Status Update: Unemployed Writer Becomes Award-Winning Unemployed Writer!

Congratulations on winning an Apex Award for your piece, "The Conshohocken Women's Club."

Since you are a technical writer, this should help you in getting jobs and advancement in your field. We will be ordering a certificate for you soon.

Please send us your address and phone number so that we can contact you and send you your certificate when it arrives.

Very best wishes.


Whoa!
I guess the web magazine it was published in submitted it. At least, I think that's what happened. :-)
It's an Apex Award of Excellence for Magazine & Journal Writing.
AND, now I can display this cool little logo on my blog, too!







I know most of you have read this story, but I'm including here, because you know it only gets better the second and third time you read it. :-)

Lastly, again, thanks to all of you for your very kind and always supportive words in regard to my writing, especially to my Dad, who gave me this creative gift, Jeff, Harry, Tom, and Brenda.

Story soundtrack: Actually, I LOVE the Andrews Sisters. I think it's partially due to all those Abbott and Costello movies my Dad made us watch as kids. This is my favorite song. Come on, they're so vintage, too! :-)

♫ You're a sweet heart in a million
Oh oh oh oooh (be mine oh oh) Aurora ♪



The Conshohocken Woman’s Club

As I sat fuming and overwhelmed at my desk yesterday, because the engineer in India needed his release notes written in one day, the translation coordinator, Maria, needed to know if Maggie, the Chinese translator, had to reproduce the exact data in the screen captures or could just use similar data, and another engineer changed the software two days after the books were final, making the books and the software out of sync, I had an epiphany, which came in the form of a 5'2", 57-year-old woman.

My friend and co-worker, Peg came into my office and said, "Hey, Jean. I noticed that you're not your usual positive self. [Post-It® Note to self: Remove dart board with picture of engineering team plastered to it from my office wall to help fake a positive outlook at work.] I'm taking tomorrow off, because I cooking lasagna for the Conshohocken Woman's Club of which I'm a member. Why don't you come as my guest? It's a bunch of little old retired ladies, but we have a good time, although you might think that some of the stuff we do is weird."

Weird, I thought? Do they wear funny hats? Do they chant around knitting needles and balls of yarn? How weird could a bunch of little old retired ladies be?

I told Peg that at that very moment I was contemplating a career change, and it sounded like "little old retired lady" might be something that I could handle.

Peg told me that the agenda was lunch, a meeting, and then a program. She said that in the past programs had been floral arranging, singing with the high school chorus, and laundering (you know, how to get those pesky lipstick stains out of hubby's shirt, not how to hide money from the government). Okay, I made that last one up, but I was starting to get a real "Leave-It-To-Beaver" feeling about these programs.

She added that the program that day involved bringing in any collectibles you might own and talk about them in front of the group. It sounded interesting but Peg was right, in a weird way. Peg said to arrive at the Congregational Church in Conshohocken at 11:30. And, I didn't have to bring any collectibles, but the donation for lunch was $2. I'm sorry, but that just too cute, a donation for lunch!

That morning, I pondered my outfit choices. Should I wear a polyester pantsuit to fit in or just go with in my normal suit, which was jeans and sweater? But, maybe I could stuff a Kleenex up the sleeve of my sweater like my grandmother used to, or I could add a rhinestone brooch to my sweater, because after all, I was over 40.

At 11:25, I pulled up in front of the church and parked. I knew I had found the right place when I saw a slow stream of little old retired ladies entering the front door of the church. Well, they were all bundled up, so it was difficult to tell, but the canes and plastic shopping bags definitely gave them away.

I walked in and went to the kitchen, where Peg told me she'd be. She greeted me enthusiastically, as I could tell she thought I might not show, especially after she added the "weird" element to her description of the
afternoon's events. She brought me into the meeting hall, where I was greeted by a little old retired lady in her late 70s, wearing a blue sweater vest, and her name, I kid you not, was Myrtle, Myrtle Anderson.

She was quick to brand me with a name tag. I got one of those peel and stick ones. If, and when, you are lucky enough to become a full-fledged member, you get a plastic tag that hangs around your neck by
a piece of yarn. (Hmmm, were my suspicions about the chanting 'round the yarn and the needles almost confirmed?)

Peg said she had to go back to the kitchen and went off, leaving me amid the sea of little old retired ladies that had begun to pool by the lunch tables.

