Last Thursday I met up with my childhood best friend. If we had used the term "BFF" back then, she'd have been just that. Lisa and I were inseperable for years and years. It wasn't until junior high that our interests and activities started to change a little, slowly, and then by the middle of high school, our crowds just overlapped a litttle. I always missed her. But she was into other things, like marching band, and whatnot. We both swam, which was our common ground. But only for one year.
Lisa looked amazing. I can't even believe she's still single. We had a great talk about times past, and what we're each doing now. Which of course didn't take me long. Most of what I'm doing now is preparing for a tomorrow that will hopefully come. Gone are the days that I was working with either Australia or China on new development programs. Gone are the days that I'm out gathering "voice of the customer" data and analyzing it all night long. Now I'm a wife and foster mother, and I feel like a nut that fell out of its tree.
Lisa is the reason that I knew who older bands like Sting and the Police were. She's the reason I met the man I'm now married to. She's also the reason I learned that "Sun In" was a bad, bad idea.
Showing posts with label Memory Lane Monday. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Memory Lane Monday. Show all posts
Monday, February 23, 2009
Monday, February 16, 2009
Memory Lane Monday
Someone who crossed my mind this past week was an old supervisor. In high school, I worked for a jewelry story. Not a glamorous jewelry store with gorgeous lights. Certainly not a jewelry story with blue boxes. Nope. This was the little inset area inside Sam's Club. If you don't remember, I can give you enough information to have a fairly good visual. Imagine a large warehouse selling items in bulk, and serving mostly small and large business owners. Now you've got the surrounding area set. Now take a few jewelry cases and arrange them in a rectangle. Leave an opening for a swinging door and a cash register on a stand with a safe underneath it. Make one jewelry case full of perfume. Litter the tops of the jewelry cases with sunglass rounders and plastic signs. There we are. Now you understand where I worked. I hate to just say "jewelry store," and have anybody mislead. It wasn't your average jewelry store.
I loved this job. I really loved it. The customers were regular people from all walks of life. Because we were right inside the gate opening to enter the main part of the store, we saw everyone who came in, and came to recognize a few regulars. I also had the pleasure of working with my best friend at the time. Sundays were especially fun, because we worked together from open until close, and often got Papa Romano's for lunch. Pasta salad and bread to share. We could eat like that back then and not look like whales.
Our supervisor was Karen. She was a no-nonsense woman who dressed to the nines. She was always put together. Her son never came in to the store that I remember, but we knew so much about him that I felt like we knew him. Except, we didn't know his real name. She called him Buddha. He allegedly earned this name as a baby, and even at 17 had not outgrown it.
Karen is one of two people who affected my career path more than any others. She left the "jewelry store" to take a job in a far more high-end retail location with more money, more opportunity, and less warehouse dust. She told me I was the hardest worker she'd ever known in all her years, and the minute she got established, she called me in for an interview. I followed her to an anchor retail store at Somerset before any north mall or SkyWalk existed. That job funded college, a down payment on a home, and the best time of my life.
I would have never in a million years at that time thought I'd be considered for a position like that. I'd have never applied, or even asked if they were hiring. If it weren't for Karen's encouragement, I'd have spent many more early college years working in a small rectangle inside a warehouse, and my student loans today would be much bigger than they are.
I have tried to find Karen over the years, but have never been successful. I didn't stay in her department long. Not even three months. Store management offered me a job one floor upwards, which is very much a hierarchical thing in that industry. I sat with Karen and discussed what had been offered to me. I felt like I was betraying her by leaving. She told me she didn't even want to hear about it - if I didn't take that job, she'd be very disappointed. So I did, and I was glad. After two months I held the second highest sales in the department, working with people who had been doing that job for as long as 30 years.
That job taught me far more than how to sell things effectively or how to be competitive and still maintain friendships. (Which is a tedious balance in that environment.) I began to understand how people live differently in the world based on "class," culture, nationality, religion, etc. I learned about Jewish holidays, and customary gifts. I learned that you get better service running to the local mom & pop shop engraver to have something serviced than if you mail it to a larger vendor. I learned how shipping companies work. I learned a thing or two about effective displays. I learned just how bored wealthy stay-at-home moms are when they have people hired to do every job they'd traditionally do on their own.
I saw Karen here and there while working, but eventually she left for another opportunity. Unfortunately, I didn't know about it until she was already gone. I haven't seen her since, but I think of her often and hope our paths cross in the future.
