Thursday, June 18, 2015


I started working at the San Francisco Newspaper Agency when I was four months pregnant with Eldest. I was hired as a market research analyst. And I didn't say I was pregnant until I accepted the job. In that telephone call, I blurted out, "I'm pregnant." As if they couldn't rescind the job offer.

They didn't.

I worked there for years, through the Hearst Corp. purchase of The Chronicle and the shedding of The Examiner to the tune of $66 million. Major losses all around. Still losses today, I imagine. I left on my accord when the husband got a dream job that meant I could stay home with the kids.

This is not about that job. (Although, truth be told, I loved that job up until I needed that job. Once you need a job, you put up with a lot of shit. That's what sucks about needing a job.)

Anyway, in my early years, after Eldest was born, I became friendly with lots of folks in sales. One of my favorites was Dale, who was just such a pleasure to be with. She was hilarious! Right up my alley. I went to her funeral a few years ago. I cried buckets of tears. She was a keeper. She is one that makes you want to believe in an afterlife.

Another woman, let's call her "Julie" (as if that's not her name), worked alongside Dale. She was equally fabulous. And here's the message I sent her when I saw her comment on another former co-worker's post:

I'm not sure you remember me, but I'll never forget you! SFNA. I had new babies. And you told me the story of how you ran into your kids' nanny/babysitter when they were older. They had no recollection of her. But she remembered them. I've never forgotten that. Even 'tho my "baby" is now 18 and off to college in the fall. You made me recognize that time goes by. Thank you. Hope you are well.

So for all my kvetching (inner and spoken aloud) about how we can never escape people thanks to social media, I raise a toast to the benefits of being able to tell someone, 17 years later, that you will never forget them.

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