The Day After

"I AM A WOMAN !"

"I am a woman!" That cry echoed through her head. Yes, she was a woman. No, she was not a cog in the vast corporate network. She was no longer one of those subhuman persons that got on the treadmill and passively let it take her where she was supposed to go. She had heard the speaker on TV last night. It had impressed her. "That woman was just like me. She wasn’t a fancy high priced model type that you usually see promoting lifestyle changes of the rich and famous. Neither was she the pseudo-masculine man-hater type. And she wasn’t the prissy Pollyanna sort, either. She was like me! She had a home and kids and worked. She was coming from the same place I was. I even saw the skirt and sweater she wore at Penney’s last week. And I understood what she was saying. It was like I was standing up there saying all the things I’ve thought but could never put into words. ‘I am a woman.’ And then so much more."

She had even ordered the book and tapes after the show. She had never ordered anything from the TV before. Not even from QVC. And this close to Christmas...? She really didn’t have the money for spur of the minute purchases. But this..... Some how, this was necessary. This was her. The message spoke to something deep down inside her. It touched that core that she struggled to bury day by day so that she could do what she thought she had to do. But now...? Was there really a chance that she could once again be her real self? It would take courage, but hadn’t she had that? Wasn’t that the same courage that had helped her make it through these past ten years?

She was at work today, but she had stepped off the treadmill. You could tell it in the way she stood. Her walk was different. More confident. Almost joyful. There was an inner power that hadn’t been there yesterday. And yet, it wasn’t a power that threatened anyone. It was more a charisma. People noticed her today. They stopped and wondered who she was. And they suddenly wanted to know her and talk to her. What ever she had, they recognized and wanted. Not her, but that inner something she had. Something had subtly changed. Today, she was someone. Today she was finally herself. And she felt good and rejoiced!

There were only a few more months until April! April 12th! The day of the first step back to normalcy. Maybe, just maybe, the end was in sight! She had time to plan and prepare. Suddenly her world had changed. She saw everyone through her newly opened eyes. The cataracts of deception had been removed. An excitement pervaded her and glowed through in her face. She wondered if there were others in the office or building that had heard "Her". But inside, it did not matter. She had heard and rejoiced. This was that elusive dream that she had harbored for years about to become a reality. Someone had understood! She was not alone!

The Days Before

Sandy was born into that in-between generation. Not a pre war or a post war baby. The "Baby Boomers" were coming along behind her, changing much of society, but she was living both the before and after.

She had watched the depression and prewar babies turn into the "Beat" generation from just far enough away in age to look, wonder and yet not be old enough to join in or really understand. Still in high school when the Korean Conflict was in full force, she did not experience the loss of friends to war. Later, during the Vietnamese Engagement and the era of the "Hippies" and "Flower Children", she was safely married and beginning to raise children in the far suburbs.

She was of the generation that still read extensively, even though television was in most of the homes. College educated, "in case she should ever have to go back to work", she became a nurse with a degree. And education was the start of the unrest that came as her life seemingly moved off in a spinning whirlwind of change. She read, she pondered and thought about what she had known in the past and what she saw today. The future did not look promising. But she entered and lived it day by day. She did not like where it was taking her, but she coasted along in the guise of "keeping up".

Unlike many, she became an avid listener to those who had gone before. She heard and kept their stories and tales in her heart. There was a goodness in these oldsters that was not in the world today. What had they had? What had they experienced that was missing today? Why was it gone? What had happened? She had been present through the change. When did it start? Had she been a part of it? She knew she had been changed. And she knew where she had come from. Change had happened both because she agreed to it and because the circumstances of her life seemed to demand it.

Today she was a successful business owner, having rapidly risen through the ranks of nursing, to administration, and then off on her own. But it was precisely in this coveted role as business owner that she began to realize what she was missing - or had missed.

Her office told a lot about her. Lace curtains at the windows; warm wood furniture throughout; burgundy, pink and smoke blue upholstery on the chairs. It had a home like atmosphere that made her comfortable. Though she suppressed an unspoken sense of failure at having to leave her home, she let her home creating skills come out through everything that surrounded her.

Most of her employees were women. Many, if not most of them, were single mothers with children. She was amazed, despite her years in nursing, at the few that had ever been married. They appeared to have accepted the role of provider and single parent as the norm. Men came and went in and out of their lives at will, or so it seemed. She worried about what was happening to their small children when she sent them out to work for six and eight hours a day. And she found herself encouraging them to stay home when the kids were sick or off school on holidays or snow days.

She remembered all the years she had been there at home with her own children. Days of financial struggle, but also days of joy. Watching a baby smile and reach towards her face with those little hands. Encouraging those first steps. Making play dough. Decorating Christmas cookies. Picking strawberries and then indulging them in a supper of fresh strawberries, shortcake and fresh whipped heavy cream. Watching the Christmas pageants when her son played the role of Joseph. Watching those early practice sessions in leotards and tutus as her daughter learned ballet. Cooking a special candlelight dinner for her husband. And a thousand other little glorious memories. Were these women working for her able to collect these precious gems that would bring them that happiness that fills the years when the children are gone? Did they have time for camping in the woods? Making snow angels and snowmen with crazy hats and faces? Did they carve pumpkins? Or celebrate that annual "Pie Day" on the Friday after Thanksgiving, that still brought her children and grandchildren home each year.

