FOR WANT OF A CLOTHESLINE

Remember this old children’s nursery rhyme?

For want of a nail the shoe was lost.
For want of a shoe the horse was lost.
For want of a horse the rider was lost.
For want of a rider the battle was lost.
For want of a battle the kingdom was lost.
And all for the want of a horseshoe nail.

On a Basement Stairway, Queens, New York. 1981

 “I’m afraid we don’t have that option,” Don’s voice was firm but gentle as he responded to my quiet ranting. I was angry and I was hurt. I felt ignored and insignificant. We were seated on the bottom step of the stairway, arguing quietly trying not to be heard by my sisters.

 “But you don’t love me anymore. You’ve been ignoring me. How many times have I asked you to put in a new clothesline? I work so hard. I wash the clothes, I cook, I clean house and take care of the children and all I ask is for you to put in a new clothesline, and you’ve been ignoring me,” my voice was beginning to rise a few decibels. ”We might as well part ways.”

I was asking for a divorce over a clothesline! And I was dead serious. I felt his refusal to do as I have asked was a symptom of a deeper problem – he didn’t care for me anymore.

We’ve just been back a few months from a 3-1/2 year missionary term in Indonesia. For various reasons we had to come home a half year earlier than what our first term should have been. Don had a health problem that the local doctors couldn’t diagnose and they wanted to do exploratory surgery. We were advised by our Board to come home. My father died two years earlier and my mother seemed to have given up on life. My sisters felt that our coming home with the grandchildren would help her get over her grief. We left Indonesia with every intention to go back, but soon we found out we couldn’t. We were at a loss. We thought missionary work in Indonesia was going to be our lifework. We were completely clueless as to what we were to do. Don’s health issue hadn’t been resolved. We were without jobs, home, car or money and we had two little toddlers to take care of. My sisters were very generous in trying to help us get on our feet. We were living with them temporarily. We knew God would
take care of us, but we felt so uncertain about the future. Don and I have always had a strong relationship through the many stresses of the early days of marriage and adjustments. On the second year of our marriage, we left for Indonesia and together we learned to adjust to the Indonesian culture, learned the language, and grew into a ministry among various groups of the society that we found ourselves in. We were constantly learning and adjusting to each other, to our new environment and later on, to parenthood. Being an interracial marriage had its built-in problems, too. But no matter how difficult our circumstances were, the “D” word was never uttered between us. We never thought of divorce as a solution to even the most difficult crisis we’ve faced together. But strangely, on this particular day, seven years into our marriage, I was bringing it up – because Don hadn’t put in a new clothesline for me!

Missing Nails, Losing Relationships

Most marriages break up over money, some because of meddlesome in-laws. But it is amazing how relationships break up over some of the most petty things. Sometimes the smaller issues lead to bigger ones, or the accumulation of the smaller complaints eventually become insurmountable bigger crises.

 “I can no longer take his horrible snoring,” said one wife I know who keeps a separate bed and bedroom from her husband.

I once listened to a young girl narrating a litany of complaints about her former husband which included the fact that he never folded, hung, or put away clothes after washing and drying them.  

Sometimes it is not a marriage, but a friendship, or a family relationship that breaks up because of hurting words said in an unguarded moment. Then pride gets in the way of resolving the problem. Sometimes it’s stuff like – “We were not invited to their daughter’s wedding!” This last one actually happened to us.  Our friends had moved and never gave us their new address!

14,235 Days Later

Every now and then I look back to that scene on the basement stairway and smile to myself. How silly could I get! I was ready to throw away a 7-year marriage over a clothesline. I am thankful that Don very gently, but determinedly reminded me that our commitment to each other was for a lifetime. That made a lot of difference. Through the years we’ve grown together (and not just in girth!). I believe we have come to understand each other better, and have a greater appreciation for each other. In a few days, we will be celebrating our 39th wedding anniversary. I think I’ll keep him. He is a good man, a Godly man. And oh, yes, there was a deeper problem about his not putting in a new clothesline. It is the same reason he does not like IKEA. He is not a handyman. When God passed out that talent, he was absent.

Happy anniversary, Don. It has been a good ride with you – two wonderful children, much-loved son and daughter-in-law, five awesome grandchildren; three countries and 3 states of residence; 468 months; 14,235 days; 341,640 hours. I pray that there may be many more with you.

A Continuing Love Affair

Forty-four years ago on this day, October 12fth, the Northwest plane carrying my

parents, my sister Ruth and I landed at the Seattle-Tacoma International Airport. Looking out my window I was full of mixed emotions. What will this new adventure mean? Where will it lead to? We were leaving the country of our birth and where we were raised, coming into a country that  we have only heard and read so much about.

