Covid Journal, Day 355: International Women's Day

29 and clear again this morning. It's supposed to warm up to almost 60. We'll see.

Today is International Women's Day. To tell the truth, I've never really thought about this day in the past, but I should have. Think of what women have accomplished over the years, even during our lifetime. I remember not being able to get credit in my own name; to not be allowed to take shop classes or electricity classes in high school; to not be allowed to wear pants to school or, in my childhood household, in public; to see government with few, if any, female faces. To hear women derided for working outside the home, shamed for being divorced or single mothers. I remember magazine articles about how to be a good wife--putting on a fresh apron and lipstick before the husband came home, for example. I remember so many jobs that were closed to female applicants, and of course, working even as a professional in a career field where men were always paid more than women for the same work, and were promoted faster.

So yes, we've come a long way, and yet we still have a long way to go. It has been good to see change continuing, however, to see the first female Vice-President and more women in high positions in government. Change continues. And that gives me hope.

I searched my story files for a story for this day. I don't suppose I've written one that quite suits, but I'll share this, one of my favorites that's based on a true story.

Burning the Trash

Emma always followed her own path, even if it meant that people talked about her. 

She never married, for instance. She dated one man for years, but she was not willing to give up her freedom to marry him. She had a job in Charleston, a long commute that was almost unheard of in 1950. Especially for a woman. It wasn't just any job, either—she had an important administrative assistant job for a state senator. She drove herself to work every day, at a time when few women had a license to drive, much less their own car.

 She was independent, spunky, brassy, in-your-face, depending on who you talked to about her. But one thing is certainly true—Emma was her own woman in every way, ahead of her time in rural West Virginia. When her boyfriend passed away unexpectedly, she was saddened but continued to live her life on her own terms.

 When she retired, Emma moved to her family homeplace in the country. She raised a garden, had a few chickens and re-connected with old friends. Her sister Pearl lived just down the road, and the two of them did their shopping together, often ate together (when the boyfriend was not around—Pearl did not approve of him), and attended Sunday services at the little community church. They baked for school bake sales, contributed to church rummage sales, sang at gospel sings, and took food to funerals and weddings.

 Emma was always in charge, so old age took her by surprise. She wasn’t ready for it and the loss of control that came with it. She had to give up driving and had to depend on Pearl to take her places. Her garden disappeared beneath healthy weeds, and the chicken house eventually collapsed in a strong snowstorm. There had not been any chickens in it in several years anyway. She did not, however, give up her strong, active mind. Emma remained alert and interested in everything around her, understood computers and their implications before most younger people did, and was one of the first to take classes and get an email address at the library.

 Since she had no children, it was always assumed that she would leave the homeplace to her youngest niece. She had always been fond of Kelly, and Kelly admired her aunt’s independence. Often on a summer evening the two women would sit on the porch swing and she would tell Kelly stories about the family and the community. Kelly loved those stories, because her own parents developed Alzheimer’s disease before she was old enough to understand that the disease was taking their history before they had time to give it to her. Emma's other nieces and nephews were good people too, but they lived lived far away, and seldom came to visit. Emma was glad to have Kelly nearby.

 Kelly married to a nice enough young man, or so everyone thought at the wedding. It took ten years for the real truth of his nature to make itself known. He was a grasper, as Emma called it, a greedy, hoarding man who kept his finances secret from even his wife, who doled out a meager amount to her each week for housekeeping, but never spent anything extra on his family. The children dressed in yard sale clothing while he dressed well and maintained his separate accounts. Kelly was a good manager, and she learned to cut corners and make the money he gave her go a long way. She hated to ask for any extra, even for dentist and doctor’s appointments, because he made her feel as if she was a spendthrift.

 The marriage stumbled on, and Kelly spent more and more time with her two elderly aunts Over the years, she became more and more like her husband—the forced penny-pinching made her begrudge every expense, and she took to hoarding money that he knew nothing about. She held yard sales when he was at work and kept her profits secret. He never noticed if things were missing.

Pearl passed away and Emma was dependent on Kelly and her husband for transportation, yard care and other necessities. To keep in their good graces, she showed them her will, and the clause that made them her sole beneficiaries. She thought it would please them, and it did. Although perhaps not in the way she intended.

 After that, Kelly and her husband visited Emma even more regularly, and he began to suggest repairs to the house that he felt were necessary. Emma did not think she needed new kitchen cabinets, but he insisted, and she gave in. The funds for the project came from her savings, of course. He hired a contractor to replace the bathroom, and had an estimate done for re-roofing the house. That was where Emma drew the line.

 “I don’t need a new roof, son,” she said. “This is a metal roof and it will outlast me.”

 “Yes, but you won’t be here forever, Emma. The roof will have to be replaced sometime. There’s no insulation up there in the attic, and we could do that at the same time we re-do the roof. Why not do it now so you can enjoy it? The insulation will save you on your heating bills.”

 “This place has free gas, remember? I don’t care about the heating bill, and I don’t want the mess and expense of replacing the roof.”

 “Well, I don’t want to have to replace it once we own this place. That would be a real expense! Why won’t you think about us and replace it now? It’s not like you don’t have the money.”

 That fired her up. “My money is my concern, young man, and I’ll thank you to remember that. And this house is my house until I’m dead. I do not want a new roof, and that’s that.”

He gave up on the roof. But during their visits to Emma he and Kelly discussed their plans for the house and property once Emma was gone. Often these conversations happened in front of Emma, as if she had no say in the matter. They talked about surveying and subdividing into lots and selling off as a mobile home park. Ed calculated what the costs and income would be and his eyes lit up at the profits he envisioned from the project.

 “We might just bulldoze down this old place,” he said one evening. “It’s got no insulation or foundation, and it’s drafty as all get out in winter. No one would buy it, even with those new cabinets and the new bathroom. I sure wouldn’t want to live in  it.”

 “Well, now, I don’t know about that,” Kelly hedged. “I  like this old place, and it is my family homeplace, don’t forget.”

 “Yeah, but I’m not living in it. Old memories, old ghosts is what I say. If we sell it off we could build us a nice new place in town, have all the best of everything.”

 Emma listened to this conversation passing back and forth as if she was already in her grave. Her lips set in a hard line. No one had ever pushed her around in her entire life, and she wasn’t going to let it start happening now.

When Kelly and her husband left that evening, Emma got up and tottered slowly across her living room to a chest of drawers in the corner. She opened the top drawer and took out a folder of papers. She extracted one that was headed “Last Will and Testament” and carried back out to the porch. She sat heavily on the old swing and studied the document for a long time. Finally it dropped to her lap as she swung on, deep in thought. Darkness descended and still the chains of the old swing creaked with her gentle swaying. When she finally stood up, she was smiling gently. She walked slowly back inside, the will dangling carelessly from her hand. In the kitchen she walked purposely toward the trash can.

 The next evening Kelly and her husband visited again. Emma greeted them on the porch and invited them to the kitchen for coffee. She slowly filled the pot, emptying the old grounds into the overflowing trash can.

 “Ed, dear, would you mind to take this trash out to the old barrel out back and burn it? I missed the trash man this morning, and it will smell bad by next week.”

 Ed sighed and got to his feet. “Sure, Emma. Got any matches?”

 She searched on top of the refrigerator and found a box. She handed it to him, smiling.

 “You’re a dear. Thank you!”

 

 Copyright Susanna Holstein. All rights reserved. No Republication or Redistribution Allowed without attribution to Susanna Holstein.