She had not been dormant during those years at home. She had joined the La Leche League and used her professional nursing and leadership skills to help other mothers and promote and teach breast feeding to the nurses at the local hospitals. And there had been the years of organic gardening where she and her husband had raised most of their vegetables in a small backyard plot. She had picked and frozen and canned their needed supplies for the winter ahead.

She had helped a small garden club raise to county wide status with a first at the county fair exhibit and initiated their first flower show, where she had taken best in show. And there was time for bridge, and volunteering at school, and for her church work. She had even helped start a St. Vincent de Paul Society along with a good friend at the rural church she belonged to.

She had cooked and baked bread. She had sewed clothes and drapes. And she had time for a wide variety of friends who sought her advice on child rearing, marriage, prayer, and a multitude of other subjects.

Her children had never seen her as a useless partner in the marriage. She was "mother". And all that signified to them. She had demonstrated in her daily life the ability to find solutions to the problems they were facing. She helped them to work through relationships with others, both at home and at school. And she had had the time to help them dream dreams of a world that could be and their part in making it happen.

Though they were poor by today’s standards, they did not realize poverty. And working, did not mean leaving the home. It meant finding new ways to do the routine.

What were the children of her workers learning about life? Who played that role of mother to them? Who kissed "boo-boo’s" and made them better? Who played the role of disciplinarian to them? Who taught them the foods to eat and the behaviors to take to stay healthy? She agonized between finding these women work and encouraging them to remain at home with their children.

At the suggestion of other nurses in the office, she had instituted a support group to help them handle the problems they were facing. But again, this was time spent apart from their families. And a good deal of the discussion focused on their work.

Where were the neighborhood "Koffee Klatches" she had spent her young motherhood days at? No one seemed to have time for that. Even on the rare days when one was home, there was no one else about. Her workers radiated a loneliness that they could not put into words. Why? Why were they out in the work force? Why were there no more of those jobs where women could bring their children to work with them? What had happened to the husbands that used to work to support their families? Why hadn’t the widowed and the divorced moved home with their parents like they used to? Why was her home care agency taking care of these older, frail persons that should have been taken care of by loving family members?

What the "Beat Generation" and the "Hippies" had experimented with, now invaded all of society. The old rules were gone. But there were still no new rules. Only chaos. The old rules weren’t perfect. They had left many gaps in the treatment of women. But they had provided a framework, a framework from which to begin to change. And progress was being made, but slowly. Now, the framework was gone. And society seemed to be building a new one. Only there were no plans. No structure. Just a heap. A patch. "Cover it over so it doesn’t show attitude". Or, a "Let them see it as it is" attitude. Each one was making individual rules and then changing them as their circumstances changed.

It seemed nowadays, that every one was being put into categories depending upon their productivity. It reminded her of her early life on the farm, upstate.

"We’ll put the cows in this barn for milking, and keep the heifers out in the pasture."

"Make sure you keep the roosters away from the laying hens, or they’ll be hiding their eggs on us."

"Measure out the oats for the horse, or he’ll be to frisky to work."

"Keep those geese out of the garden."

"We’ll have to stay up tonight and try to shoot that fox that’s been getting into the hen house."

Only now - they seemed to be talking about groups of people!

"Keep the men in the factories and producing products. Put the women into service jobs where they work best."

"Put the young ones into day care. Cut the welfare checks if the kids skip school."

"I’d recommend you put your Dad in a nursing home."

"We can offer you an abortion if it’s inconvenient."

"The death penalty really lets these criminals know we mean business."

"Here’s some pills that will work if the disability gets too bad. There’s enough in the bottle to do the trick. You’ll just go to sleep. But don’t wait too long or you won’t be able to swallow them."

For a long time, she reasoned, "Maybe I’m just out of step - too old to change." But the thought always brought her a secret joy. NO! She was not conforming! She still retained a sizable remnant of the old life! And day by day, she found herself pushing to gain more of it. She refused to wear pants and dress like a man. And most suppers, though much simplified, now that she was working, were still from scratch. She had a secret pride that her family turned thumbs down on the few "heat and eat" in a box foods she had tried. And the birth of her first granddaughter had been the excuse to get out the old Singer and make a dress for her to wear on her homecoming.

And at work - she stressed housekeeping, calling it "health keeping" to her workers, knowing that cleanliness and order improved the outlook of both her elderly patients and her workers.

She even gave her workers classes in cooking, teaching them to make soup and stretch the food budget with varieties of tasteful dishes. She came to realize that she was beginning to mother them. And they responded to it. She brought them new clothes, uniforms, that fit and looked good on them. And while they were still pants, she had added a floral print top that reminded them of the femininity. And her infection control classes kept adding more and more tips on how to stay healthy. "Building your Immune System" it was called. But it consisted of all the old adages.

"Wash your hands before eating."

"Breakfast gets the day’s work done."

"Chicken soup for the flu."

"Avoid crowds during the flu season."

"Air the house out in winter to dilute the germs and release the toxins."

"Take a daily walk in the fresh air and breathe deeply. Clears the lungs."

