Rosie the Riveter

Perhaps you know I begin my day writing a rhyme over at Pat's
'Rhyme Time" blog. It's my little "I'm still OK" test. His post
always gives me a good laugh plus today's title is a memory jab
with ....... EVEN A JOB PICKING CORN OFF THE COB.

Been there. It was smack-dab in the middle of WW2 and there
was not an able-bodied man left on the street who was not in
uniform. Women who had never lifted a finger outside of the
kitchen, took to working in factories and food production.

It was a fantastic time, women stepping out of their girdles
and zipping up their coveralls. The summer I was 14, I got a
job at the local corn-canning factory.  Hair tied up in a
bandana, I looked like all the other "Rosie, the Riveters" with
my standard little black lunch box, packed with enough
sandwiches to cover lunch and snacks for a double shift.

I worked in the cutter room where the sharp blades on a
conveyer belt cut the corn off the cob. This room was not
for the clumsy and when working such long hours, one
 really had to keep their wits on board.

The war was what Really closed the book on the great
depression.  Jobs, jobs, jobs beckoning from huge signs
 were the pied pipers that brought women and young
adolescents out into the work force. Lucky Strike Green
may have gone to war, but we were actually earning that
green folding stuff that would buy us food and a few
trinkets we had been without for such a long time.

Swing music blaring from radios where ever we went.
Benny Goodman, Tommy Dorsey. In spite of the war,
those WERE the days.  I guess that would be called
my coming of age. LOL
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