"Overdone and Undercooked" Newspaper Columns©

Mrs. Mortimer then told us our first assignment.  “Teach the class something you know.  The students (your peers) will individually Grade your overall achievement.”

The only thing I could think of was making carrot juice with my Juicer.  I dragged my Juicer to school. It was heavy and awkard. And the acoustics engineered for high quality made it a nitemare. And since we were in a huge auditorium with rows of seating I knew immeadiatly I brought a wrong thing to bring to school.

It was so LOUD in the auditorium .  No one could hear me.  The screaming juicer  got every one laughing.

Once the Juicer of carrot juice was full a student voluntered to help me pass the juice around to my classmates.  The reviews: Where half the class laughing.  Another half passing around the juice.  And others were saying the juice was good.  But everyone agreed it was too LOUD to hear you.  Others said it was a “Good Presentation.”

However, there were two student presentation’s that I will never forget.

One was an Old Hippie.  She brought down the screen on the stage.  She told us that she was a Ghost Hunter.  Her slides were dark and scary.  Her audio of her encounters with Ghosts made us all feel “Someone is walking over my grave”

The other was a quiet woman probably in her 40’s who came up onto the stage with nothing.

She was the last speaker of the day.  She started to talk about Parrots.

Suddenly she stops talking and starts to open her closed jacket.  And inside on her shoulder was her Parrot!!  It had sat on her shoulder inside her jacket during all the presentations.

She said the Parrot was ill.  She had been pulling out it’s feathers.  She explained why and the Parrot never spoke and did not leave her shoulder.  She got massive applause from all the other students!!   I was enjoying school and reqretted so much that I had never attended before.

When I was young and lived with my parents my mother used to tell me I was just a renter.  My father used to tell me women just get married so why waste and education on a housewife.

Was that their thinking or societies in the 1960’s.

INTRO TO PUBLIC SPEAKING-COLLEGE STRATEGIES-ELEMENT OF ARITHMETIC

The Art of Public Speaking

The Speech class held in a large theatre stadium with a full-size stage at the front.  I entered to see sitting students spread out among the comfortable theater chairs.  Barely looking over the top of the microphone on stage our teacher introduced herself as Mrs. Mortimore.  She read from the Curriculum (with an actress’ voice) that was handed to us as we entered the room.

When asked a question she would put her palms together with fingers of both hands spread and fingertips touching,  stare at you with purse lips untill finally she would answer.

In Speech there were so many students that Mrs. Mortimor divided us up into groups.  Our first day we formed a circle on stage as we all held hands—one by one introducing ourselves with just our first name that we were to shout out!  Then back to are seats to hear her lecture.

“Trust is established through congruence-that perfect alignment between what is being said and the body language that accompanies it.  If a speaker’s gestures are not in full agreement with the spoken words, the audience consciously or subconsciously perceives duplicity, uncertainty, or (at the very least) internal conflict.”

Later we sat back in our circle on the stage.  We were to tell a small story about ourselves.  I told the story of my crazy dog – a Jack Russel Terrier who loved to run.  We called him Biscuit who liked to trek through our field.  One day the Dog Catcher showed up.  We were outside the house and watched as the Dog Catcher  chased and yelled and ole Biscuit started barking and running faster.

Finally, the out of breath dog catcher hollered up to us at the house.  ”Do you own this dog?”  We said, “No.”  Everyone laughed and it felt good.  The last thing I wanted to talk about was the fact my life was falling apart.”

Mrs. Mortimor then told us our first assignment.   Teach the class something you know.

 

INTRO TO PUBLIC SPEAKING-COLLEGE STRATEGIES-ELEMENTS OF ARITHMETIC

My first day of Math class I arrived to see all the students lined up against the wall.   “What’s happening?” I asked a student.   She looked like she still belonged in Junior High in her pink shorts, pink tank top and pink flip flops.  Except that both her ear lobes stretched and adorned with silver tunnels that let me see right through her ear.