None of this was cost effective and her ‘bottom line’ suffered. She had a successful business, but not a highly profitable one.

And some days, she worried about that. But it was her nature to be generous and giving. She got by on what profits she made.

Once she had even considered closing the whole business down. She knew she could earn more as an employee for some one else. But she stopped when she thought of her employees. They needed those paychecks. Would another employer see their goodness or just use them as "revenue generating units"? No. She would continue.

Her mother had been an early feminist; before it was popular. She remembered her mother’s total absorption with work. "Come hurry up and get ready. Mommy has to be to work on time. I want to lock up the house before I leave. Uncle Tom will be home before you get here so the door will be open."

She remembered coming home to an empty house. No fresh baked cookies for snacks. No one to tell about the day’s achievements or failures. She hated it. She joined all sorts of clubs after school, keeping busy with activities so the wait at home, alone, would be lessened. And in the eyes of the world she lived in, she was excelling. But deep inside, she was lonely. Frightened. Hurting. And she hid the longing to be know as the person she was. There was really no one who cared. Who listened.

Raising her own children, she was determined to stay home with them. And yet, when the last one started school full time, she too started out to work, for the first was now ready to start college and the new bills were more than her husband could handle alone.

Going back to work was easier than she had imagined it would be. She quickly picked up her skills and recalled long buried, but still present knowledge of her profession. But in her mind, she was a failure. She was leaving her home, her children.

Now she began to understand what the "Hippies" had been protesting. They were not just against the war that was taking their friends and older brothers. They were protesting what an earlier war had done to their lives. They were remembering the earlier Korean Conflict. Mothers had had to go to work in the factories again, while Dads went overseas to fight. And many of those fathers never came home after the war and the mothers continued to work. This was the generation that protested. Like her, they were looking to be known. To be cared for. To be listened to. They looked for love and family from one another. Because they had missed it at home. And it wasn’t the same. It did not fill that loneliness and fear and pain deep inside them. And in anger, they blamed and rejected all they had known and experienced. They tore down values and morals. Family and friends. They would start over. Build a new society. Make up new rules. Make it work right this time. But that too failed. And the hollowness inside screamed in rage. And the drug culture was born to dull that inner pain.

And those too fearful - too insecure to join the movements, retreated to the couches. The voices on TV helped them forget the conversation of adults who were absent. The Brady Bunch, Lucy and Desi, Beaver’s mom and dad became their new families. They walled out life. People. And theses machines that held their interest, their attention, diverted the pain that remained.

It was these children’s mothers, along with her own, that were facing the gender gap. They had been, and were doing much of the same work as their male counterparts, but their wages were sometime only half what the men were paid. They were not working just to "be productive". They also had to support families and be the head of the house as well as the heart. And because there were so many of them, they began to have strength to oppose the inequities. Their ‘stay at home grandmothers’ had gotten them suffrage, the right to vote, and now they were ready to use it.

Like the men, these women joined unions, looking for the wages and benefits that their counterpart male workers had. Their numbers at the voting booths were responsible for the passage of the ‘Equal pay for Equal work’ laws that were passed. And life for them began to improve.

But some were still discontented. In their change of roles to providers, they had had to assume the control over their families’ decisions that once had been relegated to the fathers that were no longer there. Now, it seemed only natural for them to reach out for power and control in other areas of their lives. And many of their married sisters, observing, saw that these single moms were making it on their own. They began to have the courage to leave the safety of the marriage relationship and strike out on their own. They no longer had to tolerate drunken or abusive husbands. And when they ran into financial trouble, there was now the safety net of welfare to assist them through the dark times. And together, they continued to gain knowledge and power.

Suddenly, the jobs like nurse, teacher and stenographer were open to married as well as single women. And in these roles, as more mature women, they observed the work of men, and realized they too, could do this work. In many cases, they were already doing much of the same work, but as a low paid assistant, not as the high paid boss. They knew this was the time, not for them to forge ahead, but time to encourage their daughters to wade into those areas once dominated only by men. And they cheered them on.

In the work force, they saw the power of education, and now, not only their sons, but their daughters were encouraged to get a college education. They looked back to where they had been, and saw only the bad that was being rectified. Somewhere along the way, the good that had been present in the past was forgotten. And Campbell’s made soup, so they no longer had to cook.

Teachers used the class rooms to encourage. Stenographers opened their daughters eyes to the realm of possible job opportunities that were never mentioned in the school guidance conferences.

Career and marriage were the call now. These early women did not want their daughters to endure the financial poverty that they had had to endure. They knew the need for the ability to make good wages and the thousand and one ways their daughters lives would be eased if, God forbid, they had to face the same circumstances they had had to face.

And then, the voices of extremists took center stage. Wages and jobs were no longer enough. Now women must have the sexual freedom that was perceived in men. "Experiment. Explore. Become." shouted the likes of Betty Freidman. And little by little, the young main stream women joined in. And in the name of freedom, these struggling, forward looking women, watched as their daughters became prostitutes to the sexual revolution.

In the beginning, mothers cringed. They pleaded. They cried. But now these daughters had the education and opportunities that they had lacked. And they began to ride the coat tails of their daughters ‘progress’. They put aside their teaching and morals too. After all they had been through, didn’t they deserve some fun and enjoyment out of life too?

