Ladies Who Lunch

by Jean Marie Moffa
June 23, 2006

My husband Frank tells me in no uncertain terms that I'm one of them. I am so dumbfounded by his comment that I cannot even get a read on what an intelligent response would be. (Could he be right?!?)

And yet, here I am, four mornings a week, at the country club, watching Julia and Margot during their swim team practices. A glance around the pool reveals that I am not alone. There are other country club women here, chatting amongst themselves, watching their own children swim. Soaking in the sites, I struggle with it all. Who are these women? Or, more succinctly, perhaps, who am I? And, to quote the timeless wisdom of David Byrne, "How did I get here?"

Frank, the girls and I have always been a public pool / YMCA kind of family. Support the community. Participate in the community. Be the community. Then we moved to a town with neither public pool nor YMCA. (Almost a deal breaker for me, during our moving process.) We love the water, and want our girls to grow up to be adults who never have to give good swimming skills a second thought. When the two common local options (swim in any of the many lakes here, or put a pool in your backyard) seemed absurd as the only summertime swim options, we made the obvious decision: join the country club.

For Frank, it's easy. He comes from a country club family. These were his stomping grounds, abroad and in the States. They were certainly not mine....

Frank: "You grew up in Hudson, for God's sake!" (Hudson = small, very affluent community.) "You are a Robb!" (Robb = tightly knit, exclusive family with exacting standards.)

Jean Marie: "And your point is...?!?"

The irony of this is that while Frank's assertions about my past are, indeed, true, I never felt like a club member. Was it because our family home, while part of said community, was on the less-favored south side of town? Out in the Township? Was it because being a Robb meant working really hard at being a Robb, which is to say rarely--if ever--having the luxury of kicking back to enjoy having met the standards? And all those violin lessons and trips to art museums and orchestra concerts...while deeply enriching, they didn't do anything to make me feel like a club member, that's for sure.

The facts remain: By virtue of my membership, I am a country club woman--time to accept the obvious. By virtue of my past, I do have some understanding of affluence and exclusivity. And a truthful look at my lifestyle demonstrates in no uncertain terms that Frank and I are far from poverty. But there's more: I am in a new environment, and this unfamiliarity doesn't bring comfort, that's for sure. It makes me question my surroundings and myself with new vigor, challenging each motive and action. Is this so bad? A good, healthy reminder to hold fast to sincerity, honesty and integrity, no matter the surroundings, is a gift, indeed, and yes, thank you very much, I'll take it.

It's gonna take me awhile to get in my groove at the club. So be it. It'll be a hell of a lot easier now that I'm not obsessing over whether or not I'm a country club woman.... A little discomfort, a lot to ponder. And maybe even a few nice women to meet....