My Nana: Strong Like Ox, Smart Like Fox

by Shaker Caitiecat, a director, actor, assistant stage manager, former President (of the theatre!), sign painter and all-around theatre nut. While there was a time when people mistook her for a boy, that time is, most thankfully, well in the past, and it doesn't prevent her from being proudly feminist, and very proud of her family's herstory. This one's for you, my dear Nanas, may you both rest peacefully.

I'm a long-time theatre buff (not unlike Shakesville's dearly-loved Mustang Bobby), and as such, have been volunteering with my local community theatre for about ten years. Seven years ago, our building burnt down: we reopen, finally, in a month. As a part of that, we've been doing night after night of cleaning and painting and sanding and so on, getting the building ready.

On Wednesday night, my crew was working: one man had shown up, and seven women. The guy (a lovely fellow!) went home a bit early, as he had to be up early for work. Our work that night consisted largely of scrubbing a concrete floor down to the bare concrete: no spots, no stains, no crusty caulking spots, all that stuff.

As we worked, I looked around me, at a group of women sweating and grunting, committing to the job entirely. It occurred to me that, a generation or two ago, this would have been considered part of a woman's daily task in the Western world (and in other places, it still is, largely), and derided as not worthy of respect.

I spoke up, while I took a short break, brushing some sweaty hair out of my eyes:

"Y'know...a while back, this would have been our daily lot, for most of us. For our grandmothers, it was. And they called us 'the weaker sex'. Imagine that? Immensely strong people who got up every day and worked, unpaid, through several hours of physically draining, gruellingly painful labour, unpaid...and we're weaker?"

And what was really cool was how we then worked into a discussion, as we scrubbed, about the amazing strength of our grandmothers. One woman mentioned that her Gramma had been a real Rosie the Riveter back in the day, and had arms that looked like Popeye's—huge forearms, and she had big strong shoulders too. Another said that her Oma had been a lunch-lady in a large school, and how she, too, had huge strong forearms, and that hugs from her felt keenly balanced between lovingly squeezed and utterly crushed. My own Nanas were a seamstress and a lunch-lady, and both worked hard all their lives. My one Nan had huge calves from working treadle switches constantly, the other could hold a full soup tureen in her bare arms, heat and weight both trivial to her.

We spoke for maybe ten minutes, and the smiles as we went around were like magic. It was marvelous, and invigorating, to realise we came from a line of intensely hard-working women, and that our own hard labour was contributing to that continuity. It somehow made it easier to carry on: we got more done than we'd expected.

Who were your foremothers? What were their strengths? Share your pride in them here, and remember them while you do your own daily work, whatever that might be.