And society sank a little lower. And in conforming, women gave up not only their morals and their values, but their bodies. Why would a man take on the commitment of marriage and home, when he could have any variety of sexual exploits?

And women thought they had gained power.

Day 1 - Later

The meeting with Linda, in the office, stayed in Sandy’s mind. She knew that she had seen the key. The key to change. Would she dare pick it up and use it? Did she know what to do with it? She feared the doors that it would unlock. The doors in herself. The doors that others kept tightly shut. She had faced her inner self deeply today. Tentatively she reached out. Maybe just to touch it more firmly. See if it was real or just another illusion. She half expected, like at other times the opportunity would vanish. But today, it did not. Something was being unlocked. She knew it was time.

And instead of touching, she found herself snatching the moment. Pulling it closer, she grabbed hold, and suddenly and startlingly, she found the key turning. The lock was opening. The lid was coming up. And now she could look inside. First from a distance. And then she dared to come nearer. All that had been buried. Sealed over. Forgotten. It was suddenly before her. She found a treasure within. And then, a moment of panic. Would others steal it from her? Would they tell her it was worthless? And being the woman she was, she knew that the treasure would bring her no pleasure, no reward, unless she shared it with someone else.

Tentatively, she examined the ideas on top. Words tumbled out as she wrote of her findings. Then, with an exuberance that could not be contained, she dove in and pulled out gems and glistening ideas and thoughts that seemed familiar and yet new. Had these pearls of remembrance once been hers? Collected one at a time. Long ago. Now enough to string together. And they kept coming.

Avidly she dug deeper. And the contents of her mind, her thoughts, her memories, her education, came tumbling out. Like pieces of a giant jigsaw, they were in a jumble. Yet, they seemed to be familiar. Waiting to be connected.

"Go ahead." The voice encouraged. "Make a start." "Begin." "Put the pieces together and dare to see the picture they will reveal." And she did. And the picture was her. And her world. Only the world was distorted. Like looking at reality through a carnival mirror. Bent out of shape. And she was alone. Trying to straighten it out. And it was growing more distorted before her eyes. Her efforts were not enough. She realized she needed help. The help of others. And she called out. For help. To you. And you heard. And you came. Because it was your world, too.

The Day of Announcement

"I am a woman!"

"I am one small quiet voice in the midst of today’s busy chaotic world. I am only me. I am not you. But maybe, my voice is yours too.

"I look around at the world I am living in. And within me, that quiet voice says so loudly, "This is wrong!" And from some primeval depth in my being, come the words I fear to hear: "Fix it - Make it better!""

"I am a woman. Throughout all of history mankind has come to me - for I am a woman - to ‘fix it and make it better’. This is my nature: to draw out from each one I meet the healing power that is within them. I do not give of myself as much as I help others mend their own bodies, minds and spirits. It has always been so.... for I am a woman."

"There has been a lot of rough housing and play in this world today and a good number of you have been hurt - some seriously. It is time to stop. Pick up your toys, your guns, your lies, your cheating, your carelessness, your name calling, your greed. This world is acting like a room full of spoiled brats."

"Stop it!"

"Take a look at yourselves! Listen to that inner voice, your conscience. Are you really proud of how you’re behaving? Of who you have become? Is this really what you want your life and your world to be like?"

"No! You are not as bad as your neighbor or your coworker. You are worse! You allowed yourself , day by day, to be swayed and pulled into this pit of dirt and mire. And some days, caught up in the game, you led the way! Aren’t you proud of that!"

"I am a woman. When did I allow respect and courtesy to be taken away from me? When did I allow them to ignore this womanly body which I have been gifted with to be cheapened and exploited as a sexual object, instead of being revered for the nurturing vessel which it has been throughout the ages? What words, what lies, what desires did I

give into, to run after that goal of "equality"?"

"I am not equal. I am different. I am a woman."

"Oh yeah?"

"Well, I just stopped and took a look around! And the landscape and path looks pretty rocky and dreary to me. I don’t like where I am. And I’m too far down the path to go all the way back. But I know, going on in this direction, is not the answer."

"I am a woman. I am the part of humanity that likes people - big, small, old, young, male, female, and everyone in between. "Hello" "How are you?" "Tell me what you’ve been doing?" "How do you feel?" And the enjoyment, the happiness is in the listening and really caring about what the other person has to say!"

"And no, a career as a psychologist, or social worker, or nurse, or physician, or teacher doesn’t make it! Oh yes, those types of work help. But I am stifled. "Well, times up. See you next week; next year; next crisis." "Next?""

"I am placed in the role of a listening automaton. "Smile. Reflect. Rephrase. Encourage. But don’t get involved!" Sorry! I am a woman. And part of my liking people means caring, really caring about them. I don’t turn it on and off like a light switch. It goes with me and is part of who I am."

"I was uniquely designed and created to be a nurturer, helping the people, one by one, to develop and learn and grow into wholeness. I thrive on bringing out the creativity and individuality of each child that I carried in my womb and nursed at my breast. I see into the eyes of the hurting, the homeless, the abandoned. And I reach out. I touch the hurt. The pain. The loneliness. The abandonment.