I watched as they brought their collectibles to the designated "program" tables and unpack them. Myrtle was laying out her collection of, ehem, mugs. I'm jumping ahead here, but Myrtle's presentation went something like, "These are my four Currier and Ives mugs. These are my mugs from the bicentennial. Well, I've got over 70 mugs at home, and they're all getting' a little dusty. Perhaps when you all come over to see them; you can help me dust them."

[Post-It® Note to self: Remember to have a good excuse when Peg tells you that the next meeting's field trip is to Myrtle's house to see all 70 of her mugs. "Um, Peg, I'd love to, but I'm having my hip replacement and gall bladder surgery that day. Shucks. Too bad I can't make it."] I turned around, and when I saw the thimble collection, I was ready to bolt, but I kept thinking about the lasagna. All the lasagna you can eat for $2; my stomach told me I could not leave.

Anyway, while I was trying to look like I was engaged and socially involved, which is pretty hard to do when you're standing in the middle of a room all by your self, the President of the club came over to
greet me. Her name was Bertha, and she kind of reminded me of a shorter and stockier version of "Maude" (a.k.a. Bea Arthur), but without the long flowing sweater vest that Maude used to wear.

Bertha said excitedly, "Hi. You're new!"

(This also confirmed another suspicion I had that this Conshohocken Woman's Club just might be Conshohocken's answer to the Stepford Wives. That is, when I left the building, I might very well be wearing orthopedic pumps, carrying a plastic shopping bag, and have an urge to start a mug collection. Although, I shouldn't be so critical of the shoes, because most of their shoes looked a heck of a lot more comfortable than the Italian pointy-toe kitten-heel pumps that I had crammed my feet into that very morning.)

I said, "Yes. I'm Peg's friend, Jean."

And Bertha said, "Well, we so glad to have you, Jean. Since you're new, I'll have Mary Van Dam escort you through the luncheon line."

Wow, an escort through the lunch line! I hadn't been so celebrated since my son took me to the Mother-Son pancake breakfast at his elementary school cafeteria when he was in fourth grade.

Mary, who was at that moment unpacking what looked to be like some age-old sampler, glanced at me and eked out a tolerant smile. Bertha walked away, probably to do something very Presidential like to check and see if lunch was ready.

In an effort to acquaint myself with my escort, I commented on how lovely her sampler was, and she proceeded to tell me that it was a family heirloom, and her great, great, great, [oh, heck, maybe one or two more greats than that] grandfather was Captain Samuel Wilkins to which she added, "You know, the Captain Wilkins who bought Conshohocken from the Indians."

I smiled and said, "Oh, really", although I wanted to say, "Gee, I must have been absent from U.S. History class the day we learned that." I sensed she was somewhat of a genealogy snob, and thinking it was good to chat up my luncheon escort, I said, "In what year did he arrive in America?" She went on to say that he must have come on the something-something boat in 1638, and then she told me all about the Wilkins family, who married who, how this one had moved there, and so on.

When she finished, she said, "What about your ancestry?" I said, "Well, I think my relatives came on a boat steerage class in the late 1800s from Poland." She responded with "Oh." Of course, it was an "Oh" accompanied by that "Oh, damn. I just stepped in dog excrement" look. And I began to think, "Uh-oh, have I blown my chance to become a member, because I'm a mutt, and she's a Pekingese?" As always, I think of the good retort minutes later.

The correct response should have been "Well, do you remember the ships, the Nina, the Pinta, and the Santa Maria? Well, my relatives came over on the Santa Maria. You see my full name is Jean Columbus Khattar. Unfortunately, I had to marry beneath me, because my betrothed, Prince Fernando of Mallorca, was killed in a most tragic bullfighting accident."

Anyway, lunch was ready; either that or an angel got its wings, because a little bell was rung by Myrtle. Mary escorted me through the line, and I was invited to sit at a table with Mary and a gaggle of other women. Lunchtime chat was typical, although things got a little unpalatable when Mary began to discuss something about "blisters" that have developed behind her eyeballs and how they ooze, which made me question Mary's pedigree, well, at least, her judgment about acceptable lunchtime discussions.

We had cups, but I didn't see any pitchers of soft drinks, water, or milk on the table. What were we drinking with lunch, I wondered? Then, Myrtle appeared at my side with a coffee pot.

