How to get a job

So it's come down to this. Gotta get get---gotta get get --get a job! (thanks to the BEP) I just retired and was, may I say, so happy! Free to do and go and be and think. Then I realized: I need structure. My day is moving too rapidly along, so, so rapidly. I'm also not monetarily structured either.

I'm sewing madly in preparation for Fall Farmers Market, which will open in two weeks. My sales bring some extra money, but not the kind of money a full-time, regular job will bring.

Finding a job is a little tedious. I signed up with several online job networks and saw a couple of interesting positions in Washington and Oregon, but, hey, I'm not planning on moving! So then began a daily grind. Look, examine, dismiss, keep looking.

What is it I would like to do? Yes, that IS the question. Try something new. I interviewed on the telephone for a field rep position. The job required traveling all over North Louisiana. Too much wear and tear on my car. Worse, I have a sleepiness problem when driving, especially long distances.

Maybe register with one of the temp agencies? At least, I would have a variety of jobs over a period of time. Maybe later...

So, what about what I know? What about as substitute in public schools? I subbed over a period of two years when I first retired. Had some fun jobs and not so fun. Maybe later...

Or, look, there are three library openings. Let me apply for one and see how it goes!!l Do I know enough to apply? Let's make a list of accomplishments, then a list of things that could be done in this new setting. Walk in prepared. Dress for success.

More to come on this topic....
Several days after the first interview for school librarian:
Here are my impressions:
1. I wasn't mentally prepared for a committee of three to interview me. Should have been, but wasn't. I had to mentally adjust in about three seconds.
2. The principal acted shocked to learn I was retired. Why? It is in my resume. I thought at that moment I might as well pick up my things and leave the interview...
3.  Out of several questions, I was asked two questions for which I could only offer sketchy answers, but had the know-how to teach myself the content. The principal called me out on one: "You haven't answered the question."
4. In verbalizing the interview I see that I did not do well, but I also see that this job is probably not for me.
5. As soon as I get my "not for us" letter, I'll apply for the next job.

Cry, shout, be disappointed, get over it. Move on to the next. No big deal.
More to come on this topic...

Yep, got that letter and sent out an app for the next one: librarian at the school where I spent 25 years in the classroom. It's a 50-50 proposition whether I'm invited to an interview. Left that school nine years ago with a huge misunderstanding. The librarian position came open for one year (librarian on sabbatical). I applied, the principal basically read me the riot act because my last year saw me late so many times. She was sure that my (creative) disorganization would disrupt the librarian's ascetic neatness.  I left that interview thinking that hell would freeze over before I got that job. Waited all summer. No call. Interviewed at another school and was offered the librarian's job. The next day the first principal called (this was two weeks before school began) and offered me that job. I had to refuse. Later, I learned that she was dangerously infuriated with me. Yes, very unfair over all. 

So, I've waited a week for an interview call, which, apparently will not come. I was hoping that the principal had forgotten her anger. Really, how is it fair to keep a candidate dangling for a summer? Apparently, she had planned to hire me, but how could I know that after her scathing interview.

So, in sadness, on to the next library opening. ...

Teacher behavior does not go gently into the night, or: Once a teacher, always a teacher!

  Let's talk bands! My top three, that is, my all-time favorites, are the Beatles (of course!), the Police, and Little River Band. I'll never get to see the first two, not now, not ever. But the third is touring, including right here in my little home town.
 I bought a ticket as soon as I heard! Couldn't wait! So excited!

In fact, the venue, or place of performance, was one of our landmarks--the Strand Theater, built in the 1920's, and completely refurbished over a dozen years some time back. OK, great! I wore a thick, lovely gauze dress, the first dress I've worn in years, for the occasion. Ooops, I needn't have bothered. Most other audience members put on their old, torn jeans, t-shirts, or short shorts and tank tops. There were a few, like me, who dressed for the occasion. Hmmm, so far, disappointing.

My seat was in that upper balcony level, you know, for the faint of heart who fear heights. I held on as the usher showed me the way. Another weird thing: My seat was among three other patrons. It was odd how we clustered like that with empty seats all around us. Then, ug, then, the good ol' boys came in and were seated behind our cluster. Four of them--and those who think a theater is just an extension of their dens or deer stands or wherever guys hang out and talk in whatever voice that blusters out. And what came out were curse words used in good ol' context--that is, not in anger, but like "the" or "just" or any other everyday word.

I thought, This talking won't last. They will mind their manners when the band comes on. They didn't. Blah, blah, blahty-blah-blah. On and on. Normal voices--that is for good ol' boys. One even declared that he hoped he didn't spill his Jack and coke (drink). Oh great. I've heard of people getting drinks spilled on them during various performances. Finally, I turned around--yes, Teacher Mode came on. "This isn't your living room, Boys," quoth I. They stopped for a minute. Stunned by the Teacher Voice, I suppose. I've been told I can spew in a most condescending tone. Nope, their silence didn't last. Blah, blah, blah returned. At least they didn't cuss me of spill drink on me.