To answer that basic human cry to be known for who we really are, is my forte. And yet today, I have let them convince me that this child of mine will be happy and safe and learn more quickly, if I only ship them off to a "licensed day care" with "trained care takers." And then go off into the corporate world and "fulfill myself"."

"And the sick, and the homeless, and the lonely and abandoned will be better cared for by ‘Social Agencies".

"And my child rebels with tears at first, then with more subtle changes: the clinging the yelling the biting, the asthma, the colds, the stomach aches, and finally - and what hurts the most - they "fit in". This unique small individual has "given up", to conform - "to be accepted". And now that I stop my running down the "career path", I see what has happened."

"I step over and around the shells of humanity. The lost. The hungry. The pregnant teen and her baby. The widow and the widower. The addict. On my way up! Don’t have time! Maybe tomorrow. ‘Can’t someone do something?’ Oh yeah, the Social Agency must be helping them. Not my responsibility. But that poor little old woman had been sleeping on that grate for the past month. I wonder why?"

"This is not happiness. I am torn between worlds. And I cry."

"What loss will this world experience because of the loss of the individuality of each of these conforming children? What insecurities will they carry on into life? What risks will not be taken to better our lives, our society, our world? What paths will not explored? What wars will be fought because these children have conformed rather than thought their own thoughts and said "No"?"

What artist, musician, scientist lies there in the gutter? What young person has turned to a life on the streets pushing their body as the price for drugs to dull the pain that comes from the lack of a hug? From the lack of someone who cares? Food stamps don’t ease the hunger of loneliness."

"How many lives are lost to suicide or homelessness or apathy because there is not that female friend to listen, to console, to care? Women have been the backbone of charitable works throughout the advancement of society. It was countless of them being there for the sick and the poor on a one to one basis that gave people hope."

‘Money does not purchase what the human condition needs most. Money does not purchase the sense of being that comes from having another person care for you and your life. The reflection that each of us sees in the mirror each morning is not our real self. That real person is known to us through the caring and worth that is shown to us by another human being. And that role of knowing another is best fulfilled by a woman."

"I am a woman! Don’t you see world that you need my unique talents that emerge from my being at home when my family is young and growing, more than you need me in the work place? Don’t you see the need for my presence in the fringes and outskirts of society helping the poor, the uneducated, the lonely? Don’t you see how short sighted and corrupt your decision to "equalize" me is? My work is in using the intuitive caring and nurturing I was born with. Using it where ever, when ever the occasion arises. At my pace. In my way. At my time. The caring that this world needs does not fit into the Monday through Friday, 9 a.m. to 5 p.m. slot of corporate America. Sorry. It goes on at odd hours and odd times. It must be addressed when the need is there. Caring by appointment doesn’t work. Walls are built in the interim between need and care. Care becomes mechanical, routine. Care, but not caring. No love involved. No nurture. Shove a bottle, a welfare check, a Medicaid / Medicare card at the problem and your works done. No responsibility for them. No responsibility for yourself."

"In this asexual world you are creating, are you starting a "lemming" of the human species? Or are we just moving towards a society of human robots that allow the "higher ups" to program our lives into oblivion."

"There are any number of you out there listening to me tonight. Both men and women among you. You are hearing what I have to say. And a good many of you are agreeing. "But what do we do?" "How do we make change happen?""

"There has to be a beginning. We all know things can not go on as they have been. And I do not in any way think I have all or even any of the answers. But I know without the start, things will get worse. I know with a start, that there are multitudes of woman out there who will have answers and solutions, suggestions and courage, to help this world heal."

"I am a woman. And like countless of my shy, quiet sisters, I am the ultimate risk taker. No, not the risk taking of a sky diver or space explorer, though some of you out there have that type of courage. No, I, like most of you, am talking about the willingness to risk to make life better for my family, my children, and the world we live in. In my own quiet way, I am fierce and aggressive when the needs of people are not met. What I would never dream of doing for myself, I will do for others. And it is not for them alone. I understand, that helping one, helps all. It helps our world to be a better place. I am connected to those who have gone before me. To those who will come after. Because I am a woman, I have built into my being the nurturing desire to reach out and help others - all of you!"

"Today, I come before you to ask you to help me. That is the greatest risk, I as a woman can take. I don’t like asking for help. I am afraid you will refuse. Maybe laugh at or ridicule me. We stand at the brink of a new century. But it is also on the brink of disaster and chaos for all humanity. The task before us is monumental. It is a task that only women can accomplish. It is a task that requires the infinite wisdom of human nature and the caring that only women have. Today, I ask you to use those gifts. Today, I urge you to bring that wisdom and caring to the forefront. I want you to focus on how we can change the world we live in. Today, I challenge you to once again become women. You are needed. It is time to risk and stand up for the place where society needs us most. It is time to say "Stop." "This is enough." It is time to say "I am a woman.""

The Day of Challenge

"April 12th. WE WILL STAY HOME!"