"Would you like some coffee? It's all decaf!"

Why is it that all little old retired women drink coffee with everything?

"Have a slice of this beef Wellington. And, you know, what would go good with that, dear?"

"Um, a glass of Chateau Margaux '59?"

"Heavens, no! A cup of decaf coffee, sweetie!"

And decaf? I guess when you're a little old retired lady, you get to enjoy life at a slower pace, hence, no caffeine required. Unlike me, a full-time working Mom whose daily motivation is the caffeine in her caramel latte that she drinks every morning on her way to work.

When lunch was over, well, I could tell, because the bell rang again, the tables were cleared, and Bertha headed up to the podium to call the meeting to order. After a few brief taps on the microphone, she greeted everyone, and then without warning, everyone started to rise. (I said to myself, "Hey, wait a minute, the bell didn't ring!")

I heard Bertha say, "And now the pledge...." Everyone put their hands over their hearts and started to say the Pledge of Allegiance. Jeepers. I hadn't said that since the sixth grade! (Of course, when I told my husband this he asked, "Did you even remember the words?") Shhh, honey! I'll never get into the Conshohocken Woman's Club if they know about my brief stint in the Communist Party, not to mention the fact that I voted for Perot that one time.)

After the pledge, everyone started to sing…"My Country 'Tis of Thee"! (Again, an event occurred without warning! Why isn't Myrtle ringing the bell so I know when something's going to happen? She must be over there dusting her mugs!)

After singing, everyone reseated themselves. The woman sitting across from me, got up, and walked up to the podium. She then proceeded to recant every thing said and done at the last meeting. Aha, she must be the "secretary"! And the secretary's speech went something like this...

"President Bertha greeted the group and said that she'd be going to Florida in February; therefore, Mary will preside over the next month's meeting. Treasurer Mary gave the financial statistics for the club's account and stated that we have $534.64 in said account." Every last little detail was mentioned; I was just waiting for her to say, "And then, Alice sneezed, and Bertha handed her a Kleenex and said "God bless you, Alice!"

After she was through, Treasurer Mary got up, and read every bank statement deposit by deposit. After that, she announce that the basket for the arts would be passed around for our spare change. Spare change for the basket for the arts? This was pretty cute. The basket went around from table to table, and everyone dumped all of the spare change from their wallets into the basket. The woman across from me told me that the money from this fund was given to the local schools to buy art supplies.

Then, the bell rang. No. I wish it did, because, as you can see, I had no idea what would happen next. Instead, President Bertha got back up and basically said, "Let the games begin." It was time for the collectibles!

First up was Myrtle with her mugs. She was cute I have to say. When she presented her bicentennial mugs and stated the date on them, which was 1776, someone in the audience murmured, "Hey, why that's the year we were all born!"

Next was a woman who collected music boxes.

Someone in the crowd said, "And, how many music boxes do you have?"

And she responded, "Well, only two." And, does two really qualify as a collection I asked myself?

Her music box was cute. It was from San Francisco. You pulled the trolley, and "I Left My Heart in San Francisco" played while the trolley traveled up a steep hill.

Next up was another lady, who collected thimbles at one time. She belonged to a thimble collector's club, and each month she was sent a thimble. All of the thimbles were displayed in a little wooden box, which look liked it would have hung on the wall; it was attractive, even though there were two tins of canned beets holding it up so it wouldn't fall over. But, I must say, they did not detract from its beauty.

During the course of her discussion, she divulged that most of the thimbles were made in China, were not worth much, and that she quit the thimble-of-the-month club when they sent her a particular thimble. She grabbed that thimble from the table and held it up so everyone could see. It was a thimble that resembled a Dutch windmill, complete with working windmill. She said, "It's not like this is a real thimble. I mean, you could never use this. And, it doesn't even fit in the box, so I have to put it on top like this."

And, she placed the thimble on top of the box and then was quick to point out that the tins of canned beets were in no way related to said thimble collection; that is, in addition to thimbles, she did not collect tins of canned beets. I was thinking, "Geez. Never mind it's a windmill, who uses thimbles anymore?! She'd be better off collecting tins of canned beets."

The ancestor-snob was up, and I'm not going to say much more about her, because, well, I just didn't dig her, and I was especially peeved that I didn't get to refer to my fake Columbus lineage.

