Motel maid, when I was sixteen or seventeen. I lasted all of four days.
First summer job that I liked? Sorting lima beans on a conveyor belt at the Birds-Eye plant. It was a whole lot easier than making beds in marginally-air-conditioned motel rooms. My hands never stopped. Sometimes I got to sit on a stool. I could sing to my heart’s content and not be overheard by my co-workers along the conveyor belt. I went home hot, tired, sweaty, and supremely happy. And they paid me to show up. [The miracle is that I still like lima beans.]
Why has this bubbled up to the surface? Every month at work we can submit something for “inspiring stories”. Working at the Birds-Eye plant was my first happy work memory, but certainly not the last. I didn’t know it at the time, but FirstHubby was also working at the plant, on a different shift. I don’t remember if we met at the end of that summer, or the following year. But that is a whole ’nuther story.
Yesterday was a financially frustrating day. I’m still processing it, but Secondborn’s comments were definitely helpful, as was the time I spent at Knit Night. I have a lot to say, and no time to say it, so it will have to wait. But some of you worry if I skip a day. So this is me, waving hello with the hand that isn’t holding the new stealth project.
I’m alive and well, and there is dark chocolate in my cubby at work, and I am taking leftover mac and cheese to work for lunch today, and LittleBit is enrolled at the local college for fall.
- Four years into widowhood, after one year of incredible happiness and nearly 14 years of single blessedness. Have given up perfect manicures and pretty hands in order to resume playing the soprano recorder and to see if I can figure out how to play bluegrass banjo. Singing in the shower. Still really, *really* love to knit!