Seattle-Tacoma International Airport

As we got into the terminal we followed the crowd and got in line with some folks waiting for their turn at the immigration desk.

“Returning residents and American citizens, please follow me,” an official-sounding lady announced.

My father stepped out of line and we followed him. He was an American citizen and returning resident. There was no line at all for us. We were processed through and off we went to our gate for the connecting flight to San Francisco.

On the way a couple of very nice looking young men stopped Ruth and me to ask where Gate #26 was. In response, we giggled, “Sorry, but we don’t know. We’re new here.” They thanked us nonetheless and went on their way. Ruth and I felt good. Did we really blend that well with our new environment? Huhm.

It was a very short flight to San Francisco. Ruth and I made like we were really seasoned travelers. The truth of the matter was, this was our first flight outside of the Philippines. We were very much impressed with most everything we had experienced so far. Soon we were landing. Another peek through our window, but we couldn’t see anything but the runway and airport personnel scurrying to and fro. We could also see those little vehicles that shuttle between the terminal and different spots on the tarmac. In a few minutes we were deplaning and then into those passenger tubes that led to the gates of the terminals.

They were all there – my sisters Lu and Josephine, and her husband and little Ariel and Sarah Jane. We hadn’t seen each other since they left the Philippines about four years ago. There was a lot of kissing and hugging and excitement. What a tremendous reunion!

A Victorian Flat

The car ride from the airport must have taken no more than 25 minutes. So this was what a freeway was like. Everyone was going the same direction and there were no traffic lights. Then we took an exit and ended on a street. My brother-in-law, who was driving, made some turns and soon we were on Church Street.

“There, “ Lu says, “is our flat.” She had to explain to us how a “flat” was different from an apartment.

We walked in and I was impressed. Nice wall-to-wall carpeting and French doors, too. The dining table had all kinds of fruit in a tray – great big red apples, grapes, pears and oranges. Wow, we only had those in the Philippines during Christmas time. They were so expensive there that we had them only for special occasions.

As could be expected, there was a lot of catching up to do, and a lot of stories to tell. At the end of the day my sisters told us they were giving us a special treat the following day. They were taking us to a popular restaurant for lunch. And so, our first day in the United States concluded with thoughts of exciting experiences that would come with tomorrow.

A Very Special Restaurant


It was with much anticipation that we all piled into my sister’s car that would take us to the very special restaurant on Mission St. that she promised us. She pulled into the parking lot and led us into the restaurant. There was a tall pillar with the sculpture of a dog’s head. Why, in the world do they have that statue there? “Doggie Diner” the sign said.

Ruth and I were looking very puzzled but we kept quiet. Lu and Josephine were now laughing. Lu announced, “Welcome to Doggie Diner, a famous American institution!” This was our first American hotdog experience. Thus, was our introduction to life in these beautiful United States.



Into the American Way of Life
    
There were many things to learn. How to ride the buses. Yes, you just drop your coins into the coin boxes. There are no “conductors” like our buses in the Philippines would have. No inspectors to check your tickets. There are designated bus stops. You can’t just yell out “Para” (“stop” in Tagalog) to get off. You don’t go jaywalking either. The streets were not noisy with honking horns like in Manila. Horns are used sparingly. Grocery stores are mostly self-served. You pick your purchases, put them in your cart and check them out at the cashier’s. And do not try to sample the fruits or any other products like the way you do in Philippine markets. Definitely do NOT.  

Americans have strange ways. If they don’t know your name, they will call you “dear” or “honey.” And little children call older folks by their first names. And on and on the learning went. Some lessons were plain to see, but others were more subtle.

The First Job

Two weeks later, my sisters thought it was time for Ruth and me to look for work. Josephine took me to ABAR Employment agency on Market St. I must have looked ridiculous. “Fresh off the boat” must have been written all over me. San Francisco was into the first days of Indian summer and there I was with my faux wool dress-length coat! (This we bought at a second-hand store in Pasay City in the Philippines a few weeks before we left.) We talked to a very nice lady, Dorothy, who told us that she would try to place me and that I would not have to pay any fee. My future employer would pay for it. She gave me a series of what they called “Wonderlit” tests that evaluated language and Math skills. Then she gave me a typing test which I failed miserably. Dorothy told me to practice typing and if I didn’t have a typewriter, I could rent one, practice for two weeks then go back to the agency. I did as she said and she tested me again. This time I passed. I could hear her call a few places and then minutes later, she told me I had an appointment at an insurance company for a job as a rater.