"Yes! This is the challenge going out to every woman. On April 12th, we will not take our daughters to work. We will stay home. We will keep our daughters with us! We will spend this one day on learning who we are as women. We will do simple chores around the house that allow us to think. We will stop and meet with our female neighbors. We will take slow meditative walks, not jogs. We will drink in the beauty of the world around us and make it a part of us. We will talk with our friends and listen. We will discuss who it is that we are. What do we as women have to offer to society to heal the wounds that are festering and broiling."

"April 12th. This will be a day, not about power or money. This will be a day for challenge. A day to go deep within. A day to put aside the world’s view of us. A day to search for the roots that have brought us to where we are. A day to explore where we want to be. A day to plan and discuss the how's of where we want to go."

"April 12th. A day to be a woman. A day to revel in the ‘giftedness’ of our being. A day to sort out that which has been taught to us against that which is our innate and inherent nature. A day to come to terms with where we are in life, how we got there, and where we want to go now. A day to explore the relationships that have made us who we are. A day to explore the relationships that we need, to make us who we want to be."

"April 12th. A day of challenge. A day of simplicity. A day of change. For all of us. For the world. A day of start. A beginning."

"April 12th will not be a day of solutions. April 12th will not be an instant fix. April 12th will be slow, meditative, disturbing, exciting, exhilarating, depressing, sad, happy, joyfilled, free. And it will begin the journey we all know we must start. The journey forward to respect. The journey forward to our worth. The journey forward to our being. The journey forward to the place where each of us can boldly and proudly say "I am a woman!""

The Reaction

And behind the hope, was doubt. "No, it wasn’t possible." "No, we will be going back to the oppression of women." And fear. "I want to try this, but what will ‘others’ think?" Fear, that if they spoke, the possibility would be erased. And yet, once again, crept hope. "Well, I don’t have to talk about it. I can just stay home that day." "Let me wait and see if anyone else says anything about it. Let me see what ‘others’ opinions are."

Bedtime was quiet that night. And many did not sleep easy. Minds were awake. And thinking. The process had already begun. "I am a woman!" "Yes. I am!" "I am different!" "She was right!" "She spoke so much of what is within me. So much that I have pushed deep down inside. So much that I thought had to be kept hidden."

And sometime before the dawn broke, along with hope, came anger. Anger at what had been taken away. Anger at how each of them had allowed the world around them to be changed. Anger that they had given in, gone along. Anger that they had been part of the problem.

The early morning rays of sun began to break the horizon. And with the light of a new day, dawned courage. Deep from inside, in the depths of that passion which is inherent in each female came the cry. "I am a woman!"

They arose as one, throughout the nation that next morning. Still nothing was said. But if you looked, you could tell the difference. Today was a day for a dress. A day for extra time with the hair. Earrings and jewelry. Perfume. Maybe a floral scarf. Stockings instead of boots today. Somehow, today, each wanted to put on the outward trapping of their womanhood. Wanted to bask in their differences in the world. There was a peacefulness about them. But with assurance. A sense of being. A pride. A countenance of joy. It did not matter to them today if others sensed what they were feeling or experiencing. Today was for each one of them, individually, to revel in their being a woman.

Husbands, boyfriends, coworkers, even children noticed the change. And they received comments and compliments. And today, they knew it was not their outer being that was being noticed. Today, these women were aware that they were once again allowing their inner strengths and charisma to shine forth. Courage grew. But suprisedly, to many, it came with gentleness, not the aggressiveness that they had needed before. They knew who they were today.

If you listened closely at many offices and places of businesses today, you could hear the faint sound of glass beginning to crack. In their becoming themselves, even for one day, they had started the process. That faint sound was the tinkle of a glass ceiling. Today few of them heard it. But strangely, its shattering had begun. Strange, the power that comes from being ones’ self. Today, the rise above the glass ceiling no longer mattered. Self worth, esteem, power, was now present from within. They had discovered the secret. And today, the glass ceiling that so many had struggled against, did not matter.

In one moment of decision, these women had raised themselves above the barriers that society had erected to contain them. And in that moment, society, itself, had begun to rise from the ashes of decay.

The Day of Beginning

DATELINE: U.S.A.: April 12. News Flash: "A quiet pall has spread across this great nation today as women throughout the country are engaged in a day which they term, "Not protest, but recollection." Men, alone, frequent the large corporations and houses of business. There is felt an eerie premonition of what was and what is to become. Usually noisy streets and shops are strangely silent and the few stores in the malls that are open seemed deserted."

"Contrary to the predications of numerous Women’s Rights Groups, there is no wild rejoicing or male ribaldry to be seen or heard. Rather, a hushed sense of awe has descended. To an outsider, the nation as a whole appears to be holding it’s breath in anticipation of the outcome of today. The sense of wonder and expectation defies any comparison."

"Numerous attempts to interview various prominent figures have met with the same answer. "We will wait and see what happens." That’s it. Nothing more. Even telephones are ominously silent and trading on the stock exchange, though open, is almost non existent. Doctors have canceled office hours and the males among them are in attendance at the hospitals helping care for their patients."

"Children are in school today, but assigned to auditoriums for films and large group activities, but even they seem hushed from their normal exuberant selves."

"I found myself wandering in a park, and was amazed to hear the birds singing. Something is happening. Something big. And no one seems to know what it is. In a nation that is always on the go, the expectant waiting can only be described as awesome."