Then came a really lovely woman, Lili Tott (I remember her, because I liked her name; my husband worked with a woman called Virginia Pynn. I liked that name so much I wrote it down to save, well, in case I ever needed to change my identity. Dear me, I do collect something; I collect names!) Lili prefaced her collection of antique kitchen utensils by saying, "My husband likes to collect stuff. So, I decided I could be all alone on the weekend or start collecting something, so I could go out collecting with him on the weekends. I decided to collect old kitchen utensils and that I wouldn't pay more than $10 for any one of them." She held up an egg picker-upper-thingie, which she said was probably used when "people used to pickle eggs", she had a pie crust tool, a pair of tongs, and after describing each item, she added, "And, this would look good hanging on the kitchen wall." I don't know about you, but I have a strong suspicion that her kitchen wall is covered with old kitchen utensils.

She was followed by a woman with an interesting long gray ponytail with thick black-rimmed glasses (kind of that 50s-60s beatnik look), who had brought her copy of Flaubert's Madam Bovary, which she purchased at a second-hand bookstore when she attended N.Y.U in 1947. Inside the book, the original owner had pasted a copy of an article by Emile Zola, who had written about Flaubert. (This collectible prompted the first "oohs" and "aaahs" from the audience.)

Next was the woman who collected horse figurines. She said her toy horse collection took up a good part of her basement and that her mother said her first word was "horse". She also added at how peeved her husband was that her horse collection took up a good part of their home. "Honey, can you move a few of these horses, so I can install the flat screen TV on the wall?" I could definitely relate, because I realized how peeved my own husband must be, because our closets overflowed with my endless supply of vintage clothes.

Then was the woman who had several trinkets from her grandmother; there was a watch, a watch fob, a hair pin (she recalled being six, sitting on her grandmother's bed, watching her brush her long hair, which was so long that her grandmother could actually sit on her own hair), a painting (this was done by her grandmother who was an artist), a piece of mourning jewelry (actually, I found mourning jewelry really intriguing; this was a
pin with locks of hair from several deceased people), and so on. Even though they were "collectibles", she had a nice story to tell about her grandmother with each object. It was touching.

Finally, the President showed her collection of stuffed rabbits. She prefaced her rabbit discussion by saying, "I don't collect rabbits; they collect me." She then went to say that this whole rabbit thing started way back when she was a Kindergarten teacher
at the tender age of 22. Her principal insisted that she have a pet in her classroom, so the principal brought her some kind of exotic rabbit. Unfortunately, the rabbit died shortly thereafter, and all the children were devastated.

So, she called "the guy from the humane society", and he suggested a duck. By the by, her name was Bertha Slate, and when she said talked about the "guy from the humane society" she said, and his name was John Slate. Get it? This was her future husband.

She went on to say that the duck ended up dying tragically. As it turned out, they had radiant heat in the floors, and the duck, being a duck, couldn't handle the heat on his webbed feet. The principal was concerned about the dead duck and disease, so they shipped the duck off for an autopsy to make sure he died of natural causes.

The report said that the heat had shriveled up the duck's lungs. Yuk! So, she needed another pet; thus, what was she to do but contact the "guy from the humane society" again. So, 1+1=2, and 44 years later, she's still married to the guy from the humane society. Cute, huh? I think so.

After that, the meeting ended. No. No bell. No pomp and circumstance. No closing ceremonies.

Peg came up to me, and I thanked her for inviting me. But, as all good things must come to an end, I asked Peg if I might join (yes, I know; I'm crazy), and she said, "Oh, well, to join, you have to live or work in Conshohocken." So, as quickly as it started, it all ended, which was I guess Fate's way of telling me I am not yet meant to be a little old retired lady. Humph. But, but, but, I'm related to Christopher Columbus, won't you reconsider? And, I so want to have the excuse of being a little old retired lady if just so I can wear the sensible shoes!

Although, some of it was, as Peg said, "weird" and just plain corny, it renewed my faith in, well, life, and my life. So, by day, I'm a stressed out full-time working Mom, but by night, I will strive to remember to live my life like I'm a little old retired lady…recite the Pledge of Allegiance more often, drink decaf coffee, collect mugs and kitchen utensils just because, try to love all things, especially rabbits, horses, thimbles, ducks, grandmothers, and life as it is, have good stories to tell, and especially to strive for and cherish the simpler life.