Even so, I picked up my things and moved down a few rows to the empty section, a whole tier lower. Ah, quiet around me. Then four women and a man moved to the row in front of me. I moved down. The two women near me talked the entire time. More blah, blah, blah. Laughing, giggling, singing along (which was fine, even expected). I worried that they, too, would spill their drinks--not on me, however, but on the floor of that fine Shreveport landmark.

Then there's the band. Little River Band. So great in their '80's heyday. The sound system was not set correctly, at least not to my ears. The instruments took precedent. Too loud, way too loud! The major problem was the voice mikes were not on the same level of volume. I could not understand half of what they sang. I know a live performance is not the same quality as a studio production, nor did I expect it to be. But I did expect to hear their voices at least at the same level as the instruments.

Then they had to urge the audience to clap and sing along. They lost me when they invited the audience to party. It's Friday night! That was the moment it all seemed like a nightclub with an audience most interested in their own little worlds, when the band seemed like an old, tired touring band. I kept thinking, This is not enjoyable.

I stayed for 40 minutes, then picked up my things and left, promptly forgetting I had ever been in a place where I could hear my third all-time favorite band.

I plan to buy a new CD.

(Note: I did not take the photo.)

A review of "Rome, Sweet Home"

Scott Hahn, Kimberly Hahn, and their road to Catholicism turned out to be much more problematic than I had anticipated. I've heard of this couple so long that I assumed, wrongly, that their conversion was easy. It was anything but easy. "Rome Sweet Home: Our Journey to Catholicism" is their story, told by both alternately, of a difficult conversion.

Kimberly came from a family of Presbyterian ministers and herself planned to be a pastor. After meeting Scott, dating for a while, separating to settle as friends, then finally deciding to marry, at that point, Kimberly wanted more than anything to be a pastor's wife. That was the major discrepancy in their story, but in following the biblical command of submitting to the husband's leadership, they had no choice. A woman cannot lead a church.

I recently joined a Catholic book club with this book as our first reading. As a former Protestant myself, I waded through the vitriolic anti-Catholic words that Scott and Kimberly spewed prior to acknowledging the rightness of Catholic beliefs. One club member grew angry in reading the section, but having heard those accusations against Catholics all my life, I knew exactly that mindset (not a pretty sight, mind you).

Scott had the distinct advantage of having time to study every night, earning degrees, having detailed debates with other students, professors, and great scholarly minds all over the country. Each time he tried to disprove a Catholic belief, he found each to be true. First Luther fell, then other Protestant leaders, until Scott was faced with his conscience: convert or live a lie. Kimberly could not join him. Not yet.

I felt sorry for Kimberly, raising children, leading study groups, crusades, but not going where Scott was headed. They wavered in their marital connection. As one member of our group pointed out, she was not sure just exactly when Kimberly was convicted. Nor is it clear.

If anyone asked what was the most benefit I gained from this read, I would say: The book made me want to locate my old study books on the early church and reconnect with the Word of God. That's more than worthy of any book. The rest is lagniappe.

My Bucket List

It's final! I am retired! However, to maintain my current level of living, I must find another job. OK, that figures. I worked so very hard as a teacher. That was a hard, hard job, a hard life. There, got that off my chest, so to speak! Now, for the fun part. Let's make a list--you, too--of all the things we want to see and do before, you know, the bucket gets kicked, the Rapture comes, or the Aztecs are right.

In no particular order (but as they come into my head), items for my bucket list:

1. I would love to go to Iceland and take an auto trip around the island. I want to see glaciers and puffins (are they in Iceland?) and museums. I want to drink tons of coffee like the characters do in the Nobel winning novel by

2. I want to join the local quilter's club. That's been my plan for two years now and I still have not joined. I want to go to Dallas on a quilt-shop-hopping trip to buy a few pieces.

3. Related to #2 is making one example of all the items I've marked in all my magazines. What fun!

4. I want to have an adventure with my former Pretend Children.

5. I want to go to Nova Scotia with my sister.

6. I want to have enough money to repair all the broken things on my house, especially, no, not especially, because all these items have equal intention in them. I want my swimming pool in working order so my family can come over for a pool party with a cookout and all!

7. I want my house put back into order.

8. I want a fun job without the stress of being responsible for children's behavior.

Coming soon: Life after retirement!

It's time for goodbye....

I've packed all my things and took with me all things indicative of my personality. The library no longer reflects me...well, the bright paint on the desk and file cabinet I could not remove, the two trashcans I painted. One of my favorite teacher friends from years ago repeatedly said, "I'm going home soon." She finally did. And now I've gone home. I retired from teaching and school libraries and rooms full of children and noise. I was tired and easily annoyed. That's how I knew it was time. So I said goodbye.

(Next post: the joy of teaching)