Women’s House Magazine
July 1970 Issue
Samantha Says…
Q:Dear Samantha,
I grew up in the Hill District but was recently displaced from our home when the city bulldozed over our neighborhood to put in the new Civic Auditorium. While sports fans might love the state-of-the-art retractable-roof dome with its view of the sky, it made my family homeless.
So we moved into a suburban neighborhood, but within days of my family’s arrival, houses were being vacated left and right. My front door was vandalized. My toddler was targeted by bullies. Before even meeting me, the neighborhood hated me.
My husband claims I’m worrying about things I can’t change. But I can’t accept that this is how it will always be. As the Reverend once said, “Change does not roll in on the wheels of inevitability, but comes through continuous struggle.”
Your column speaks of women solidarity. Where is the solidarity when I’m an outcast from the very women who pledge to fight for one another? I refuse to believe my worry is in vain, or that the struggle won’t one day bring change. What can you suggest I take to alleviate my worry?
Sincerely,
Worrywart Wanda
A: Dear Worrywart Wanda,
I cannot offer anything to alleviate your worry, nor should I. That is not worry you feel—it is a willingness to change things.
Already you have greater understanding of what it takes for women to rise up than most. Why do women compete with one another? Why do we spread hatred amongst our feminine community when together we could do so much for our greater good?
While I can’t offer a quick solution, I can suggest something that may help give you a sense of peace. The active ingredient is a friend, and the dosage is two cups of Russian Friendship Tea, composed of lemon, cinnamon, and cloves. The lemon contains antioxidants for better immune system health, the cinnamon lowers blood sugar, and cloves provide gut health. With a supportive friend, a healthy body, and a will to change things, your “worry”—but more so your willingness—can make a difference in this world.
Don’t give up on those who are too blind to see. One day unity will be ours.
Sincerely,
Samantha
Chapter 22
In the twilight, when the world was just awakening, Fido had already pooped once in his manure bag, trotted from the bedroom to the kitchen, nibbled two green onion plants down to the root, and was now nuzzling Sam awake. When he finally decided to whinny at the window, Sam could no longer ignore him.
“Go back to bed, Fido!” Sam shoved her head under her pillow, but it did little to mute Fido’s neighs. She hadn’t slept soundly and wanted nothing other than to hide under her covers from the world.
The baseball game had run late into the night, but the adrenaline from the game wasn’t what kept Sam’s brain buzzing until dawn broke. And while Thomas Cook’s profession of love had spiked her anxiety, that wasn’t what sapped her sleep either.
The sleep thief was Thomas’s threat that she either reciprocate his feelings and return the stolen ledger, or face the consequences. And while demanding the ledger from Mr. Getty sounded impossible, and losing her column once and for all felt heartbreaking, going to jail for theft was the worst possible outcome. It wouldn’t only be a slap on the wrist and a single night behind bars this time.
When Fido let out a louder neigh, coupled with a sneeze that sprayed the bed, Sam threw her covers off and forced herself up and over to the bedroom window where Fido paced. Outside a group of kids were already gathering, standing and staring at the house next to hers.
What now? The rumor mill had been churning out new stories every day, to the point where the children were obsessed with the “villainous masterminds” living next-door. Sam decided then and there that it was time to put this big mystery to rest once and for all. If her neighbor was indeed a former prison resident, at least Sam could find out what he was in for. And if he wasn’t, she could clear his name and redirect the flight pattern of the fearful neighbors.
Not usually one to feel anxious, especially over a little gossip, Sam wondered where the public concern had originated. There was usually a morsel of truth found in every fictional tale, which didn’t bode well. The words criminal and threat had been flung around too much to ignore, especially if these mystery neighbors endangered the growing crowd of elementary-aged looky-loos.
