families would be connected. I consider it a privilege to have worked in a place such as that. It was like stepping back in time. The dynamics of it were so interesting. The kids did their best (most of the time) not to embarrass their parents. People were more careful with their criticism, not wanting to cause trouble with both the child and the parent. And when compliments were given...pride was felt by both the parent and the child. Double bang for your buck.
Three generation households are making a comeback. They too, used to be the norm. But as people got more mobile, they often became more detached from their family. Now, as in the past, many families are finding it necessary to either move back in with their parents, or have their parents move into their homes, with their families. I personally think it's a great idea. I love it. Maybe I'm old fashioned. That's okay.
Perhaps we'll soon see more places like Dan & Louis Oyster Bar emerging. Two and three generations working together. Just as we're seeing the return of the three generational households. I would like things to slow down a bit. For people to stop and reassess where they are, where they're going...and to step back in time...and reconnect with their families...their roots.
I'm not talking about living in the past. After all, here and now is all we have. I'm simply saying that we shouldn't be so quick to let it all go. Mixed generations working, playing and/or living together is a blessed...live...history lesson in the making!
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)