Present Ruth meets Past Ruth for lunch at the Dairy Queen

Today I was out shopping and I stopped at the Dairy Queen on Cork Street for lunch. It was starting to rain hard. Part of me wanted to drive straight home--I'm 60 and my knee was hurting--but my 23-year-old self was calling me inside.

I used to eat at this Dairy Queen once in a while for a treat, in 1980 when I worked as a bank teller in one of those little glass and brick kiosks for drive-through check-cashing. (The same glass and brick kiosk that my branch manager told me I was not allowed to leave the day the tornado went by it, but that's another story.) There were many businesses nearby, some very large ones, and on a triple-pay day with Social Security checks hitting, we might go through a quarter of a million dollars in one day.

It was hectic at the bank. You worked hard and you could not be back late from lunch--even if someone made you late leaving for it. But if I could leave my window exactly on time, if I could turn left on Sprinkle Road without much delay, if I could safely run any yellow lights, and if the service was prompt.... I could eat an almost-tranquil lunch at the Dairy Queen.

So I went on in and sat down with myself there. 1980 Ruth had ordered a hot dog with catsup and mustard and French fries--and a beautiful large frosty Tab, which I was jealous of. I stopped drinking cola ten years ago but still crave it sometimes. I ordered a chili dog and fries--hers were thicker than mine--and a glass of water. I slopped some catsup on my sweatshirt; she was wearing a white silk shirt and pale grey Levi Bendovers and was being careful of them. She had on pretty earrings, very pretty shoes. So I casually got out my Kindle and enjoyed her perplexity at how easily I carry one thousand books with me everywhere I go.

But it wasn't really a competition. She knew, silk blouse notwithstanding, I was feeling very sorry for her. I know she hates her job and that she never has much spending money. I know she misses college, she misses learning things that aren't accounting-related. I know she has seven more years before she finally gets to leave that soul-destroying bank, though she won't spend much more time in the teller window.  It will be a long while before she finds her dream job at the library--a library! I know she's jealous of that.

But she has advantages too. She's a newlywed. She gets to spend Christmas with our parents--her mom and dad are still alive. They come and visit her and our husband; they play poker and pedro; they go on vacations to the U.P. together. All that has sadly vanished for Present Ruth.

She asked me, trying not to be in too obvious a hurry, if I had any advice for her. I could see in her face she hoped I did, that she hoped I'd learned something.  And I have. I've learned everything I need to know. And one thing I know is, she doesn't need advice--she is doing everything exactly right, even though she doesn't know it. She is learning all the things I draw on every day, all the things I need her to learn so that I can be who I am right now, more comfortable with myself than she is with herself, but absolutely dependent on her. I smiled my most encouraging smile, hoping she hadn't noticed that our two front teeth have grown a little apart again after she was so proud that they had grown together.

She had to rush back to work. She ducked through the rain to her blue sedan as I strolled unperturbedly though the rain to my blue sedan. I saw her laughing at how deliberately I was taking my sweet time. She knew I was doing it for her.

Meet Rebecca Jane

Rebecca Jane is a Singer model 27 with the "Pheasant" gold decals and a serial number that points to a 1904 manufacturing date.  She is named for her first owner, the grandmother of a friend who sold her to me as part of his mother's estate. I am so happy to have her in my home and am looking forward to the adventure of restoring her and using her to sew many wonderful things.