"There are small groups of women walking together in the park. There is an aura about them that speaks loudly: "Do not Disturb." It reminds me of being in a church where nuns are praying. Something deep with inside will not let me interrupt. I am amazed by my own reactions. I too will wait."

"The call, the challenge, to stay home today appears to have been universally heeded by all women. Why? What was within them that was aroused? In the days leading up to today, little was said about the event. Until it actually arrived, no one knew who or how many would participate - or even if any would respond. But now, the day has come. And we know the message spoken was not only received but produced an unheralded response. No one seems to know what it means."

"And yet, the atmosphere is not one of fear. Strange. It is a feeling remote, foreign. A feeling of perhaps - hope. The type of hope one feels when they look up in the midst of a storm and see a rainbow. That ‘for a minute’ feeling. Of beauty. Of promise. Of the hand of God in our presence. Only it is continuing for the day and is overwhelming. Even this hardened reporter is brought to the edge of tears. Perhaps, to the edge of prayer."

"Please God, Help our nation bring back the goodness that we once had."

The Day of Awareness

Heather and Christa, Mindy and Sara, Nancy and Brenda, and a thousand others of their sisters arose that April day. In every part of the nation, women had made the decision to stay home. It had not been discussed. It just seemed to happen. Perhaps it was the television broadcast. Or the book. Or the headline in yesterday’s paper. Boy friends and husbands, children, brothers and fathers went off to work. It had not been mentioned. In some miraculous way, the day had been cleared of any planned activities. They were home.

In empty homes throughout the country, women started a new day. They washed and dressed. A sense of urgency to ‘be ready’ was in the atmosphere. They wandered around, doing small household tasks. Beds were made, some for the first time in months. Many found themselves washing breakfast dishes by hand. Some dusted. Others washed windows. There were no radios or televisions on. The silence was beautiful. And their minds were active and working.

"Who am I?" "What makes me different?" "What is my contribution to the world?" "What do I do that men can not?" "What am I doing that I don’t want to be doing?" "What would I really like to be doing?" "Why is there so much chaos in the world?" "In my life?" "What needs to be done?" "How can I help?"

Here and there notes were jotted on pads, so that ideas and thoughts would not be lost. And at times, there was a break for a cup of coffee or tea, a glass of soda. They would sit looking out windows. Some hummed. The silence was new. It had been a very long time since they had had the time to think. It felt good.

And then as the morning sun reached up towards its zenith, doors opened and they went outside. The morning was fresh and clear and filled with sunshine. Almost like it had been planned to be a perfect day. They noticed the buds of leaves coming out on trees and crocus in bloom. Small beginnings of the new life that was coming. Like them. A sign of hope. A sign of promise. Beginnings. Reborn. A sign of growth to come.

How long had it been since they had stayed home with no real plans for a day? Opportunity seemed to stretch out before them on all sides. Had they ever really looked at the areas where they lived? They sniffed the air. Touched branches. Picked up a discarded paper lying on the road. And thought of things they would like to do to make this little piece of their world a better place. But not today.

And then they met. Silently at first. And walked together. "Hi. I’m Judy. I live in the blue house." "Glad to meet you. I’m Beth. I live in the apartment on the corner." Then simultaneously, they turned and said to each other, "I am a woman." And laughed at the silliness of that obvious revelation.

"Mary’s having everyone over for coffee. Will you come?" said Barbara.

"Yes. She invited me too. Do you know her?" replied Shawanda.

"I’ve seen her in the yard, but no, I’ve never talked to her."

And in neighborhoods across America, sisters came together to meet and talk. They were amazed that so many of them had lived so close to one another and never taken the time to get to know one another other than an occasional wave. What had happened to their time? Suddenly, isolation was gone. An instant camaraderie was born. For they were women.

"Women persevere." "Women endure." "Women find ways to make do." "Women mend: bodies, clothes, relationships." "Women’s sense of smell is better." "Women hear a wider range of sounds.’ ‘Women are healthier and live longer." "Women are creative." "Women nurture." "Women care, really care about things." "Women think intuitively." "Women like to solve problems among people." "Women look for causes of things." "Women like to talk over their feelings and problems before acting on them." "Women are flexible.’ "Women have babies." "They promote life and living." "Women appreciate the delicate." "Women speak of problems they encounter, but look for simple solutions." "Women are patient with people but impatient with machines." "Women dream dreams of what could be and challenge men to make them happen." "Women bring order out of chaos." "Beauty out of nothingness." "Women bring warmth." "Love." "Companionship." "We need to explore the areas we have given up." "We need to set true priorities on what is really important." "I don’t like myself when I ..." And so it went.

They discussed. They shared stories. They spoke of the problems they saw with their world, their lives. They thought of solutions. They spoke of dreams. Dreams that were suprisingly similar. They planned. They spoke of change. And how they had changed and how they now wanted to change. Each listened to their sister. Felt her emotion as well as heard her words. For this was what women did best.

