THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1996, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Friday, March 8, 1996 TAG: 9603070235
SECTION: VIRGINIA BEACH BEACON PAGE: 07 EDITION: FINAL
COLUMN: Over Easy
SOURCE: Jo-Ann Clegg
LENGTH: Medium: 89 lines
I used to teach a class for women who were planning on going back to work. First I taught them the basics of how to write a resume, how to find out where the jobs are, how to fill out applications and how to interview.
Then I taught them some things even more basic: survival. My syllabus included instructions for saying no to your family's demands (lock yourself in the bathroom until they go away), having supper on the table in 10 minutes (visit the Colonel instead of the grocery store) and deciding what to give up (anything that doesn't contribute directly to health, happiness or sanity).
For the last category, especially, I drew heavily from my own experience.
``Unless you really enjoy it, give up sewing,'' I told my classes. ``I did and I stand before you in my $29.95 ready-to-wear dress to say that my life is infinitely simpler now.''
What I didn't tell them was exactly why I gave it up.
For years, I had been making slacks with different leg lengths, dresses with wandering waist lines and blouses with darts that missed their targets completely. But it wasn't until the day that I installed a 21-inch zipper joining, forever, the left leg to the right shoulder of a one-piece cotton pajama suit that I realized I was wasting my time.
``You did not spend four years in college to be doing this,'' I muttered to myself as I turned four yards of fabric into cleaning rags and pitched $10 worth of buttons, zippers and trims into the waste basket.
Kmart, I decided, did it better and cheaper.
``Keep your meals simple,'' I also told my classes. ``Kids don't go for the fancy stuff - especially if it's also healthy.''
I based that one on the time I spent all day making tiny Hawaiian meatballs for three preschoolers whose father was at sea. (I knew better than to try that when he was home. He wouldn't have eaten them either.)
When I set the meatballs on the table the oldest took one look and said, ``What's that junk?''
The second, a young man of few words, stuck a finger in the gravy, licked it off and said, ``Yuck!''
The third, my least fussy eater, popped a whole meatball in his mouth and promptly threw up.
End of experiment. We ate cold cereal for supper, then went to bed early.
Except for the youngest and I. He barfed three more times before calling it an evening. I never knew one little meatball could go so far.
I also advised my students to simplify any entertaining that they did.
``You don't have to make everything from scratch. If Sara Lee does it better, then let Sara do it,'' I suggested.
That advice was not original. I happily plagiarized it from my old friend Jean Ebbert, who used it in ``Welcome Aboard,'' her wise and witty handbook for Navy officers' wives.
It always amazed me how much more successful our parties were when I stopped trying to do everything myself. People actually seemed to enjoy coming to them.
I think in the old days my reputation as a hostess preceded me. I heard rumors that the party at which I served eight different kinds of tea sandwiches was held up as an example to young Navy wives everywhere.
Somehow it had never occurred to me that cream cheese tinted green tasted just like cream cheese tinted pink and cream cheese tinted yellow. It also never occurred to me that cream cheese tinted blue didn't taste good at all and that cream cheese, under any circumstances, didn't taste like much. Especially if it was served on Wonder Bread. Which mine was.
Or maybe it was the morning that I hosted a squadron brunch in the back yard and the neighbor's bees decided to swarm in the watermelon basket that I had spent four hours carving. I didn't think that was so bad. Nobody got stung except for the commodore's wife.
I heard that she didn't think it was such a minor incident. I don't know that for sure, though. She never spoke to me again.
And then there was the time that I cooked a fancy dinner and trimmed the table with ivy from the garden. While I was still wondering why Bill had bought poppy seed rolls instead of plain, some of the poppy seeds started wandering off. So did most of the guests. I never understood why the same people who would put up with ants at a picnic were so squeamish about them at a formal dinner.
You might say that when it came to entertaining the easy way, I was a slow learner.
At least one of my students was not.
I waved to her as she ran past the frozen food case at the supermarket recently. ``I'm having my church circle at my house tomorrow night,'' she yelled over her shoulder as she deftly pitched three frozen cheese cakes into her cart, ``and I'm letting Sara do it!''
I'll tell you, students like that make you real proud to have been a teacher. by CNB