I went to the office of the Yosemite Insurance Company at 726 Market Street. The personnel director took me to the office of the Supervisor of the Underwriting/Rating Department and introduced me. As I sat at his desk the Supervisor told me what the company was about and what my responsibilities would be if hired. He asked me a few questions, and tested me with the “Wonderlit” tests I had been given at the agency. After about 20 minutes the interview was over. I went back to ABAR to wait for the result. Dorothy called the Supervisor to ask for his decision. As I listened, I knew I had the job.

 “Didn’t I tell you, didn’t I tell you?” I heard Dorothy excitedly say, “And she does not even have an accent!

I had and still do have my Philippines accent, but I don’t think Dorothy heard it because she was such a nice and kind lady. She knew I needed a job and she was determined to help me.

And thus began my adventure in this adopted country, and a love relationship that started with stories from my father and continues to the present day – 44 years later.

A VIGNETTE

 I was alone in a little room where the office supervisor had led me. I sat at the word processor, earphones on, attempting to transcribe the tape freshly handed to me ten minutes earlier by the neurologist. I thought I heard the tape say something about alpha waves, theta waves, delta waves and a general slowing of brain activity, etc. I tried very hard to catch every word as I carefully typed it. I kept pressing on the repeat pedal of the transcriber, making sure I heard the words accurately. I was nervous and had a difficult time keeping my fingers on the right keys. It did not help that a young resident doctor behind me was pacing the floor. As I loaded the tape on the transcriber, he very kindly told me not to mind his presence, take time and just do what I could to give an accurate transcript.

This was my first day at the Department of Neurology of a University Hospital in
Ohio. I was working as a Kelly Girl at various offices and this was my second assignment with the company. What possessed Kelly Girl to give me a medical transcription job, I would not understand. But I needed a job. Though I had never had transcribing experience, didn’t know medical terms except what I have heard from doctors on my own personal visits to them, I bravely took on the assignment. We needed the money desperately. I did know the difference between an EKG (electrocardiogram) and EEG (electroencephalogram), but I was definitely unqualified to transcribe an EEG reading, nor any kind of medical reading for that matter. As I sat waiting for the audio tape, I remember trying hard to remember the parts of the human body that I learned from Zoology 1 in college, focusing intently on the brain area. There were very few that I could remember. Words like the lobes of the brain, cranium, occipital, and frontal came to mind, but not much more.

I tried to ignore the sound of the resident doctor’s pacing, but it was difficult. He had explained to me that this EEG reading belonged to a young man who was shot and was fighting for his life. It would tell the doctors whether his brain waves showed life or not and with this result, the family would have to make a life and death decision. I wondered if this doctor knew that I was a complete novice at this.

After about half an hour of this excruciating ordeal, I handed the printed transcript to the doctor, who rushed it to the neurologist in charge, who in turn read it carefully and went off to the patient’s room.

At the end of my day, I trudged off to the bus stop and boarded my bus, ready for my 15-minute ride home. I was completely discouraged and exhausted physically. When Don came home from school, I told him how I felt so inadequate for my job which was supposed to be for three months. I told him that if things didn’t get better, I would just have to quit. I didn’t think I could do a good job of it. As usual, Don was very understanding and left it to me to decide what was the right thing to do.

It was with much trepidation that I returned to the hospital the following day, prepared for whatever consequences awaited me. That was a horrible job of medical transcription I did the day before. A few minutes after I arrived, the Department Manager appeared at my door. This was the boss of the office manager who assigned me the job the day before.

“Raquel, would you be interested in a permanent position with us?” she asked.

I was dumbfounded. I thought I heard her offering me a permanent position, but all I could say was, ”I beg your pardon?” as if I didn’t understand what was said.

“I said, ‘would you be interested in working with us permanently,’’ she repeated.

“Why, yes, of course, yes,” was all I could say.

“OK, then,“she said with some finality, “We’ll have to keep you as a Kelly Girl for three months because that’s their rule. Then we will change you to permanent personnel. Congratulations.”

I couldn’t understand what had happened. I was so confused and thrilled at the same time that when I got to the bus stop that afternoon, I boarded the first bus that was there, not realizing that it was going the opposite direction from my home!

To this day, I don’t understand what happened. I don’t think I was hired because of my abilities or any other logical reason. I hear people talk about “God things.” I believe it was that – a God thing!