“The door to the classroom is locked.”  She said and popped her gum.  I nodded. Thanks, and just tried to glance away from her ears.

Being a Community college, everyone was different ages.  That was comforting I guess, except for the fact I hated being so close to 60 and feeling like I had lost my grip on my life.  I waited for the teacher, with everyone else leaning against the wall.

When she approached, I thought she was just another pretty student.  She looked like a ballet dancer walking towards us with such light quick steps.  Her dark hair and smooth complexion, beauty and brains I thought. Later she told the class she was from India.

The room had round tables with 4 chairs. Everyone just found a seat an sat down. The teacher told us to introduce ourselves to each other and to call her Ms. Helena. It wasn’t long before my favorite co-student at the table was Marcus, he was funny and as bad at Math as me.

Our Teacher Ms. Helena was delightful.  All enthusiasm about Math.  As school progressed it was apparent to the teacher that I needed the bare basic:

Multiplication and Fractions.

 

Oh gawd, this was going to be Hell.  School and I have never had a good history.  But me and math had even a worst relationship.  It’s funny because as an adult I escaped anything that had to do with math.  I don’t know how many people, knew how frozen  I would become trying to figure out math.

One slight problem I could not start cooking in the kitchen until  I passed Math! and Speech by the end of the quarter.  Great.  More pressure.  That is all I needed.

Except for one thing the Financial aid money that will let me survive the rest of this year.

Oh boy.  When I was 16 in 1969 my mother had made all my clothes –typical of the day.  I wanted her to stop and she said if I wanted store bought clothes then get a job.  So, I did at K-mart.

I worked inside a long circular enclosed area that held fancy candy.  I was a chocoholic, so i did find a few that were running loose and I had to knock them over and eat them.  I had only been there three months and was called into the upstairs office.

They told me.  I was Fired.  Why?  I kinda knew it had to be few fancy chocolates missing.  But NO, that wasn’t it at all.  They said I had been stealing money.

Of course I had not stolen any money, but what I didn’t tell them was that I did not know how to count change!

Huge embarrassment at 16.

The beginning in my life full of embarrassment.

 

“Brian, it is . . .hard for me to talk to a total stranger like you, about me.  I have always been a private person. I already have been so exposed with NO privacy to Attorneys and a Judge and even Police.

“I assisted my husband by calling on the phone to solicit for new business.”  He was self-employed.

Brian sat still for a minute and then he leaned forward and started to rattle off a bunch of Classes.  I stopped him at Culinary, which would earn me an AA degree.  School at age 57?  Me an AA degree?  Wow. That would actually be awesome.  Giving Brian a nod.

Brian’s eyebrows formed a V and then his big smile raised them up.  ”I can see it now.  (Gesturing with his palms up) You are a Chef and working maybe in beautiful hotels or working on a Cruise Ship.  Or better yet a cooking show?

His comment energized me more than anything else had in months!

“Well, school will give you a new life.  It also will provide you computer skills and develop resume writing, interviewing, and job search skills.  I promise Jillie you will become self-sufficient.  However you will have to work at it just like everything else in life.  But first you have some prerequisite.  Will have to take a test to see what level your skills are at.”

‘Test’s,” I said grimacing.

Later that week I found out the results of my test!  I had three classes: Student strategy, Speech and the worst one. . .MATH.  Math?  I still had to count on all my fingers and toes. Oh no.  Oh no.

I also did not have multiplication memorized as well and to tell you the truth.

I never learned how to count change.

 

You have dreams of cooking, but there is no one to cook for.  You have dreams of entertaining and buying those new sets of dishes, but there is no one to eat off them.  My old world (5 months ago) was made up of high-energy, high-maintenance fun given to others.  Going through a divorce has crippled and paralyzed me so deep and for so long.

The fears come.  The fears of not being hired, not fitting in, walking the streets with all my belongings inside a shopping cart…not being alive enough because you have been dead for so long.