I loved this job. I really loved it. The customers were regular people from all walks of life. Because we were right inside the gate opening to enter the main part of the store, we saw everyone who came in, and came to recognize a few regulars. I also had the pleasure of working with my best friend at the time. Sundays were especially fun, because we worked together from open until close, and often got Papa Romano's for lunch. Pasta salad and bread to share. We could eat like that back then and not look like whales.
Our supervisor was Karen. She was a no-nonsense woman who dressed to the nines. She was always put together. Her son never came in to the store that I remember, but we knew so much about him that I felt like we knew him. Except, we didn't know his real name. She called him Buddha. He allegedly earned this name as a baby, and even at 17 had not outgrown it.
Karen is one of two people who affected my career path more than any others. She left the "jewelry store" to take a job in a far more high-end retail location with more money, more opportunity, and less warehouse dust. She told me I was the hardest worker she'd ever known in all her years, and the minute she got established, she called me in for an interview. I followed her to an anchor retail store at Somerset before any north mall or SkyWalk existed. That job funded college, a down payment on a home, and the best time of my life.
I would have never in a million years at that time thought I'd be considered for a position like that. I'd have never applied, or even asked if they were hiring. If it weren't for Karen's encouragement, I'd have spent many more early college years working in a small rectangle inside a warehouse, and my student loans today would be much bigger than they are.
I have tried to find Karen over the years, but have never been successful. I didn't stay in her department long. Not even three months. Store management offered me a job one floor upwards, which is very much a hierarchical thing in that industry. I sat with Karen and discussed what had been offered to me. I felt like I was betraying her by leaving. She told me she didn't even want to hear about it - if I didn't take that job, she'd be very disappointed. So I did, and I was glad. After two months I held the second highest sales in the department, working with people who had been doing that job for as long as 30 years.
That job taught me far more than how to sell things effectively or how to be competitive and still maintain friendships. (Which is a tedious balance in that environment.) I began to understand how people live differently in the world based on "class," culture, nationality, religion, etc. I learned about Jewish holidays, and customary gifts. I learned that you get better service running to the local mom & pop shop engraver to have something serviced than if you mail it to a larger vendor. I learned how shipping companies work. I learned a thing or two about effective displays. I learned just how bored wealthy stay-at-home moms are when they have people hired to do every job they'd traditionally do on their own.
I saw Karen here and there while working, but eventually she left for another opportunity. Unfortunately, I didn't know about it until she was already gone. I haven't seen her since, but I think of her often and hope our paths cross in the future.
Monday, February 9, 2009
Memory Lane Monday
This is a new idea I have. I've heard of "Meme Monday," but that's not really my style. So every Monday, I'm going to take a walk down memory lane and write about someone who has been part of my life. These will not be in any order. Not in importance, not chronologically, not logically. It will be based on someone who happened to cross my mind in the days preceeding. Some of them will still be around, some not. But the best part is, some of it will be funny, you can bet.
And now I give you the first Memory Lane Monday. The topic is the old friend from yesteryear I recently had the pleasure of finding a blog for, and finding she has built herself an amazing life with three babies, a husband, and great taste in music. (yes, I left her page open for awhile in the background to hear her song list...)
Suzy lived down the street from me as we grew up. We walked to school together many times before the school on the corner was closed, torn down, and replaced with new houses. Somewhere, I have a picture of us on the first day of school one year. (I wish I knew where that was - she'd laugh...)
We swam in her pool, played in her treehouse, and slept overnight in her parents' pop-up camper parked in the driveway. Her house had a real flag pole. (I always thought this was the coolest thing.)
She taught me a family recipe. They are called "meltwiches." You take one piece of bread, followed by the spread of your choice (I liked mustard), covered by a slice of lunch meat with the corners cut so it doesn't curl when heated, and finished with a slice of cheese. A few seconds in the microwave, and you have yourself a meltwich. I turn 33 the day after tomorrow, and I still do this.
Once we took an enormous bowl of popcorn, coloring books, and crayons to the racquetball court where her mother played racquetball. We had a great time, and even got to borrow a ball and a couple racquets ourselves to horse around with. We weren't very good at it. That seemed to make it even more fun.
Once, she had a birthday party in the summer. I ran barefoot through the yard and stepped in dog poop. In front of everyone. Her mom hosed my foot off. She actually apologized for it, which at the time I remember I was amazed by. I thought to myself, "heck, I was the stupid one who landed in the poo and created a mess, I should apologize...." I just thought everyone had a dog, and everyone had poo bombs to dodge in the yard at any given time. It was just part of life. That was the same party where everyone worked together to create a whirlpool in the round above ground pool, and the same party where I dove and hit my nose on the bottom. Thankfully nobody noticed.
