I Wanted the Fairy Tale

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Dan and I started dating during my Junior year at Brandeis. He graduated that year, but lived locally, and would come by after dinner to spend the night. He always began phrases, “When we are married…” Finally I said, “Do you really think we’ll get married?” He responded affirmatively, so I said, “Why don’t you ask me?” He did, I said, “OK”, and thought we were engaged. We shopped for an engagement diamond. I wouldn’t have it for a few months; it was my 21st birthday present. He didn’t want to tell his parents until I had the ring, so he didn’t consider it official yet.

My mother had always told me that it took at least a year to get a June wedding date at our local temple, so I casually called my parents in October, 1973, and asked my dad, a temple officer, to look at reserving dates. I got a “congratulations, my darling children” letter soon thereafter. He reserved Saturday evening, June 15, and Sunday afternoon, June 16, depending on how formal we wanted it to be, and what our budget would allow. I said to Dan, “I guess we are really engaged.” And so we were.

My father had a limited budget and told me I could have an evening wedding with a sit-down dinner, or an afternoon wedding followed by a reception with passed food and he would be able to give us a nice check to help us begin our lives together. I thought it would be wiser to have the smaller, though still nice wedding and take the seed money. I had two bridesmaids, my closest friends from high school, friends to this day and a dear friend from camp who became an opera singer, sang the words from the Book of Ruth before I walked down the aisle. Nothing like today with the cast of thousands. My attendants made their own dresses (which looked a lot like my prom dress). Of course they were pink! One made my Juliet cap (I always wanted to be Juliet!), no veil. I couldn’t afford roses, so daisies had to do. I had first seen my chupa at the Cranbrook Art Institute. It was macrame (this was 1974), made for a friend’s wedding a year earlier. The artist was a friend of a cousin, who asked for the loan. My dad and his best friend constructed a way for it to stand on its own. There were no flowers or ribbons along the aisle, no wedding planner. This was a simple wedding.

My attendants; Emily (the opera singer), Patti and Debbie, all dear friends to this day.

My brother had been ordained as a rabbi two weeks before my wedding. His first act as a rabbi was to co-officiate, with the temple rabbi, at my wedding…deeply moving for me. I didn’t know that there had been a small crisis in the rabbi’s study while I was dressing. My brother refused to be on the bima (alter) without a yarmulke, my totally non-religious husband-to-be didn’t want to wear one. His wonderful mother finally intervened and told him to relent and just put it on. I was nervous enough and glad that I only heard that story after the fact.

Our temple rabbi gave a lovely sermon, mentioned that he had watched me grow from a little girl into the jewel of the community. My brother began by saying that while Rabbi Rosenbaum could say he had known me since I was little, my brother could say he had known me since the day I was born and how proud of me he was. My father devised a way to tape record the ceremony (no videography in 1974). Occasionally I go back and listen. My brother’s speech is quite pointed and clever. He has gone on to be a well-respected scholar and educator at Hebrew Union College. He speaks wonderfully.

Dan and I argued about the color of his groomsmen’s shirts. I wanted them to match my bridesmaids. He would have none of it. He won, but made a valid point. This was one day, just the beginning of the rest of our lives and we needed to look beyond the ceremony. I try to remember that.

 

First Boss Very Good, and years later came the Really Bad Boss

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The summer between high school and college (1975), I worked for a bank on the teller line. My first boss was decent, forthright, communicative, well respected by those above her, and a tough cookie to those she managed. You either loved Hazel or you hated her. She treated and taught me well. No ambiguity. I excelled. I remember actually having this thought, “Wow! If this is a snapshot of working as an adult then this is great!”

My naivety painfully and quickly melted as I gained professional experience and acumen. I have a favorite story about the most recent bad boss (2013). After many months of suffering through her erratic behavior, she asked me to merge some documents to help streamline the technical data package of a product line. No problem, except she put the wrong documents on the server, not to mention handing me a printed copy. I recognized the mistake immediately and attempted to communicate this to her. She had a screaming fit and told me that she would rip me a new asshole if I did not do what she asked. I was in her office, so I stood up and calmly said -“Gee, I like the asshole I have. Please stop yelling at me.” She escalated the yelling making derogatory remarks complete with expletives. I began to make my way to the door and then she really, really lost it and said “You do not have my permission to leave.” My reply as I continued to walk out of the office was this, “I was raised to take myself out of harmful situations. This tirade is an example of many I have endured from you – insulting, unprofessional, an attempt to demoralize me, and quite frankly not acceptable to a competent, intelligent, technically capable woman.” I met my breaking point. From that moment forward I would in no uncertain terms stand up for myself – and calmly while trying to diffuse the situation.

I was called into the Directors office the next morning and asked to relay my side of the insubordinate employee story. The Director asked my boss to examine the documents before I merged them and sure enough they were incorrect. They were replaced by other incorrect documents. After a few more attempts to locate the correct documents I thought to myself, “Screw it. Give her the merged document.” So I did. Two months later she called a meeting in the conference room with the Technical Program Manager, Quality Assurance Supervisor, the Director, and myself. I sat on one side of the table and they sat on the other side.