They laughed. They cried. They felt the joy of being one with one another. Of being know. Of being heard and understood. They cooked and ate together. They took walks. They prayed. They sat silent. They marveled in their alikeness. Their uniqueness. And all agreed. A beginning had been made. Their lives, their worlds had been changed in this simple exercise of coming together. In meeting. In talking. Tomorrow they would go back into the world they had each left. But they were changed. They were not sure where it would lead. But they knew it would continue. They, together, had changed direction. Not back. Not on the same road. And this new road ahead needed to be built. They were aware that they would have to cross rivers and streams. They would have mountains ahead to climb. But they, today, knew they no longer wanted "Universal Equality". They wanted to be women. As they had always been. As they saw and celebrated today, they would always be. It seemed so simple. Yet was so complex. They no longer wanted to be dissected and categorized by others. No more the molding of their feminine natures into the roles of men. They accepted and saw their strengths in being who they were. They were women!

And in this day of meeting, of beginning, they recognized that their world - our world, was changed. The world had made a quantum leap forward in its search for completeness. Perhaps... Perhaps... Peace would approach the horizon. Perhaps men and women would come to know and be known by one another. Just for who they were. Each would recognize and celebrate what the other brought to the world. Harmony would begin. Today, just as a little hum. Tomorrow as a great hallelujah chorus.

As the sun began to move towards the far horizon, they separated. Their heads and hearts filled with the new discoveries they had made. They exchanged phone numbers and made plans to get together again. They knew there would be few chances to repeat the gift of today. But in smaller groups, they would continue to support and encourage one another. And maybe... once a year... On the anniversary. They would come together again. Chart and applaud their progress. Re-appraise their direction. Give support to the building and changes they were making. They all agreed, that what they had done today would not be put on a shelf of ‘never never land’ dreams. Their sisters were counting on them. Their children, their world, needed the changes that only they could make. They needed the changes. To be themselves. To be women.

They left with a joy that the men in their lives recognized somewhere inside, from long ago. Perhaps from sometime before their lifetimes. It was healthy. Productive. They wanted to help make it continue. In this new awareness of women and rediscovery of their true role, the men too, found their masculinity returning. Though the women had done the talking, had taken the day off, they too, had been changed. And it was a change that all wanted to continue.

That night, something seemed right in the world. There was an absence of chaos. There was time for talk. Time for listening. The world felt more peaceful. More complete.

"Please God, let it continue."

Amen.

ADDENDUM

And if you purchased it, thank you for that too.

Now what do you think? What are you going to do with what you have just read? I would ask you to spend a little time considering the possibilities raised in the book. Would you dare to say "No" to your commitments and responsibilities for just eight hours on one day? If you can’t leave your home, would you be willing to invite a few others in for a short period of discussion on the 12th of April?

Take a moment to imagine what that day would be like if you became a part of it. You are part of the possibility. Your commitment could make it happen.

I once had a professor tell me to not get too emotional about my job. "Remember," she said, "You are not essential. You are only convenient." All of the work you and I do is just that - Convenient. But who we are, is essential. Both you and I are part of the hope for the world. You and I are the ‘woman’ this book speaks about. We hold opportunity and possibility in our hands. It is woman that can dream the possibility of change. Change that seems impossible, ridiculous, silly, asinine. We, you and I, know it can be done.

Women throughout history have made decisions and taken action when they ban together. We are communal by nature. We like to talk, discuss, get feedback, listen to others before we go forward. We need each other. For support. For encouragement. For guidance. For courage. We need to share our good times with another who will understand. And we need that fabled ‘shoulder to cry on’ when things go wrong. Together we have done and will continue to make powerful and important contributions to the world we live in.

Don’t make a decision today. But do start a small notebook about who you are. About what you would like your world to be like. About what special talents and gifts you have that are a part of your uniqueness. You, after all, are a part of this. Your voice needs to be heard. Be honest.

Take a look around your little part of the world and add in ideas about how things could be managed if you did participate. Do you need to save up some extra money from a day’s lost wages? Do you have to put in a request for time off? Could some of what you are responsible for be done ahead? Done later? Add in ideas for what should and could be changed. Dream big enough to include those ideals that are stuffed down amidst the busyness of just getting through each day. Why are you really doing what you are presently doing? Is there an end in sight? Is it the end you really want? Will it make you happy? Will it make our world a better place?

Participation in that day will not be easy for many. Yes, we will be causing inconvenience to many that day. And that is a very hard thing for us as women to do. We are used to thinking about how our actions will affect others. But we must look beyond the one day. We must keep focused on the "why" this day is needed. We have always been creative in finding solutions for really difficult problems, which is why your presence is needed. We must individually and collectively come up with those same kinds of solutions to make the day a possibility. Our staying home may cause some discomfort for others, maybe even make some people angry. We must call upon our inner strengths to persevere in our commitment to what we hope to accomplish. We must draw upon the courage of necessity that is deep within us - the courage that makes us women.

You may not really make the decision until the day actually comes. Discussion, ahead of time, with others will really not help. This is your decision alone. It’s a risk. What will happen? What will happen if you do not participate? "All it takes is for good people to do nothing." Hard decision. And it’s yours alone to make. You may not agree with what I have written. That’s okay. But you still need to be part of the solution. Your voice needs to be heard.  The solution will not be what any of us individually think it should be.  But together, it will be better than what we have today.  And it will be a start to change.  And you will be part of it.  Because you are a woman.   And you and I, and a million other of our sisters will make it happen!