January 1, 2020...a new decade.
Thought we would have flying cars and all that cool George Jetson technology by now. But we do have the Dick Tracy Wrist Watch Two-Way Radio, now called an Apple Smart Watch. Still waiting for Star Trek warp drives, transporters and fazers. Soon.
The new decade began with a bank overdraft. Damn! I was waiting for the new tax year to transfer money from the IRA to cover planned expenses and I immediately did so this morning...to arrive next Monday because of holidays and weekends? Cash flows slowly into the checking account and at the speed of light out of the checking account. Connie's response was, "We'll go down the the bank and yell at them!" My fierce woman.
It made me remember the time 3 years ago after Connie's knee replacement when I needed a document notarized. Two previous trips to the bank had been unsuccessful. On this third attempt Connie, with her cane, and I waited for 30 minutes for the Asst. Branch Manager to come down from lunch. Finally we were seated at her desk and I presented my documents. She glanced at them quickly and said with a self important tone, "We do not notarize documents like this." After having been told on two previous occasions that they would be able to help us. After scheduling this and two previous meetings. After waiting for 30 minutes. My face got red and I immediately stood up and said "Connie, let's go before I say something I will regret." I headed for the door.
She was alarmed at my obvious displeasure and immediately rose to my defense. She struggled to stand, turned and faced the crowded lobby. She raised her cane like a shot-gun, swept it across the room and said loudly "THIS IS SO WRONG!" The room froze. People stared open mouthed not knowing whether to run or drop to the floor.
I quickly returned and ushered my fierce woman out of the bank. I'm sure the video footage of the incident still exists in some electronic security file. We never returned to that branch. I'm sure we have been banned.
Another fierce woman memory surfaced. It was the summer between my junior and senior year in high school. I was working at Howard Johnson's as a soda jerk and as a maintenance/groundskeeper at several local motels. But I wanted to play football in my senior year and needed to attend summer practice, so I needed to scale back on the work. When I explained it to my boss at one motel he got nasty. "After all I have done for you? You're done! You'll never work at another motel in Thornton Heights when I'm through with you. I'm firing you!" I was shocked. I headed for home.
My mother sensed that I was upset and when I explained what happened her face set in an angry scowl. "Come with me." she ordered. I remember walking fast to keep up with her to the motel office. She walked up to the motel manager, her eyes flashing and put her finger in his face. "Don't you ever threaten my son! Do you understand me?" she yelled through clenched teeth. I thought she was going to slug him. He nodded, she wheeled around and we marched back home in silence. My fierce mother.
And then when I was six, living on Lincoln Avenue in Barton Vermont, I used to hang around with a couple thirteen year old boys, Dale Smith and Parke Webster. We would play ball in the large front yard with the other kids and the big boys would push us down and laugh. One day the screen door flew open and Mom who had been watching through the window launched down the stairs. She attacked Parke, threw him to the ground and sat on him. She pinned his arms and spoke angrily directly into his face. He squealed like a pig. Finally she let him up and he ran home. Never got pushed down again. Not by him.
However, walking home from second grade, some tough neighborhood kids did knock me down. When I got home and told Mom she said "Did you fight back?" No, I said and she got angry with me."Tomorrow you fight back! Don't let them bully you!" she said emphatically. The next day I did. When I came home dirty and with a ripped shirt, She said "Did you win." I said "I don't know." But the bullying stopped.
Just talked to my sister and she reminded me of so many more examples where the women of our family, older and younger, stood up and dished it out. It's genetic or at least ingrained and imprinted on us all. Fight for that worth fighting for. Fierce women. We love em.
Just be aware of the video cameras...
Thought we would have flying cars and all that cool George Jetson technology by now. But we do have the Dick Tracy Wrist Watch Two-Way Radio, now called an Apple Smart Watch. Still waiting for Star Trek warp drives, transporters and fazers. Soon.
The new decade began with a bank overdraft. Damn! I was waiting for the new tax year to transfer money from the IRA to cover planned expenses and I immediately did so this morning...to arrive next Monday because of holidays and weekends? Cash flows slowly into the checking account and at the speed of light out of the checking account. Connie's response was, "We'll go down the the bank and yell at them!" My fierce woman.
It made me remember the time 3 years ago after Connie's knee replacement when I needed a document notarized. Two previous trips to the bank had been unsuccessful. On this third attempt Connie, with her cane, and I waited for 30 minutes for the Asst. Branch Manager to come down from lunch. Finally we were seated at her desk and I presented my documents. She glanced at them quickly and said with a self important tone, "We do not notarize documents like this." After having been told on two previous occasions that they would be able to help us. After scheduling this and two previous meetings. After waiting for 30 minutes. My face got red and I immediately stood up and said "Connie, let's go before I say something I will regret." I headed for the door.
She was alarmed at my obvious displeasure and immediately rose to my defense. She struggled to stand, turned and faced the crowded lobby. She raised her cane like a shot-gun, swept it across the room and said loudly "THIS IS SO WRONG!" The room froze. People stared open mouthed not knowing whether to run or drop to the floor.
I quickly returned and ushered my fierce woman out of the bank. I'm sure the video footage of the incident still exists in some electronic security file. We never returned to that branch. I'm sure we have been banned.
Another fierce woman memory surfaced. It was the summer between my junior and senior year in high school. I was working at Howard Johnson's as a soda jerk and as a maintenance/groundskeeper at several local motels. But I wanted to play football in my senior year and needed to attend summer practice, so I needed to scale back on the work. When I explained it to my boss at one motel he got nasty. "After all I have done for you? You're done! You'll never work at another motel in Thornton Heights when I'm through with you. I'm firing you!" I was shocked. I headed for home.
My mother sensed that I was upset and when I explained what happened her face set in an angry scowl. "Come with me." she ordered. I remember walking fast to keep up with her to the motel office. She walked up to the motel manager, her eyes flashing and put her finger in his face. "Don't you ever threaten my son! Do you understand me?" she yelled through clenched teeth. I thought she was going to slug him. He nodded, she wheeled around and we marched back home in silence. My fierce mother.
And then when I was six, living on Lincoln Avenue in Barton Vermont, I used to hang around with a couple thirteen year old boys, Dale Smith and Parke Webster. We would play ball in the large front yard with the other kids and the big boys would push us down and laugh. One day the screen door flew open and Mom who had been watching through the window launched down the stairs. She attacked Parke, threw him to the ground and sat on him. She pinned his arms and spoke angrily directly into his face. He squealed like a pig. Finally she let him up and he ran home. Never got pushed down again. Not by him.
However, walking home from second grade, some tough neighborhood kids did knock me down. When I got home and told Mom she said "Did you fight back?" No, I said and she got angry with me."Tomorrow you fight back! Don't let them bully you!" she said emphatically. The next day I did. When I came home dirty and with a ripped shirt, She said "Did you win." I said "I don't know." But the bullying stopped.
Just talked to my sister and she reminded me of so many more examples where the women of our family, older and younger, stood up and dished it out. It's genetic or at least ingrained and imprinted on us all. Fight for that worth fighting for. Fierce women. We love em.
Just be aware of the video cameras...
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