“I’m a mess Brian, right now.” I sucked in air and let it out again slowly.  “I guess the term Displaced Homemaker fits me.  I hate the word displaced.  I don’t know how, when suddenly I came face to face with my entire life gone.

I am 57 years old and my husband had three degrees and three designations.  The only reason I am here is because the Judge told me too.  Because I only have a high school education.  The Judge also said that you could help me financially.”

“Yes. Yes.” Brian said, he had listened to me in silence.  “We can get some grants and financial aid. “Did you read the summer schedule that starts in August? “To be honest Brian I couldn’t think straight enough or keep the tears out of my eyes long enough to read the summer schedule.”

Brian thinks for a minute and then says, “Let’s look at this as just one day at a time.  You only have tomorrow to face.  Jillie think of coming to us is like a “Fill-in-the-blank Dream” you can pick anything that is on our class schedule.

I laughed.  I like Brian.

I realize you have been a housewife, but did you do any work outside of the house?”

 

On the Judge’s order I had been waiting in the office of the local technical  college school counselor, Brian Thomas, for about 15 minutes.  Enough time to read his degrees on the wall.

The door has opened and Thomas headed straight for his desk.  He had a water bottle in one hand and paper in the other and shut the door with his foot.  Smiling with bushy eyebrows that raised up and lowered with his smile.  He at once apologized for being late.  “Jillie is it?”

“Yes.”  “Well, that is unusual.” He gave me a hmmm-what-do-we-have here head tilt.  “Well, actually it is Jill but it is a nickname cause I could’nt say it when I was little.  “Oh, so you have a lot of family here,” said Brian.

I always hate this question.  It is uncomfortable for everyone when I say, No.

“Actually, I have no close family left just my adult Daughter.”  ‘Oh, Geeze I’m sorry.” Brian’s head went down and he shuffled through some paper on his desk. “Let me look at your application here.”

“Oh, well I see that you should start in the … he squinted his eyes at the paper…Displaced Homemaker Program.”

“What?”  I questioned.  He continued. “Yes, the Displaced Homemaker Program.  It is for a displaced homemaker.  Someone who, after serving as an unpaid Homemaker for many years is forced to join the paid workforce due to a Separation, Divorce, Disability or Death of a Spouse or Significant other.

I hung my head, as a tear rolled down my face.  “Gawd, I’m sorry Jillie, “he muttered.

It was the best of times and the worst of times, but it was the only time I knew….being  homemaker.  Now the title feels like a cold dark lake.  I do not what to plunge in there–you have no idea what kind of bacteria is lurking around.

Displaced, is  a gawd awful word.  Roof tiles are displaced when dislodged from a Tornado!

And that is exactly how I felt when my daughter had the nerve to grow up and leave.  Suddenly, I had the urge to jump out of my chair run to the Grocery store and buy a Family Pack just for ole time’s sake.

How to you just turned it off?  I do not get it.  Being a homemaker was all I know.

There is symbolism here with being  a DISPLACED HOMEMAKER.

 

I hear the Judge, but I’m lost in my thoughts.  Two days ago I had to back up my grocery cart and I heard a man’s voice behind me.  He touched me in the small of my back.  His hand stayed there for a while as there was a three-way cart pile up.  The touch sent me off.  I have been touched for 39 years.  Held, hugged, squeezed, wrapped around softly, gently, and it made me long to be touched again.  I turned to look at the small, little old man.  He will never know how wonderful his touch felt.

I miss being married.  I have no business being here.  This can’t be happening.  My attorney, Heidi, said nothing.  There was more silence.

Then suddenly AFM flipped out!  She spit words at the Judge like a staple gun,  talking about Nick as if God had sent him from Heaven.

SWACK the Judge got everyones attention again making good use of his gavel.  “QUIET!” Judge told AFM.  Things happened very quickly after that.  The Judge said, since I did not work as I was a housewife, (all the years of working side-by-side I never took a paycheck) the fact that Nick didn’t show up in Court, the Judge considered him Guilty.  And Nick was the only bread winner, all of the Bills would be his responsibilty!

