On the Clock

the life of a workin' stiff

I’ve always enjoyed saying that I seem to have slipped through life without ever having held a job. It’s not true. Steady job, no. A colorful symphony of unsteady employment, yes.

1960. Mr. Allen, the old guy across the street, offered to pay me a dollar for each dandelion I dug out of his perfect lawn. Root and all. I dug a few, but it was too much work, and I’m probably exaggerating about the dollar part. This was 1960. It was probably more like a dime.

      

1962. I started my babysitting career for the family next door. Three kids, baths, supper, bed. 25¢ an hour. Got a raise to 35¢. I bought myself a 12 string guitar with the proceeds. After several years, I asked if they would please pay me 50¢. They said no. I hit the road with my guitar, Tom Rush and Peter, Paul and Mary

      

1967. Waitress at The Gray House, an ice cream joint in New London, NH, where my folks had just bought a house on Lake Sunapee. I folded napkins, scooped ice cream and met my husband.

1968. Waitress at The Woodbine Cottage in Sunapee Harbor, where I made up the names of the cheeses on the dessert tray. Rosencrantz and Gildenstern were favorites. I commuted to work across Lake Sunapee in our 14’ aluminum motor boat

      

      .

1971. Newlywed, cashier at the Beverly Farms convenience store, where I learned to run the cash register, bag groceries, spray and wipe the conveyer belt with disinfectant. Hamburger was 28¢ a pound.

1972. I began my first full-time job at a local private high school, teaching Latin and French. Full time became half time when Matthew was born. Half time became no time when motherhood became my first job.

      

1973. Mothering…well, I kind of meant work you get paid for. I DID write up a petition once, stating how unfair it was that women didn’t get paid for all the work involved caring for children. I didn’t get very far with that one.

1974. I filled out medical forms for the new handsome doc in town. He also delivered my third child, Owen. So, he was aware of my expertise in many fields.

1975. I decided to get rich quick by becoming a Shaklee distributor with a shelf full of cleaning products, vitamins and promises of untold wealth.

1976. Itinerant teacher of french and spanish, lumbering from class to class with a huge bag full of props and costumes. I remember coming home from a day of teaching and announcing to my husband, Arthur, that I was going to quit. I need time to think. Poor Art, he was probably sorry to see my salary go away, although we seemed to be managing very well, thank you, on his annual salary of $8500.

1977. Ongoing gigs through the years of singing my way through various nursery schools and old age homes.

1978. I got my real estate broker’s license and spent a few months as a salesman until I told my husband it would be way more interesting to buy and rehab properties ourselves, which went extremely well until it didn’t.

1979. I became the piano/bass player for a local contra dance band called Twopenny Loaf. We played weddings, parties and a weekly gig at The Blackburn Tavern in Gloucester.

1994. Through a high school classmate, I got the opportunity to teach, full-time, 9th grade Spanish (which I couldn’t really speak) at a highly regarded school in Brookline. Sitting in the teachers’ room, eating my lonely cream cheese and jelly sandwich, I plotted how to get out of there. When I finally told the principal I would not be able to continue, she said, “Well, you are a bit of a flake.” True. Ba-bye.

      I have incredible admiration for teachers, the gift they are to our children, the dedicated day in, day out of it. I am better at the guest appearance type deal, where you wow the kids and walk out the door. Loser. We probably all have a lingering love for the one or two teachers who made a life impression. Sister Marion Anthony was my third grade teacher. Mrs. Keenan taught me Latin in high school. I regret to this day, not telling them both how much I loved them. Bill taught high school biology and physics and spent his summers roofing houses.

1995. I had a short career teaching piano. Like, I taught one neighborhood kid. Around that time, I became the music director for an after school theater program at The Strand Theater in Dorchester. I was the music third part of a triumvirate of theater/music/dance. Many theater games, dance exercises and singing fun, the kids created their own show. Dorchester was not Brookline. I had a ball playing with, getting to know the kids there.

1996. Along the way, I got a gig as the music/composition director at the Eugene O’Neill Theater in New London Ct. I can’t remember how I landed that one. I got to spend a week with an incredible group of puppeteers of all ages, perfecting their small show, with puppets they had created. Among the teachers were Sesame Street geniuses. I sat at the same lunch table one day with two women who were putting lobster legs on their fingers, making them dance around their plates. Turned out, they were channeling the memory of their beloved husband and father, Jim Henson.

      

      I spent the next several years writing plays, orchestral pieces that have never seen the light of day, creating shadow puppets, selling CDs, hawking my artwork, writing screenplays, poetry, you name it, creating the life I didn’t really know I was destined to live. I am thankful for every step and misstep.

I’ve limited myself to listing jobs I got paid for. The list of non-paying jobs is very long for all of us, I’m sure! If nothing else, listing the jobs you’ve had creates a wonderful framework for seeing the patterns of your life. Your turn.

Happy Valentine’s day! Play a song for love and truth.