My write was inspired by Referential Magazine, Self Portrait as Fake Saint with a wheel
Woman's Work
I remember a little wheel with teeth,
Found in my Mother's sewing box,
A box bound with a blue ribbon,
Magical tools, for marking and measuring,
Sharp shiny scissors, and needles and pins.
Endless spools of colorful thread.
In time I learned to sew,
But never as well as my Mother,
Or Grandmother who's tiny
Stitches were admired and envied.
I remember the patterns
She would purchase at the store.
They came in a large envelope,
The picture of the finished
Garment on the front,
She would carefully extract the patterns,
Printed on thin tissue paper,
The color yellow ocher,
Easily torn.
The pattern once cut out,
Was pinned to the fabric,
Which was cut out,
And carefully sew,
Into the desired garment.
Something for everyone.
In those days,
And for some years after,
Each home was a mini-factory.
Each house had a garden,
And maybe chickens.
Just a few years earlier,
People who lived in the city,
But spent the summer on the bay,
Would have the "help'"
Walk the milk-cow down,
Some thirty miles.
To enjoy the cool bay breezes.
For it was long before air conditioners.
The milk-man still made his rounds,
As well as the lecherous ice-man,
Who delivered blocks of dripping ice,
Giving small chunks to
Laughing children in the neighborhood.
And women often worked together,
To preserve and can food at harvest,
Women still made quilts,
And young women
Filled their "hope chests,"
With fancy needlework,
They read etiquette books,
Amy Vanderbilt's Complete Book of Etiquette.
In those days no one wanted to be incorrect.
Just the perfect gossip across the fence,
Who did what - when.
Thou times have changed,
I'm sure, it still holds true,
No one wants to be incorrect.
But who has time?
And where has time gone?
Both men and women work,
And pursue careers,
Raise families,
Everything is on the fly.
In the days of my Mother and my Grandmother,
Women worked hard,
But the jobs were at home,
A woman's interest was her garden,
Her home and her family.
Today women still work hard,
And they have no time for
The frivolous activities,*
Of my ancestors.
*Characterized by insincerity, irony, or whimsical exaggeration = tongue-in-cheek.
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http://isawsunday.blogspot.com/
Giants In Winter
Skeletons of giants,
Dot the landscape,
Dressed in gray,
Just a short time ago,
You were full and lush,
Now you are no refuge,
For winged travelers.
All is exposed.
