Several years ago, one of my dear friends suggested that I join the Ann Arbor City Club. I grew up in Ann Arbor, and my perception of the Ann Arbor Women’s City Club (as it used to be in its gender exclusive days) was of wealthy older women playing bridge and having lunch. I don’t play bridge. What on earth would I do there?
So, my excuse to my friend was, “I have a full-time job. Maybe when I retire.” Once I did retire, she came at me again: “So, now’s the time the join the City Club” (which by that time had become gender inclusive). But then I fell into an interim job, so once more I had an excellent excuse not to join.
When that job ended, I was out of excuses. I agreed to meet my friend at an open house where I would be able to see what groups and classes were being offered. I arrived before my friend and stood around looking, I suppose, lost. A lovely woman came over to me, introduced herself and asked if she might buy me a glass of wine. Who says no to wine? We chatted a bit, and a couple of other people came over, and I thought, “What warm friendly people are here.”
When my friend arrived, we walked around the room to learn about the classes and activities. I spotted a genealogy group. I had been thinking about delving into my family’s history, so that piqued my interest. One of the things that struck me about the City Club was that—unlike at my job, where people were generally much younger than I—here were people closer to my age with shared history and experience. How lovely! I signed up as a member of the Club and joined the Genealogy group, thinking I would try it for a year and then see.
Fast forward one year. I had a better understanding of how to do genealogical research, I had volunteered to price items for the annual City Club Flea Market, and I had joined a couple of other committees. Then I was asked to co-chair the Flea Market the next year. I had such a great time pricing items and working at the Flea Market, that I agreed. Now I am at the Club an average of 3-4 times per week, and my husband has joined. The wait staff in the dining room knows how I take my coffee.
So much for “What on earth would I do at the City Club?”
About the author of today's post: Barbara Kramer retired from U of M Hospital after 30 years, during which she also spent time as a theatrical stage manager. She has been a member of the City Club for three years.
So, my excuse to my friend was, “I have a full-time job. Maybe when I retire.” Once I did retire, she came at me again: “So, now’s the time the join the City Club” (which by that time had become gender inclusive). But then I fell into an interim job, so once more I had an excellent excuse not to join.
When that job ended, I was out of excuses. I agreed to meet my friend at an open house where I would be able to see what groups and classes were being offered. I arrived before my friend and stood around looking, I suppose, lost. A lovely woman came over to me, introduced herself and asked if she might buy me a glass of wine. Who says no to wine? We chatted a bit, and a couple of other people came over, and I thought, “What warm friendly people are here.”
When my friend arrived, we walked around the room to learn about the classes and activities. I spotted a genealogy group. I had been thinking about delving into my family’s history, so that piqued my interest. One of the things that struck me about the City Club was that—unlike at my job, where people were generally much younger than I—here were people closer to my age with shared history and experience. How lovely! I signed up as a member of the Club and joined the Genealogy group, thinking I would try it for a year and then see.
Fast forward one year. I had a better understanding of how to do genealogical research, I had volunteered to price items for the annual City Club Flea Market, and I had joined a couple of other committees. Then I was asked to co-chair the Flea Market the next year. I had such a great time pricing items and working at the Flea Market, that I agreed. Now I am at the Club an average of 3-4 times per week, and my husband has joined. The wait staff in the dining room knows how I take my coffee.
So much for “What on earth would I do at the City Club?”
About the author of today's post: Barbara Kramer retired from U of M Hospital after 30 years, during which she also spent time as a theatrical stage manager. She has been a member of the City Club for three years.
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