misery

Andrew and Molly Part 21

Molly was exhausted. The work of her farm, family, responsibility for her indentured servants was unrelenting. Ailing since he was injured in the Indian attack, Bartles had never enjoyed a full return to health. Lately, his left leg dragged a bit and his mouth drew to the left. In the short time since his return, Andrew had picked up most of Bartles’ work. Molly could see the relief on Bartles’s face.

Aggie was grateful to have Bartles about the house with her and kept the little girls at her side when Rosemarie was too busy to care for them leaving Molly free for other duties. Jamie kept busy following everyone at their farm tasks.

Though she appreciated Aggie’s help, Molly regretted not being able to tend her own house and children. She was worried about being able to care for four little ones should she not be able to keep Rosemarie once the baby was weaned. Orphaned herself, she felt for the wee mite but wasn’t anxious to take on another child. It seemed like everytime her life was looking better there was another bump in the road.

Even the baby did not lie abed. Though it was early, he was on his way into town wrapped in a sling on Rosemarie’s back. The storeowner’s wife stopped her to talk after Rosemarie gave her the list. “I heard you’d lost your baby but here you are with one strapped to your back! How’d you get another so fast?” she asked snidely.

Knowing her place, Rosemarie avoided the discussion as much as possible. “This is not my babe. Mistress Wharton has me minding the baby her man Andrew brought when he escaped from the Indians. I’d best go. Mistress Wharton won’t like me gossiping.”

Andrew and Molly Part 2

img_1702img_1704After filling their starving bellies with greasy stew and quarts of ale, Andrew and Molly  signed away their next four years, too sated to consider the uncertainty of the life facing them.  In fact, they were signing away the certainty of poverty, degradation, and possible imprisonment had they remained.  

In that time, people could not expect to rise above their station.  Having lost the position as farm servants to which they were born, it was unlikely they’d ever find anything more than seasonal farm employment, working mostly at planting or harvest when the workload was heavy.  Starvation would likely have been their eventual lot.  Should they stay in the city, it’s unlikely they’d find work.  Many in their situation drifted into prostitution and crime.  It is likely Molly would have dried of disease, drink, or victimization on the streets and Andrew would have ended up on the gallows or bound over as an involuntary indentured servant.   Their best chance for a better life lay with the choice they’d made.

Once they’d signed, the agent wasted no time escorting  them on board the Elizabeth Ann.  She looked imposing from without, but her charm faded as Mr. Peabody led them deep into the bowels of the ship.  Their quarters in the lowest level were dark, wet, and malodorous.  There was no provision for privacy.  They’d be relieving themselves in the communal slop jar, which would ostensibly be dumped periodically, unless it tipped over first.  

Hammocks served for sleeping.  There were no other furnishings.  Restricted below deck until after sailing to avoid defection, they got a measure of beer and weevilly biscuits three times a day.  The smell was horrendous.  After their first exhausted sleep, they awoke to find themselves a part of a growing crowd of voluntary and involuntary holdmates ranging from bonded servants like themselves to young children scooped up off the street all the way to prostitutes and hardened criminals who’d barely escaped the gallows.  The strong preyed on the weak.  Their miserable sleep was interrupted by vomiting, moaning, and the occasional fight.  Periodically, the door above opened and another unfortunate joined their miserable lot.

In truth, indentured servants were enslaved for the period of their indenture, usually four to seven years, children till the age of twenty-one.  Their bondage could be sold without their consent.  Marriage required the master’s consent.  Should women become pregnant, their period of servitude could be extended due to decreased productivity during the pregnancy.  Children of unwed mothers were born free, but subject to being placed in the care of the church.  Unlike slaves, the indentured could appeal to the courts to contest mistreatment and did receive twenty-five to fifty acres of land, some tools, seed, and clothing upon completing their service.  Like slaves, they were most often ill-treated.  Having come to the colony in this way was no impediment to their future.  

Many bonded servants prospered and got a good start to a free life.  It definitely could be a road to a better life.

Sew and Sew Part 3

Home Economics in ninth grade pushed me a little harder. I had to make a two piece outfit with a collar, long sleeves, and cuffs with buttons. That meant lots of buttonholes since the blouse buttoned up the back. The skirt had to have pockets, a zipper,a set in waste band and a kick pleat. It taxed me. I ripped out at least half my stitches and redid them. Sewing a straight seam is harder than it looks. To make matters worse, the teacher assigned a home sewing project with the same specifications as the in class project due at the end of same grading period.

The home sewing project was a bigger challenge since I didn’t have the teacher casting her expert eye on every stitch I made. In theory, I would remember all the skills I’d learned in class and practice them on the home project. Sadly, I’d retained little. I struggled with every step. Of course, I didn’t get right on it, so my meagre skills diminished as each day passed. That project was a total misery, but I did finally get a barely acceptable product turned in. I was grateful for a c+ on it.

A couple of girls in the class turned in projects made by their mothers and got A s. I was so jealous!

