WORK FROM HOME

WORK FROM HOME

Sherry’s eyes opened at 4am in the morning, from a sleep that wasn’t in any way refreshing or dreamy. She wanted to lie down for a bit longer. Her back and arms were sore from all the stitching and cleaning she had to do through the day. But how could she? She was a mother of 5 children, the oldest being 8 and the youngest only turning 6 months last week.

She had to make sure there was enough milk, eggs and bread for everyone in the family, often making an errand to Mrs Porter’s barn, a lonely widow, who now made money by selling homemade bread and other farm produce, now that their daily work of sowing had been robbed of them.  She quickly drank a glass of water off the taps, acting as the percolated coffee we are accustomed to every morning. There wasn’t enough water for everyone to bathe in and it was freezing cold, so she changes to a spare cotton dress that she had cleaned and dried a few days ago.

“How are ya, Mizz Pauta?” Sherry says.

“A’right. Howz ya gurl? She still hot?

Nah. I’ve been warmin’ her head with col’ woter, but it ain’t runnin’ low. She ain’t eatin’ from 2 days. Little Charlie’s been eatin’ all af it.”

“Ha, ha”, cackled Mrs. Porter loudly, forgetting she could wake the entire neighbourhood. “That cheeky bastard. T’as been getting’ cold these days. Cover her up, will ya?

“Sure thang”, Sherry says as she hands Mrs. Porter 2 shillings.

Sherry runs home and finds her baby awake and crying. Her husband swore at her as his sleep gets disturbed. “Git her outta here”, he tells in his slumber. Git up, and help around won’t ya, cumber ground. Now, with her stuck in the house, where her husband is the only earning member, she often got beaten and cussed when he was back home unhappy from unsatisfying work. She feeds baby Ginny and lies her down next to a gown she’d been working on with the dress material she’d snuck little by little from all the many dresses she sowed before all hell broke loose.

She had always been so excited about stitching. Yes, it was exhausting. You had to be careful with your work, such that your eyes stung, and your wrists ached. But it was a welcome distraction from all the cleaning she had to do. Plus, there was a meditative calm, a tranquil, that befell her when she sowed. As the thread wound into the cloth and came back out, like the waves of the sea, the fine smell of the cotton when it was brought fresh from the factory. She remembered assisting her mother with sowing many dresses, a tradition the women of the family had been following for what felt like forever. Her mother made her the model for the dresses “they gotta fit the lady when it's done” she would say, secretly enjoying watching her wide-eyed, fair-skinned daughter spin around in the dress like a princess. This was probably why she never dreamt in her sleep, like the other ladies. She would always dream of the different dresses she could think of, which she would make with the material she had. This was her dream, despite all the helplessness that came with it.

Working at home was convenient for her too. She could look after the children at home, instead of them wandering aimlessly in the roads as both she and her husband were out spending half their time scavenging for jobs, and the other time working odd jobs, with wages they weren’t even sure was right for the effort they put in. She could clean the house between making the dresses and didn’t have to take the baby with her wherever she went.

But a few months ago something called a “jenny” had come in that was thought to work much faster than all the men and women put together. They were told they would soon run out of work, and probably had to find other ways to bring money home. She already could see from the roads, the black smoke that shot into the clear air from some big buildings nearby, and that people started covering their faces so they wouldn’t be coughing like an old chimney.

“Who’s Jenni? She a new lady in town?” Sherry asked her friend Betty innocently one day, as they stood in line, waiting to get handed out the week’s garment to seam, by their employer.

“Nah, you ass head! It’s a wooden thang. Like a spin wheel or something, that makes dresses faster, outta cotton”, said Betty smartly.

“Oh. But can it make their dresses in many colours and threads? Surely it can’t think of a way to make em’ beautiful?”

Who cares bout beauty? We work our derrieres off, to make a full dress, and Lord knows who ends up wearin’ it. Long as I git ma nugget, I don’ care if I’m seaming dresses or washin’ horses.”

Sherry was not happy with this change. This spinning jenny bound her home. She, in fact, harboured thoughts of progressing onto other materials like silks, wools, lace, etc., that the rich often wore, or the shops carried in the big windows. She felt she had the ability to work up a great gown for an evening tea or a ballroom dance. She even imagined a sleeveless wine-red dress, with sheer white cloth falling over the skirt, golden thread embroidery at the sleeves and the hems of the skirt, and a golden or cream garment to drape over the shoulders. But there were too many types of clothes needed for the dress, which she couldn’t afford and didn’t dare to ask anybody about.

As she puts a cold cloth around her sick daughter’s forehead, she asks “why you always cleanin’ Ma. Go make some dresses.”

“Aah, this is all I can do till ya’all grow up, Bubba. Gone are those days where I can work from home. ”

Little did Sherry know, that three centuries later, women would get back to working from home, doing their cleaning, minding their kids and living their lives just as gracefully as she had, and that they could witness the fruits of the efforts they put in, in the annual Met Galas, Fashion Weeks, Film and Music Festivals, etc. that came by, ridiculous though some may be. 