the job hunt begins

I spent the morning filling out online applications for full time work. Yep, it’s time to make the leap. I’m still not exactly sure where I’ll land.

One of the applications was for a full time faculty position at my local community college. I’ve been working with first year college students for about 5 years now, in the writing program, and I love it. It is invigorating to support students through the writing process, helping them see the connection between writing and thinking and to value solid communication skills. The students I work with show remarkable growth in the span of one short semester. So, the idea of working as a regular faculty member, with the possibility of working with students over multiple semesters, is exciting. I can see lots of opportunity for collaboration with other instructors across the curriculum.

The other application I submitted was for a long-term PreK-K substitute in the school district where I used to work. I am certified to teach PreK through grade 6, and also have my English Language Learner certification. I see this long-term substitute position as a way to get back to this school department after taking the last year and a half to focus on my family. I also know a few people in that particular school and know it would be a fun place to work, with a strong team ethic.

These seem like very different positions, but what they have in common is teaching. I love to teach. And I want to be in a community where teaching and learning are valued; where professionals work together to support each student in achieving the next level of academic success, no matter what the starting point. Both of these organizations are that sort of learning community.

In the meantime, the university where I have been working as a part time adjunct just sent me a tentative schedule for the spring semester. I am on track to teach two sections of College Writing II, a course I have not yet taught. I love the idea of a new challenge. I also love the Tuesday/Thursday schedule which gives me lots of time away from campus to work on other projects AND the benefit of longer class meeting times so we can go deeper into discussions and have ample workshop time.

With all of these opportunities before me, I have no idea what I’ll be doing in January. I’m not even sure which one to wish for over the others. And who knows what else may come my way in the next few months. Wherever I will be employed in January, I know I’ll be teaching and writing. What could be better than that?

That's my Slice of Life today.

What are you up to?

looking for a short book

The other day, I went into the fiction section of my local library with one goal: find a short book.

Like most teachers, I am overwhelmed this time of year and don’t leave myself enough time to read. And I have really missed having a story to follow. I’ve been reading student work every day, and I love it. I engage in student texts completely: pulling apart structure, analyzing word choice, parsing out trouble spots. I look forward to reading their work each day, seriously, I do.

And I’ve been reading a lot of articles and blogs about teaching and writing and teaching writing. I eat up those words about words. The Sunday Boston Globe has had some great articles lately; and engaged intellectuals has become a new favorite blog.

Still, despite all this wonderful reading, what I really want is fiction, really good storytelling. I took out a collections of Andre Dubus’ short stories a few weeks ago, and I did read a few, but the book was a week over due and I decided to give up on the great big tome. In fact, when I was driving my daughter over to the library so she could pick out a few things, I vowed not to check out anything. I had so much waiting for my attention already. But then, surrounded by all these wonderful books, I just couldn’t go home empty handed.

I walked into the fiction stacks and ran my eyes along the spines until a thin volume appeared. I pulled it out, read the dust jacket, returned it to the shelf and kept looking. I finally settled on The Devil’s Own Work by Alan Judd. I’ve never heard of the book, or the author, but the subject struck me (an author who may have sold his soul) and the length sold me (115 pages).

I’ve only managed a few pages so far; I’m reading midterm essays and trying to plan Writers’ Workshops that will address the struggles of each writer. But I’m so happy to have the book on my shelf. I think I can make some time this weekend to see how it ends.

Sisters' Weekend - SoL

I’ve been thinking today about Sisters’ Weekend. It’s about the time of year we usually go, but no one has made a plan.

I have six sisters; I’m the youngest. I don’t remember how long ago Sisters’ Weekend started – it was sometime before I had children of my own, and my oldest is nearly fourteen.

People are usually surprised when I tell them about the weekend. They don’t get along as well with their own sisters to spend a whole weekend together. I find that sad.

We haven’t had a full Sisters Weekend since my Dad died two years ago. We were all working through our grief, and our relationship hit some road bumps, and we just couldn’t quite manage the normalcy. Our Mom died this past summer, and none of us has felt like planning anything fun.

But, my sisters are my best friends. Even though I know I drive them crazy, even though we disagree about politics and religion, even though we are all at different stages of our lives – I need my friends.

The downside of having sisters as your best friends, I’ve recently discovered, is that you all grieve at the same time. We aren’t able to support each other through this difficult time because we’re all faltering. 

