Work

 

 

When asked about work, for some reason, my mind takes a sharp turn to childhood jobs:  hanging newly washed laundry on the line, hemming skirts and dresses, babysitting, turning over the earth in our early spring gardens, planting seeds, weeding beds, harvesting vegetables and berries, peeling fruits and vegetables for canning—the apples and tomatoes most of all—and raking the autumn leaves that pile up on the lawns.   I’d add high school and college jobs here as well, short order cook and server in an inner city corner store, dishwasher, library aid, proofreader, and envelope stuffer.   

I’m surprised my thoughts take such a turn, because my life calling was to be a teacher, and I spent my entire life teaching—whether high school English, college freshman writing, Quaker Sunday school, or my main love, theatre. In fact, the thing I most appreciate about being a resident at Simpson House is being in the company of so many teachers.

So what do the earlier, childhood jobs have to do with teaching?  I think they have to do with being useful and finding the link between the earth and its people.  Even the college dishwashing, hands gloved and feet standing on wet floors, taking the used dishes from a window that only showed the midriff of each person helped with this learning.  I remember the time I feared I would be fired.  I had dropped a bowl into the garbage disposal, and the entire line ground to a halt.  I picked out the pieces I could see, but couldn’t restart the machine.  My boss came over and switched the breaker on and off, threw up his hands and made a phone call.  By then I was sitting on a wooden chair and crying.  He stood close to me and asked, “Do you think you’ll do that again?”  I doubted I would make the same mistake again.  But I did.  I don’t remember how the line came back on.  I don’t remember cleaning up the mess and leaving a clean kitchen, but I remember walking away thinking that could survive mistakes. I know this was a lesson I learned over and over.

It's awesome and humbling to be human and to work with other humans who, like me, are not perfect but are again and again picking up something they don’t know and attempting it.  Whether to error or to a break through, we carry that spark of liveliness which occasionally rises to the sublime.

Each task is a sea / raging and pulling at me / I love being on earth.

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© 2024 Susan L. Chast

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