There is an old saying: “The highest reward for man’s toil is not what he gets for it, but what he becomes by it.” I believe that.
I’ve worked enough to know what work is and to appreciate the fact that I don’t have to anymore (Not that what I’ve been doing with the rest of my life hasn’t been work).
I started out working at my grandfather’s hot dog and chili restaurant on the corner of Slauson and Vermont in Los Angeles when I was only eleven years old (holidays and summer vacations until I was fifteen) I waited tables and had to give my tips to the other waitresses who were supporting their families.
I worked at an auto parts store while I was in high school (and sold a whole set of spark plugs to one customer for the price of one plug – who knew they could be so expensive?) I supported myself through college working part time as a “stripper.” (That got your attention!) No, not that kind of stripper. I stripped the tags off the new suits that came in at Robert Hall Clothes. “Stripper” was the actual job title. (Which led to a nickname I’ve had ever since: “Bubbles.”)
You would be surprised to know that I actually applied to work as a female deputy sheriff. I would have escorted prisoners to and from jail to the court house, etc. But I failed the physical exam (two of my lower lumbar were fused and they said I could break my back in training).
I worked for Wells Fargo Bank for six years and was one of the first three female corporate calling officers on the West Coast. (I had my own secretary, use of a bank car, expense account, yada yada yada) Six months after I quit my job (to be a stay at home wife and mother) the Bank called and offered me a position as an assistant vice president in the correspondent banking department. I declined and I’ve never regretted it.
There is only one thing worse than to live without working, and that is to work without living.




