And I do have friends I’m not related to, but what I really need are the people who know where I’m from; who watched me screw up and stayed around to hug me; who see my good intentions through my bad choices; who, knowing all about me, choose to spend time with me anyway.

Today, I’m worried that I may never have my sisters in the same way again. Change happens, and intellectually I accept that you can’t keep the status quo forever. I even accept that change is good. But, the emotional me just wants everyone to meet up at Ronnie’s beach house, gorge on the junk food we all brought, give each other advice on buying Christmas presents, and stay up late playing silly board games. I want Sisters Weekend as it always was.

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Be Not Afraid - Spiritual Atheism

Be not afraid

I go before you always

I’ve been singing this song to myself, on and off, for about two months now.

What a comforting idea, that power, always with you. I want to believe in that.

I do, in a way.

There is a power in the universe. I believe that with all my soul. But I just don’t know how to define that power, what to call it; I don’t know the strength or the purpose of that power. But that’s OK. That’s the mystery that religions have been talking about since humans first started thinking about these things. I’m OK with the mystery.

But I have to admit to some fear. Where are my parents, now that they’ve died? I can still feel them, their love and concern, so they can’t possibly have simply ended. They are in the universe, somehow.

I read a short story in high school (I can’t remember the title or the author) that said the dead exist as long as someone living thinks about them. The less they are in our thoughts, as we “move on” and gain distance from our grief and from our love, the more they fade. The scariest thing was the idea that they felt that loss, that they felt that forgetfulness. I vowed to put my Nana in my thoughts at least once a week, so she wouldn’t fade. And, I think I’ve actually done that ever since, though thirty-one years have passed since she died.

If I keep my parents in my thoughts every day, will they continue to exist? And, what does that mean, anyway? Would they want that existence; to be held in a connection to this living earth rather than to have the freedom to explore whatever is next?

And so, I am afraid. Afraid of what they have gone through in dying. Afraid of what I will go through. Afraid of making a mistake.

Whatever one would call my faith, I do have faith that there is love in the universe.  I agree with the mentor that is Jesus Christ, who seemed to teach us to treat people well and trust that life is good. Who tells us that we can wander far, in safety, though we do not know the way.

I’ve been wandering for all of my 43 years, trying to find the way. I’m struck with the idea that the wandering, not the way, is the important thing. That, naturally, is frightening. I will try not to be afraid.

SoL- apples and chaos

Monday night, band rehearsal.

Tuesday night is play rehearsal for one, soccer practice for the other.

I’ve had meetings the past two Wednesday nights.

Thursdays are for soccer practice

Friday afternoon means afterschool theater, nighttime marching band.

On Saturday, we head out to two different soccer games.

Sunday afternoon, I’m busy planning Monday’s class.

The above description of our week explains why my daughter was complaining about having frozen chicken nuggets for supper, again.

I haven’t been able to figure out how to fit in a family supper more than once a week. I make food that can travel, or make individual sized meals that each person eats before or after activities. I’m not a great cook, and my girls are finicky eaters, and I’m trying to avoid take-out and drive-through windows – and all of that combined makes for a stressful meal-time.

And, I haven’t been much fun to be around, either.

So, when Monday’s band rehearsal was cancelled, I decided to be a little more fun. The girls and I went to one of the local apple picking farms and filled two bags. We walked all over the orchard, looking for the best fruit; we climbed to the top of the hill for an unexpected view of acres of pines and maples; and we gathered the most beautiful red and orange and yellow leaves to take home and press.

When we got home, I scoured the empty cupboards and found a few potatoes to make the girls’ favorite home fries, baked some squash to make a batch of soup sweetened with apples, and cooked a supper that the four of us could enjoy together. It was lovely.

Today, I put aside the pile of essays I was grading when the girls came home from school and fried up a few apples with cinnamon as an afterschool treat.

Yes, I threw leftover spaghetti sauce and mozzarella onto a refrigerated pizza dough and called it supper before shuttling the kids to theater and soccer, and I’m typing this in my car (which is not helping my sore wrist) while I wait for rehearsal to be over, but the smell of those cinnamon apples and my daughter’s lip-snacking smile is still with me.

This level of business is new for us. There’s a lot I like about it, and a lot I don’t. I’m looking forward to the end of soccer season in a few weeks, but I know there will be other activities to take its place. I just need to remember to stop and smell the apples, and enjoy my beautiful girls through the chaos.

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