When I Used to be a Grown Up

I spend an awful lot of time on this blog reminiscing about my childhood and teen years. I have wept over plush stuffed animals and ratty dolls, rediscovered the wonders of the music I loved as a kid, and on numerous occasions recounted the nerdy high school hijinks of which I was a part.

While tackling some of the boxes that were newly moved in, I found myself getting overwhelmed for an entirely new reason. These are from the apartments I had after finishing college. As I sorted through dishes, bakeware, magazines, and office junk, I was reminded that there was, believe it or not, a time when I was a self-supporting adult. I was kind of a hot mess- slugging through a delightful "quarter life crisis" (which I anticipate will wrap up any day now)-  but I was a mess who was doing her own grocery shopping and paying utility bills and doing all those other fun grown-up things we looked forward to as kids. Let's take a look at some archaeological treasures from that time.

Through no fault of my own, I got really into Pfaltzgraff dishes. My sister had picked out a pattern and insisted that I do the same after graduation (you can view it here). After at least a year of getting dishes for graduation, my birthday and Christmas, I had a full set for a dinner party of eight. My collection includes, but is certainly not limited to, salad plates, a gravy boat, two different salt and pepper shaker sets, kitchen jars, a dish especially designed for my car keys, and a serving platter large enough for a Thanksgiving turkey. I kept ALL the boxes, because I moved every spring and I thought it was safer than putting them in regular boxes. That is how one ends up with boxes full of other boxes taking up a whole corner of someone else's room.  I consolidated into two large plastic bins. We'll just have to cross our fingers and hope they survive the next yet-to-be-planned move.
(In case you were wonder, yes, I use these dishes for a dinner party. Just once. There were only 4 people there.)

This is my date book from when I worked for a high-end tutoring company in Fairfield County Connecticut. It lists appointments for students with first names like Barrett, Weston, Madison, and Bray. In addition to tutoring, I also worked as the Assistant Director of a small satellite office. Basically my main duties were collecting paper work from new clients and appointment setting. Here's my end of a typical phone call:

 "Hello Mrs. Goldstein. You'd like to sign your child up for standardized test prep tutoring even though he's only 9? No problem. I have the perfect tutor in mind. He works Mondays,  Wednesdays and Thursdays. Oh, your son can't make those days because he has tennis, riding,  and cello lessons? Well, what days can you do? Saturday morning? Okay, let me see what I can work out."


....a little while later....


"Okay, the tutor will come in especially for your child on Saturdays. I had to call in some favors, because the tutor didn't think he'd be working weekends. But he is new, so he knows that he could take you on as clients or not have any at all. He's going to go ahead and start a program with your child this Saturday. Oh, this week is no good? You just remembered your son has a lacrosse tournament? Okay, let me call  him back and let him know you'll start next week. What's that? You insist on starting this week to prepare for an elementary school entrance exam that is still 4 months away? Alright. I'll see if the tutor can come in Sunday."


...later on...


"So, we are all set. We're going to open the facility Sunday afternoon especially for your son and his tutor, who thankfully canceled the weekend plans he had. Oh, you say your son's father has just told you he is surprising you all by chartering a small plane to take the family to Martha's Vineyard for the day on Sunday? Hold on, let me get the tutor back on the phone...."

I was about a month in to that job when I decided I would much rather be working in a real school.

And finally, a barrage of pop feminist magazines. I'll say it. Not all of us consider the dawn of our current millennium as a shining moment in our nation's politics. For angsty teenagers who never quite found causes to attach to (or vehemently oppose), however, the Bush era sure did give us a lot. In college I started to take an active interest in women's issues. By the time I graduated, subscriptions to multiple edgy feminist magazines seemed totally warranted.  I'm not saying I don't sill read these fine publications from time to time, but I did not ever think I would be living here long enough to get a subscription sent to this address.