The Judge warned that this was going to be complicated.  I had better find some money fast, so he suggested that I go to Displaced Homemaker School Program and Financial Aid and that this was all temporary… until the next and final trial date on MARCH 21.  One Year From Now.

The Judge shook his head.  He slowly looked up and said, in a nasal droning voice one more word.

“NEXT.”

Every time “Heidi” (my new nickname) for my young inexperienced attorney tries to speak or interrupt or argue a point AFM runs over her like a popped pimple.

The Judge, with his chin in both hands, is gazing  intently at the AFM’S chest, legs?  He looks like- oh, I don’t know- in love?  “Judge, this poor man cannot possibly pay any bills,” AMF says, with a tilt of her head and a big, sad, sigh. AFM is an obvious college graduate.  I see no ring on her finger.  She didn’t need it-she oozed confidence.  I wish I could say the same for myself. I could feel my blood boil and I hate, hate, hate, that I look at her enviously.

“We must sell the house immedately!” stomped the AFM.

WHAT !  NOW THIS IS CRAZY.  Sell the house?  Where will I live?  I have no skills.  I have no education. I start to babble in a choked voice when Heidi pinches my elbow. I look down at her she raises her eyebrows trying to convey maxium “shush” and she shakes her head gently and mouth’s the word “NO”.

This is irrational.  I have  to say something.  I feel punctured.  The AFM glares at me as if I had worn the wrong perfume.  I’m just like “okaaaaay…” to the second pinch.  My life has disappeared.  Fear is my new life and now is a bad attorney with bad advice going to make this worse?

SLAM

The Judge HAD found a gavel and the courtroom went silent.

The Judge spoke. “You,” looking directly at me, as I stood between both attorneys. I stare back at the Judge in dumb confusion.  “You realize this is a huge mistake.  Financially it will ruin you.”

The three of us stood there stiff and silent for endless minutes.  The Judge kind of drew himself up, took a deep breath and said, “In case you didn’t hear me.  I will say it again.  It seems to me after 39 years of marriage it would be a lot easier just to stay together then to face what is ahead of you.  You are facing financial ruin.  Why can’t you work this out?  Do you want this divorce?”

NO! NO! NO! NO!  I want to scream, but now Heidi has grasped my arm untill it hurts. With mental telepathy I’m trying to get the Judge to hear me.  Judge, listen, REALLY? I want to save my husband. Oh, please.  I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs.   I wanted to throw my hands up and look toward the ceiling searching for someone to help me.

I had never seen a  Judge before.  In my mind he would wear a flowing black robe and hold a gavel.  Instead, he wears a suit and a troubled look.   We (the Judge, me and my new young attorney are waiting for the “Attorney for Men.” AFM.  She is late.

Us and the entire courtroom (who are these people in the bleachers?) can hear the “Attorney for Men” coming down the hall.  How?  The tap-tap-tap on the marble courtroom floor is escalating like a fast-moving Gazelle being chased by a Cheetah.  It is the clatter that only stiletto heels can make.

Everyone has turned towards the huge double door entry to the courtroom.  I hold my breath.  I feel as if I am watching a Super Bowl TV commercial-in slow motion.  Tan long legs, strapped in six-inch heels appear first in the doorway.  Followed by a thigh peeking through a slit in a cream color pencil skirt.  A sheer long sleeved blouse, teenage long hair bounces behind her like it had never seen a bad hair day and dares you to think it had.

I look at the Judge.  Who is looking at her.  I look at the people in the bleachers. Who are also looking at her.  I look at my attorney.  Out of the blue her hair is now in tight Heidi braids.  A white peasant top with puffy sleeves.  A dirndl skirt with suspenders, bare feet, and, I swear she is holding a can of milk next to the cow behind her.

Well, that’s it.  I’m dead.