She had a beautiful golden retriever. I think his name was Sparky, but I can't remember for sure. I had a cocker spaniel.
We played house in her basement. Sometimes boys would play the mother or the teacher, and girls would play the father or the policeman. I remember clearly the first time I realized this was the gameplan, and I questioned it. My friend gave me a thorough explanation that when it's PRETEND, it doesn't matter if you are a girl or a boy. This may have been my first lesson in tolerance and open-mindedness. I think I was 8 and she was 7.
We rode bikes and watched movies. Her mother read chapters from The Boxcar Children out loud at bedtime. I remember thinking it was so cool that her mom still read out loud even though everyone was old enough to read independently. It was fun. The chapters never lasted long enough, and I remember not caring if I hadn't heard the chapter before, and wishing she'd continue through the whole book. (BTW, Suzy just blogged about a story she reads to her children, which reminded me of hearing The Boxcar Children chapters as a child, and that whole train of thought is what lead to Memory Lane Mondays.)
Her mom made great cookies too. I think my mom's were my favorite, but her mom's were a super close second for sure.
Suzy had the prettiest "church dresses." My family went to church too, but we didn't dress up the same way. Her family was the first I knew to join hands around the table for grace before dinner. I decided one day at her house that I'd do it that way if I had children. I haven't had any, so I can't tell you for sure if we'll follow that custom.
And the funniest part for last. Well, funny for anyone reading. (Not funny for me....) My first truly horrifying moment of sheer embarassment happened at Suzy's house. Our houses were the same layout. There is a door that separates the kitchen (and the rest of the house) from a half bath, side door, garage door, and basement stairs. I was spending the night. We were camping in the living room, complete with sleeping bags. After getting hollered at several times to GO TO SLEEP, we nodded off. I woke up and had to use the bathroom. In effort (honestly) to not wake anyone up, I headed toward the half bath past the kitchen. It's the furthest from the bedrooms, and therefore the most polite thing to do if people are asleep. I often did the same thing in my own house. What I didn't know, was that door I mentioned was attached to the alarm system...
As soon as I turned the handle, the alarm rang. Now, given that I had the same door in my own house, and I was young, I didn't realize that I had caused the noise. I really believed that house alarms only connected to outside doors and windows, not doors in the middle of your floorplan. I believed this to be impossible. My first thought, and I remember this like it was yesterday, was that someone must be coming through one of the windows!
I ran back to our indoor campsite, but Suzy was already heading into her parents bedroom. I heard her, clear as a bell, say "It was Jaime. She didn't know she couldn't go that way." I froze. Panic ran through my veins. I did this? How? Were the police and fire trucks coming? Did I have to go home now? Then, only a fraction of a second has passed since the initial turning of the door handle, and Suzy's very angry father takes a run through the house to shut off the alarm. He looked exhausted and irritated. I thought for sure if I cried, I'd be sent home immediately. I fought the tears, and amidst the panic and fear and now growing embarassment, I started to giggle. Suzy gave me a stern look and told me it wasn't funny. I knew it wasn't funny. And yet, I giggled anyway. I think if I'd been their rightful child, I'd have been in serious trouble with the giggling. I felt horrible. And, I still had to pee. I was afraid to go at that point, and just went back to sleep and held it until morning.
I always wondered if her parents really disliked me after that incident. Shortly after, I wondered if I should write them an apology note. (A humorous aside - that idea was from a SOAP OPERA.) I never did. If they remember that day, I probably should apologize. But if they don't remember, I'd hate to remind them....
And now I give you the first Memory Lane Monday. The topic is the old friend from yesteryear I recently had the pleasure of finding a blog for, and finding she has built herself an amazing life with three babies, a husband, and great taste in music. (yes, I left her page open for awhile in the background to hear her song list...)
Suzy lived down the street from me as we grew up. We walked to school together many times before the school on the corner was closed, torn down, and replaced with new houses. Somewhere, I have a picture of us on the first day of school one year. (I wish I knew where that was - she'd laugh...)
We swam in her pool, played in her treehouse, and slept overnight in her parents' pop-up camper parked in the driveway. Her house had a real flag pole. (I always thought this was the coolest thing.)
