Arriving in this world 94 years ago, I was issued a girl suit. It has served me well. These old legs have many thousands of ski miles on them, and the arms and hands have produced countless loaves of bread, cookies, pies and meals and launched dozens of golf balls into the woods over the years, but lately I’ve noticed the rest of my girl suit is badly wrinkled, not just in spots but pretty evenly all around. Looks like it could use some starch and a good ironing. This isn’t a complaint. I’m just happily surprised I’m still around. My point is to remind women that we have a special gift – we automatically know how and when to reinvent ourselves during our lifetimes.
Growing up with my older brother and his friends (no girls in the neighborhood), we climbed trees, built treehouses and rode bikes. Then they graduated to cars. Best of all, they let me work on their old cars with them. My payment: I could drive their stripped-down cars through the woods. These were not street-legal but old junkers they bought for a couple of dollars and got running. This was the era of no cellphones, computers, iPads or even affordable televisions. What a blessed time. We made our own fun. By the time I was 13, I knew how to change a tire, file a spark plug (for a better contact), jump a battery and replace brake pads (not that we used the brakes much in the woods).
Graduating from high school in the 1940s and realizing no one would hire a girl mechanic, I enrolled in a course at a nearby secretarial school. Let’s face it, the so-called glass ceiling was paved in cement then. Even with a college degree a gal had three choices: teacher, nurse or secretary. Since skiing was my favorite sport, I headed to New England for a secretarial job at an upscale inn frequented by wealthy vacationing Europeans and a very handsome Swiss ski instructor who first was my friend and eventually my husband.
Suddenly I was living a dream. I became a wife and later a mom of two boys, reinventing myself each time. After a few years of running a ski school and shop, we became innkeepers. During that time my husband and I did the usual things that parents do, turn into guidance counselors, teachers, police officers, everything parents do to raise their children. Thank heavens we were a team.
One of my reinventions may have taken too well. I slowly dyed my mousy brown hair blonde. My husband looked at me (after the deed was completed) and said, “You’re blonde!” Bingo! Another new start. I knew it was a good thing when we met a friend we hadn’t seen in a while and he discreetly asked my husband who I was. What a blast.
Over the years we reinvent ourselves to grandparents, and then it’s time to have fun with a new generation. Suddenly one day you realize you have reinvented yourself into an old lady. Nothing wrong with that. What a trip to get here. Wouldn’t change a thing except maybe skip the part early in our marriage when we had an outhouse and no running water, winter was coming and we burned the outhouse down getting rid of a bees’ nest.
Now it’s time to enjoy a wonderful family, great friends and neighbors who keep laughing at my comical but true stories. It’s also a reminder to women to be sure to use this wonderful gift of reinventing ourselves.
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