Maid in Colombia

The latest not-new book I'm reading is Memoirs of Hadrian and at the front there's a bio on the author, Marguerite Yourcenar. Cop this:

"Her mother died shortly after her birth and she was brought up and educated by her father. She was reading Racine and Aristophanes by the age of eight and her father taught her Latin at 10 and Greek at 12."

I know what you're thinking - how could her father have left it that long to get her started on Racine?

Actually, I was wondering why I, so merely mortal, even bother. Two (2) of us are so busy picking things up that we haven't considered Greek theatre, although Santi has demonstrated a predeliction for pulling Plutarch's Lives off the bookshelf - it makes a good foundation for Lego castles y'know. But did Yourcenar's dad have the same demands on his time? Did he collect toys (or philosophy books) off the floor or do the housework, or did someone do it for him? Perhaps, he had a maid ...

We had one when we lived in Colombia. Her name was Elsa and man do I miss her (la la la la). Over there it's not just for the filthy rich hacienda dwellers either - solidly middle-class types like me get to exploit the working classes too. Of course, it never felt like that at the time, especially when we didn't have to sweep the floors, wash the clothes, scrub the toilet ... okay, you get the idea. For 20,000 pesos a day (about $10 AUD) you got it all, and she'd even prepare dinner and babysit at a pinch. You justify it by saying "it's more than she would have got if we hadn't hired her", or "it's more than the legal minimum wage", but would I able to survive on 100,000 pesos a week? Barely. And get ahead? Never.

Sure, there are plenty of consumer habits to feel guilty about: pigging out on McDonald's, guzzling Coca-Cola or just doing Nike. We get over it. Now, after almost a year back in these-are-the-rules Sydney, I look back on the halcyon days of having a maid and wonder, should I be ashamed, would I do it again, and most importantly, would it help Santi catch up on his Aristophanes? While our lives consist of an endless ritual of picking up toys (why do they all have so many pieces?) and haciendo oficio, we can't help but dream.