She taught me a family recipe. They are called "meltwiches." You take one piece of bread, followed by the spread of your choice (I liked mustard), covered by a slice of lunch meat with the corners cut so it doesn't curl when heated, and finished with a slice of cheese. A few seconds in the microwave, and you have yourself a meltwich. I turn 33 the day after tomorrow, and I still do this.
Once we took an enormous bowl of popcorn, coloring books, and crayons to the racquetball court where her mother played racquetball. We had a great time, and even got to borrow a ball and a couple racquets ourselves to horse around with. We weren't very good at it. That seemed to make it even more fun.
Once, she had a birthday party in the summer. I ran barefoot through the yard and stepped in dog poop. In front of everyone. Her mom hosed my foot off. She actually apologized for it, which at the time I remember I was amazed by. I thought to myself, "heck, I was the stupid one who landed in the poo and created a mess, I should apologize...." I just thought everyone had a dog, and everyone had poo bombs to dodge in the yard at any given time. It was just part of life. That was the same party where everyone worked together to create a whirlpool in the round above ground pool, and the same party where I dove and hit my nose on the bottom. Thankfully nobody noticed.
She had a beautiful golden retriever. I think his name was Sparky, but I can't remember for sure. I had a cocker spaniel.
We played house in her basement. Sometimes boys would play the mother or the teacher, and girls would play the father or the policeman. I remember clearly the first time I realized this was the gameplan, and I questioned it. My friend gave me a thorough explanation that when it's PRETEND, it doesn't matter if you are a girl or a boy. This may have been my first lesson in tolerance and open-mindedness. I think I was 8 and she was 7.
We rode bikes and watched movies. Her mother read chapters from The Boxcar Children out loud at bedtime. I remember thinking it was so cool that her mom still read out loud even though everyone was old enough to read independently. It was fun. The chapters never lasted long enough, and I remember not caring if I hadn't heard the chapter before, and wishing she'd continue through the whole book. (BTW, Suzy just blogged about a story she reads to her children, which reminded me of hearing The Boxcar Children chapters as a child, and that whole train of thought is what lead to Memory Lane Mondays.)
Her mom made great cookies too. I think my mom's were my favorite, but her mom's were a super close second for sure.
Suzy had the prettiest "church dresses." My family went to church too, but we didn't dress up the same way. Her family was the first I knew to join hands around the table for grace before dinner. I decided one day at her house that I'd do it that way if I had children. I haven't had any, so I can't tell you for sure if we'll follow that custom.
And the funniest part for last. Well, funny for anyone reading. (Not funny for me....) My first truly horrifying moment of sheer embarassment happened at Suzy's house. Our houses were the same layout. There is a door that separates the kitchen (and the rest of the house) from a half bath, side door, garage door, and basement stairs. I was spending the night. We were camping in the living room, complete with sleeping bags. After getting hollered at several times to GO TO SLEEP, we nodded off. I woke up and had to use the bathroom. In effort (honestly) to not wake anyone up, I headed toward the half bath past the kitchen. It's the furthest from the bedrooms, and therefore the most polite thing to do if people are asleep. I often did the same thing in my own house. What I didn't know, was that door I mentioned was attached to the alarm system...
As soon as I turned the handle, the alarm rang. Now, given that I had the same door in my own house, and I was young, I didn't realize that I had caused the noise. I really believed that house alarms only connected to outside doors and windows, not doors in the middle of your floorplan. I believed this to be impossible. My first thought, and I remember this like it was yesterday, was that someone must be coming through one of the windows!
I ran back to our indoor campsite, but Suzy was already heading into her parents bedroom. I heard her, clear as a bell, say "It was Jaime. She didn't know she couldn't go that way." I froze. Panic ran through my veins. I did this? How? Were the police and fire trucks coming? Did I have to go home now? Then, only a fraction of a second has passed since the initial turning of the door handle, and Suzy's very angry father takes a run through the house to shut off the alarm. He looked exhausted and irritated. I thought for sure if I cried, I'd be sent home immediately. I fought the tears, and amidst the panic and fear and now growing embarassment, I started to giggle. Suzy gave me a stern look and told me it wasn't funny. I knew it wasn't funny. And yet, I giggled anyway. I think if I'd been their rightful child, I'd have been in serious trouble with the giggling. I felt horrible. And, I still had to pee. I was afraid to go at that point, and just went back to sleep and held it until morning.
I always wondered if her parents really disliked me after that incident. Shortly after, I wondered if I should write them an apology note. (A humorous aside - that idea was from a SOAP OPERA.) I never did. If they remember that day, I probably should apologize. But if they don't remember, I'd hate to remind them....
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