These were her opening words: “This document is wrong. You can’t make this shit up. How did we hire such incompetence? (on and on and on).” This particular tirade continued for about 20 minutes with documentation of many other infractions. In my defense, I had put together a packet of the entire transaction from day one to the day of the meeting. Twelve months of documentation: emails, copies of phone records (she would call my cell phone in a drunken stupor at night), documents she provided that were incorrect, substantiating documents and correspondence from other agencies with the correct documents, and the completed merged correct document approved by the other agencies. Everyone on the opposite side of the table from me sat in stunned silence as I articulated my defense and with precision reviewed the packet.

Yes. I had help. For about 18 months I was in communication with an attorney, and Human Resources in how to handle a situation that escalated out of control; could likely negatively impact me professionally, not to mention the personal intense stress of working with a nut case. I was guided through the grievance process. I was the seventh person that filed a grievance in ten years. I was one of two employees within three months of each other filing grievances for similar reasons.

The Director opted to keep her (each and every one of the seven times she had the option to fire her). Turns out the boss, who was my boss, no longer my boss, and the grievance results states will never be my boss again, is a raging alcoholic. When I look back at all the tirades, the insults, the ridiculous emails, poor direction, odd requests, repeated explanation of technical requirements, deranged phone calls, the lack of support from my colleagues, the attempt by HR to make another case against her – well I realize at the time those interactions took place she was in severe alcohol withdrawal. And no one else wanted the repercussion(s) of standing up to her.

After all was said and done, I managed to walk away in a better position with a better set of circumstances. A friend who coaches people in similar situations asked me how I found the resolve to file a grievance as most people he coached were too fearful of losing their jobs to stand up for themselves. My answer: “There are millions of jobs in the world. Money has come and gone throughout my life. I am talented, well connected, and I was right. No matter the result of the grievance, my integrity remains intact. I tolerated too much for too long for the sake of “professionalism” on my part. So when I did act I found a strength in myself I did not know existed.”  (The backstory: my husband’s business went under; no one was hiring in my field at the time; filing a grievance was less effort than continued suffering).

Thank you Hazel for treating and teaching me well.

 

Counterculture Kid

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Thank heavens I was born into a family that encouraged reading. I did the flashlight under the covers thing from early on. In the summers mom would take us to the public library every week or two and each time we checked out the maximum number of books allowable, 19 as I recall. It was then that I discovered the Oz books, the Dr. Doolittle stories, and a British series with a group of siblings, two boys and two girls, that solved mysteries, can’t even remember author or titles. Titles that stick in my mind were Cyrano the Crow, The 500 Hats of Bartholomew Cubbins (can’t leave Dr. Suess out). Oh, I see you can buy a used copy of Blueberries for Sal on Amazon for a penny!

One year when we went on vacation I ‘discovered’ comic books and the folks bought me a couple at every stop along the drive. Batman was my first <3, and Superman, aaaaand Millie the Model. Designed a few outfits at the paper doll level because of that.

Went through a pretty persistent science fiction phase. As far as authors, all the usual suspects plus many obscure ones. I loved the fact that here were some original and creative thinkers. Just couldn’t get into murder mysteries cause I didn’t give a rip whodunnit. Still don’t. It filters my TV watching even now.

Along about the early 70s I came across an oversize, soft cover book called, simply, Shelter, that had tiny print and was rich in illustrations about worldwide handmade houses. Shelter, Random House, 1973, 9780394709918-usI pored over it absorbing every detail. Ever since I’m a sucker for picture books about the woodbutcher’s craft and other sorts of free form buildings.

This falls under a heading of what I came to think of as Hippie Literature. It was when I discovered Trout Fishing in America by Richard Brautigan, the poetry of e. e. cummings and Rod McKuen’s Stanyan Street & Other Sorrows. My favorite author forever and ever has been and remains Tom Robbins of Another Roadside Attraction fame. There was The Electric Acid Kool-Aid Test by Tom Wolfe and can’t leave out Castaneda’s The Teachings of Don Juan: A Yaqui Way of Knowledge. For the sake of full disclosure I’d better include the Fabulous Furry Freak Brothers comics.

The would be homesteader in me would devour non fiction, especially that taught skills, The Foxfire Books, the Whole Earth Catalogue, cookbooks of the time like the Vegetarian Epicure. In later life it turned out that a boyfriend of mine had been a contributor of recipes to the Tassajara Bread Book. Speaking of skills, dare I include the Joy of Sex? I still have tons of old copies of The Mother Earth News magazine. The Great American Hippie Dream of living in a cabin in the woods used to be strong in this one.

This is, of course, the merest scratch of the surface. What a rich life I’ve had because of reading. I’m very thankful.