My Trade; My Tools
Webster tells us that the word “trade” is used to describe buying, selling, bartering, and occupations that usually requires manual labor. Oh my gosh! No wonder my tool box has sprung hinges so as not to be able to close the latch. I have put any or all of those definitions in play through my entire life, and many times on a day-to-day basis. From birth it’s as if we have tools of the trade ready to fire up at will. On second thought, I believe the gene pool has a lot to do with it and how we hone those gene pool tools throughout our lives.
During my childhood holding my own with an older sister and two younger brothers was an ongoing challenge. Elvera is six years older and you would have thought it was more like twenty years. There was indeed a pecking order. Calvin is three years younger than me and Michael is six years younger than me. When you put the difference of nine years and twelve years between the boys and Elvera there was no way she could be spared to contend with the boys as she was able to be Dad’s right hand for farm errands. Mom was a hands-on farm wife whether in the fields or in the barns and that put the target on me for taking care of the boys when just the three of us were left on the door yard. I bought the cooperation of the boys by being on board with some extra cookies while they played in the large sand box. Dad was a great welder and we had the best swing set in the entire neighborhood – complete with the two man horse-type ride. God forbid that I could squeeze in any time to ride our bike down the driveway and back without coming back to screaming boys, sometimes with a little blood showing, acting as if there was not a thing in the world to occupy them. I managed to barter my way out of being the irresponsible caregiver by giving them rides on the back bumper of our bike. No matter what the boys got into there was only one acceptable outcome as far as my parents were concerned: no one was to tattle tale and nothing that would require one of us being taken to the doctor. Surprisingly, your siblings can give you a very broad window on what your life will hold as you go forward: the good, the bad, and the ugly of it all. One does not have a choice but to go forward and take those tools and life’s lessons to be all that you can be.
In my early teen years I was thrilled to have connections in the retail world. Elvera worked at the S & L Clothing store in Hutchinson as a sales person and she gave me high marks in a referral for a part time job. Two weeks before that Easter, Elvera picked me and my brown paper bag lunch up and we went to work together. Five days a week from nine to five I wore an over-sized, over-stuffed Easter Bunny costume, greeting customers and handing out mints from my Easter basket and learning to scurry away quickly if any one child pulled my tail more than once. I was selling the wonderful atmosphere of the S & L store. I received five dollars a day and thought I had truly arrived in the world of opportunities honing tools for the future.
My forte was not selling in the retail world as a young woman. I found I was really good at a trade that included fluffy flannel diapers, burp bibs, and chubby little fingers that would hold onto my hair for dear life as I would straddle the little body on one hip doing household and farm chores. This was truly an occupation that required manual labor and I loved it. I mentioned earlier on that from birth there are tools available. I had observed my Mom’s skills as I was growing up and I had managed to pull a household together with the motif of early attic and household hand-me-downs that I and the kids’ dad was very proud of. The canning cellar had row upon row of gleaming jars, the stone crock held sauerkraut and the root cellar had enough carrots, onions and potatoes to hold us over the winter. The rest of the story is I was not fast enough to dodge a mouth full of rice cereal as it spewed out of a little mouth that didn’t have a single tooth in it. Or how about liquid vitamins that were given only an hour prior found their way down the front of my shirt, followed by big blue innocent eyes that crinkled just a bit as they met mine. I played softball all through grade school at the Renville County District 34 rural school, and as a farm girl I excelled in Physical Education during my high school years, but for the life of me I could not keep up with a toddler running loose after pulling off their training pants and feeling the breeze on their bare hiny.
Years went by way too swiftly and I continued in my trade of choice, growing my skills as my children grew. I once again tried selling as I thought it would supplement our income, but Fuller Brush was never going to have their stock skyrocket through my sales. The demo products did not go to waste as the spit and polish never seemed to be finished in our home.
Many hours were logged as I put forth manual labor on the sewing machine making clothes for the kids, pajamas for the entire family, sewing curtains, and lo and behold the menial task of sewing carpet rags whenever I had a chance. In the late ’60s it came time to put the treadle Singer Sewing Machine aside as an end table and move on into the 21st century with a new portable Sears and Roebuck electric machine. The kids always sported the very best that McCall’s Pattern Company could put out. Some day when Kevin and Kersten raid my attic and my cedar chest is opened, much like a treasure chest, Kersten will get a peek at some of the clothes that were sewn, including a set of shirt and pants Kevin wore in his early grade school days. I can’t believe what I was thinking when I embroidered the Mexican motif on the set, but I sold him on the idea that this was a good thing and he was smiles from ear to ear while wearing them. Yup, he made Mama proud. In the early ’70s farm-based moms were very innovative and creative. Now the Sears Roebuck sewing machine is taking second fiddle to a new Bernina sewing machine. While the Bernina is working on an embroidery project, the Sears sewing machine is right there for doing the piecing of yet another project.
Lots of water over the dam and many W-2 form jobs later, I still list my all time favorite and most successful trade as that of
being a mom – though I have had to tweak the applications a bit when mothering adults. For the most part I observe and hold my tongue. For the part that is not the “most,” I have spoken up, sharing my beliefs and thoughts. I can attest to the fact that sometimes I have had to live with the reactions of my actions. I can only admit to the fact that I am the person who loves them unconditionally with history that may be of comfort or help as I see a rerun of what I have lived through in the past. My Mom worked her whiles with me throughout her 93 years, and I too, plan on staying the course. Carrie, just turned 50, and Kevin in his forties, have spouses who stand beside them and I am very proud that each couple works as their very own team. It does make me very proud to see my kids interact with their spouses, showering them with loving respect.
There are some words that I ran across reading bedtime stories to the kids that have stayed close in my memory: “If there ever comes a day when we cannot be together, keep me in your heart, I’ll stay there forever.” The author: Winnie the Pooh. That silly old bear was very wise. The life’s trade that I chose has infinite benefits that far out way any legally drafted unions. The trade of being a mother will never be downsized, never be outsourced and a mom’s love will never be out of stock due to lack of sales. As I continue with the many chapters that remain in the saga of my trade, I still have skills to hone as now there are grandchildren and grandpuppies that need me to continue being who I am, not withstanding my age, my arthritis and my cognizance. I dare not forget that with any job worth having, you never know when a surprise job performance evaluation could pop up. A bad review could cost me dearly in the hug department.
Please remember in life, give and have no remembrance of it, or take and remember it always.