I wore both those outfits till they wore out. After I struggled through that class, I had sufficient skills to start making my own clothes, though I still had a lot to learn.

Kathleen Carries On Part 10 Or Peel It Off

Long ago in a land faraway, no decent woman, no matter how svelte, would have been caught going without a tortuous girdle. Mother was a decent woman. Just before embarking on a train trip to visit her family in Texas, she updated her wardrobe with the latest in girdles, a latex model interspersed with tiny holes for ventilation. After struggling into it on the morning of her departure, she was gratified to notice it was all its designers had promised. Her backside and belly were flat as a board, just as she’d hoped. Moreover, the girdle fit snugly without lines to show through her sleek skirt. Though she craved a backside and belly flat as an ironing board, she felt a curvy bosom was just the look she needed, an easy fix. Sliding foam rubber falsies into the empty cups of her new bra, she looked good!

Rounding up her six-year-old and three-year old daughters and eight-month-old baby, she slipped into her new patent leather high heels so Bill could take her to the train. It felt wonderful knowing she looked so shapely.

The long train trip was an intimidating prospect for a mother traveling with three little ones. Her diaper bag, travel bag, and purse were stuffed with bottles, snacks, toys, books, drinks, lunch, and changes of clothes for the little ones. The little girls helped with the parcels and bags, but Kathleen was constantly on the alert for their loss. The high humidity and heat made all of them miserable. The baby whined and the three -year-old fidgeted. Kathleen drank and ate as little as possible to keep bathroom trips to a minimum, but naturally, the girls made up for it. Six long hours later, her folks met them at the depot. The grandparents joyously relieved her of the children and her burdens. Because the fierce heat had dehydrated her, she’d only had to relieve herself once early in the trip, a mercy. She was dying for a drink of water and the bathroom once she got to comfort of her parent’s house. The bathroom was her first stop. The girdle had gotten really snug with the cooperation of her body temperature and the blazing South Texas heat. Dancing with the demands of her bladder, it took a bit to work her fingers under the damp, rubbery girdle. Impatiently, she gave it a tug, snatching it down in desperation. Aghhhhh! It felt as though she was being skinned. As she had perspired and moved about, her much more compliant skin worked itself into the ventilation holes of the industrial strength girdle. Upon removal, rubber monster left her covered in tiny red blisters from her waist to her thighs. As if that weren’t enough, the rubber falsies had blistered her bosoms.

The foundation garments hit the trash and on her trip home, she sported a flat chest and bouncy bottom. Live and learn.

Nursing Slip Up

I was reporting back to a doctor on his agitated emergency room patient I had just been caring for.  Meaning to say, “He was really bucking and fighting.” I got tangled up and said “f–cking and biting.”  Trying to recover before the doc reacted, I snapped back,” but fortunately I didn’t get bit!”

Nurse’s Nightmare

Even though I’m long retired I am long retired, I still torment myself with the occasional work anxiety dream. Last night, I treated myself to another.

I found myself back in my unit, desperate over the late start. Once there, instead of the highly trained, caring, and professional staff I expected, I was met by a madhouse of crazed clowns led by Nurse Ratched and the psychotic nurse Annie Wilkes, from the movie, Misery. Patients were lying on the floor, falling out of bed, and dumped into trash cans, arms and legs askew. The macabre nurses blocked me at every turn as I struggled to rescue patients. The unit was littered with feces, blood, and filthy dressings strewn on the floor, a nurse’s worst nightmare.

If that weren’t enough, just as the madness peaked, the CEO of nurses marched in, leading a group from Joint commission of American Hospitals, an unannounced visit to rate our services. I’ve never met any hospital staff who don’t dread this. When I saw their stern faces, I realized I’d forgotten to renew my nursing license. The CEO gestured to an officer. “Book’er Danno”

I was so glad to wake up.

Grandma and the Coat from Hell

Repost

Since there were five kids in our family, Grandma did her best to help out when she could. Sometimes I still hate her for it. Once she went to the Goodwill Store and bought me the ugliest coat in the world. I didn’t have a problem with Goodwill. It was ugly that bothered me. It was a knee-length brown hounds-tooth wool dress coat of the style not Continue reading →

Nursing Slip Up

I was reporting back to a doctor on his agitated emergency room patient I had just been caring for.  Meaning to say, “He was really bucking and fighting.” I got tangled up and said “f–cking and biting.”  Trying to recover before the doc reacted, I snapped back,” but fortunately I didn’t get bit!”

Poor, Sweet Emma Lou (from my mother’s memoirs of the 1930’s)

When my mother Lizzie left Virginia as a young bride around 1913, she was most lonesome for her baby sister, Emma Lou, a precious blue-eyed blonde of eight. Emma Lou had been born when Grandma Sarah Perkins was past forty. Grandma must have been dismayed by a burst of fertility, eventually giving birth to five more children, the last Continue reading →