Open Writing

I thought I'd try another day and see what Mondays were like. The usual procedure, and along came a reduced number of the same group, about 10 in all. But then we were joined by some young mums who had brought youngsters, and what the heck? It's a hot day and we can't resist jumping in ourselves. OK by us? OK.

Along came the teacher for the day, a muscular woman with suspiciously maroon coloured hair and an Eastern European accent. Music on, but different music, dance tunes. She divided us into two teams and gave us numbers. Luckily mine was No. 1.

Water dancing became hilarious as the young mum's kids wanted to join in. Boris-ina soon abandoned the music, and the kids lost interest when pool staff offered them balls to play with.

Problem solved but Boris-ina resorted to martial music instead. “Whatever,” we said and carried on regardless. Boris-ina now reverted to the number system and I, being No.1, became lead dog, so to speak. I did my best, but what with one thing and another I feared I would be sent back to the gulag any tick of the clock.

As the clock ticked over to 11 o'clock and we headed for the dressing rooms, I was reminded to come on Wednesday and to do something “just a little Xmas. Bring a plate of goodies. We're using the pool party room for half an hour after Wednesday's class.”

It so happened that I had been approached by a neighbour who had a tiny cherry crop good enough to join the three-week niche market involving air-freighted cherries to the mainland. Could I help out? “I need a pre-dawn person in the Packing Weighing and Sealing shed,” he said. “Start at 5 am, finish at 8am.”

“Three weeks Christmas money? You're on!”

Now Christmas cherries have a special iconic appeal in Tasmania because very old folk still remember Christmas in the Depression when children could only be promised a bag of cherries from Santa. Today's fruit are gorgeous, dark red varieties that sell at a premium price. Now, LAPP on any invitation (Ladies A Plate Please) generally fills me with foreboding. Being a lousy cook with no speciality cake or slice, cheese dip is my poor forte. Now I had a plan, on Wednesday I would triumph.

As ever, I was already in the swim before the others arrived and there was lots of fussing and giggling going on amongst the IN gang. Along came teacher and was given a card, lots more giggling and THEN as one they donned reindeer horns of various colours all of which lit up and played Jingle Bells!! Teacher was then urged to open her card and discover a CD of Xmas tunes to be used for today's class ....

Oh, what fun it is to do aerobics every day...... Even we six joined in and I realised that these dames were somehow teaching me something for all their frivolity. Just what it was I would ponder later. Right now I wondered if they would manage to keep the head gear dry. They did, and half an hour later we were urged to be up and out and into the party room. OK by you? OK.

Somehow a festive table had been laid, with crackers and fruit juice. Then each disappeared into the car park and came back with a plate of yummy tucker: fruit kebabs, cheeses, mince pies, White Christmas, caramel slice. Chat, chat, chat.

I came in last with a huge glass bowl of perfect gleaming cherries. Not for me this time to slide it in at one end, No, this time was my time. I placed it centre stage. Yey! I got it right. Merry Christmas !

Once again, I observed that we fell into two groups – those who had just had to apply lipstick – and those who wouldn't have given makeup (and jewellery) a second thought. When we talked of Christmas there were those who had family locally and those who carried pictures of their families, sons, daughters and grandchildren whom they were jetting off to see for the holiday.

I realised now where the lipsticked ones belonged in the scheme of things. These were the ones who had followed us into the workforce, picking up the benefits of our groundwork. Where we had pushed and shoved our way up the ladder, breaking down the barriers with our strident Women's Liberation political action, these women were the ones who had accepted the new situation as their right and built on it very successfully.

Not that they had had it all that easy either. They had had to consolidate our hard won rights, create an image in the public eye of the competent but feminine worker. That image demanded unfailing maintenance, and this was reflected in the hair-do's, make up, jewellery and clothes. And not only that but, in order to stay ahead of the next wave of baby boomers, the dreaded gym.

Our success was plain for us to see, fairness written into law. Their success was channelled into a life style which enabled them to send their children to better schools, keep them whilst at uni and encourage them to have not just jobs but careers. The downside to this is that those careers meant the offspring moving to the mainland – hence all the photos.

Again, where we bore the brunt of derision, in the media for instance, and tended to forge ahead, boots and all, no matter how much resistance there was, we were also the ones to benefit from the major workplace shake out of the Nineties which saw early retirement with good payouts (in lieu of decent superannuation).

They, on the other hand, copped better super schemes but the age of retirement steadily escalated, keeping them working longer. On reflection, I take my hat off to them. No wonder they still talked of “keeping their hands in” and still worked at maintaining the image. They have acquired a life style which requires lots of effort and a certain amount of money. Why should they let go until they have to?

I noticed that they ‘placed’ each other, not by grandmotherly status, but more on the “What did you do for a crust?” as men are supposed to do. And in the here and now “How are you managing to make enough pocket money to fund annual trips to the mainland?”

They spoke in acronyms ABC, CSIRO, ATO, DPI, ........... With some it would be the stock market. For most it would be temping at their old jobs whilst the regular incumbent had leave (clever girls these baby boomers!).

How do I sustain my life style? they asked, but not in those words.
I could see that my answer was important. Until then I hadn't realised that, as the new girl, I was not in one camp or the other.

“Hmm,” I said, “just a bit of seasonal work at PW&S, but I'm fortunate that I have all the family here around me.”

I don't know which camp they put me into. Obviously I didn't quite fit their sugared almond (as I had come to think of them) bracket.

“PW&S, “they queried?

Who was I to tell them that my Christmas life style is just a bowl of cherries? They're smart. They'll figure it out. In a small community like this secrets don't have a chance. Meanwhile I live and laugh at it all.