On Friday, April 20, I got up at 6:30 am. I had a busy day ahead of me, with lots of driving. I was going to Dallas, OR, the county seat of Polk County, 15 miles west of Salem, which is 45 miles south of Portland. According to Mapquest, I had at least an hour and 20 minutes of driving to get there, but that didn't count rush hour delays. Since I was going to an interview at 10:15 am, I wanted to give myself plenty of time.
I left around 7:30, and got there at 9:10. This was not all bad. I had a chance to walk around the town and find the coffee shop. I noted that, right next to the library, there was a Mexican drive-thru, with handmade tamales. I promised myself to get some for D, who is a tamale fiend. (Any time we are in a town with a Mexican population, he is drawn to the women with the coolers. Speaking no English, short, middle-aged, straight dark hair straggling from rubber bands and hair nets, they are not particularly sales savvy. In fact, I am wary of street corner food, especially when I can't see the kitchen where it was prepared. At least with a food cart you can look into the operation. But it didn't matter to him. If the sign says Tamales, he buys them. And so far his trust has been justified.)
I was in Dallas for an interview, the fifth one this month. The first week of April I had 2 phone interviews: UNM and OSU. UNM invited me back, but I haven't heard boo from OSU. They were deadly dull to talk with, so I'm not sorry. Phone interviews are nerve-wracking enough when you can't read the facial cues. But there is a lot you can do to ease that, and the UNM folks were courteous enough to laugh at my jokes and explain the pauses while they wrote. Sadly, I had to withdraw my application: the job was part time with a low hourly wage, and the town of Gallup didn't seem to have much in the way of jobs for D.
The second week of April I interviewed with the City of Albuquerque. Another phone interview, and this group was also friendly. The job itself is exactly what I did at MCL, with a 50% pay cut. Since cost of living is about 18% cheaper in Albuquerque, it's a pretty big drop in pay. But I truly am in love with New Mexico, which is why I was applying there in the first place. The big skies, adobe houses, ruins, pueblos, rocks, high desert climate, sopapillas with honey and green chili stews....I could be happy there, I know.
The third week started with a drive up to Sno-Isle for my fourth interview this month, and my fourth interview there. As usual, I was more than qualified for the job. (And as usual, they didn't want me. I called them yesterday to check on the process and was told that, out of 80 applications and 9 interviews, they did not find a match, so they are re-posting the job. Lord knows what they are looking for. Someone who can balance a pile of dishes while tap-dancing and reciting Gunga Din, no doubt.)
So....Friday. I talked with the dude from the city, two upper level library employees, and a volunteer/member of the Friends. The job title: City Librarian. My experience earned me a seat at the table, but my guess is that the job will go to someone with an MLS. The woman who was interviewed before me was half my age (and therefore has half my experience), a little overweight, dressed in an unfashionable skirt outfit. She seemed pleasant and very librarian-ish. Lord knows how I seemed. I had a lot of questions about governance, stability, town finances. Nothing earth-shaking there.
Afterwards, I checked out the library. They are a store-front location, with a Senior Center at the back. Lots of wood, lots of shelves. Big tables, a reasonable number of computers, nicely separated kids area. The back entrance off the parking lot dumps you into a lobby where the giveaway racks live, as well as doors to the restrooms and senior center. I followed a possibly-homeless guy in: he went straight to the rest room and I never saw him again. The front door off the main street takes you down a long aisle, lined with 6-ft high bulletin boards and more giveaway racks. The room opens out at the end: circulation desk in front, children's area to the left behind the bulletin boards, adult fiction to the right, with magazine racks in the storefront windows. Non-fiction and computers are in the area to the immediate left of the circ desk, and the teen/media area is squished between that area and the children's section. It's a messy maze of shelving, all overflowing with books: some serious weeding and collection development would be in my future, not to mention some reorganizing. But, I like the crowded-bookstore feel, so maybe not.
I stopped by the reference desk, which is nestled behind the circulation desk, and talked restaurants. The reference lady gave a thumbs up to the tamales, and also promised me a fabulous shake from Washington Street pub, catty corner to the tamale shop. I purchase both ToGo and drove a few miles back to Baskett Slough. There I watched the geese and ate one of the tamales: still piping hot, nicely spiced, wrapped in foil and corn husks. The shake was not fabulous, but was quite acceptable, and it lasted me to Amity. I took the scenic route home.
En route, I fielded calls from D and from N. N was looking for a third carpooler to the RE overnight retreat at Menucha. I offered my services, and there was a fair amount of phone tag for the rest of the day.
At 2:30, D had his fourth interview for a sales job: this one was at a hotel lobby near Lake Oswego, and the manager wanted a chance to Meet The Wife and answer any questions I might have. D found that to be a positive thing. I think it's a little creepy, but I did like the opportunity to check out the job for myself. So, I stopped there before going home, and then I finished baking cookies for the retreat.
While I was packing for the overnight, I got The Call: Albuquerque is unofficially offering me the job. This means that of the 5 people they interviewed, I ranked #1. They are recommending me to the City Fathers, who will take up to 3 weeks to make a final decision. Then, I get the official offer and negotiate a start time. Thus, no giving notice or planning the move yet. And then I have a 6-month probation.
Okay, so now I'm going to a UU retreat, to confabulate with my fellow RE teachers and set the course for the next year. And my brain is whirling: I don't know where I'll be next year, I don't know what I want to do next year, I don't know if I want D to come with me or stay home and mind the store. I don't know if we can pull together for such a big move. I don't know if I can even afford the move, but I know I cannot afford to reject a full time job with benefits. My unemployment will not last forever.
I can't stop to think about this right now: I have to finish packing and pick up my passenger, who teaches the 11:15 5th grade class. I teach the 9:15 class, when I am not singing, so I've talked with her before. But I don't know her well. Now I learn that she's in a scooter because of CP, and that she has two Master's degrees and is embarking upon a third. She has a lot to say about accessibility, LGBT, and minority issues. She talks about her past, present, and future. I listen, and I feel guilty for my own unhappiness and stress. This is a woman who has dealt with more problems than I can count, and she is positive and creative and forward thinking. I know you can't compare burdens, and that each of us has unique situations, and it's offensive to reduce my colleague to the status of Brave Handicapped Person Who Gave Me Perspective. But liberal guilt, with all its inherent smugness, is part of my make up. Offensive or not, that's what I find myself doing.
Upon my arrival, I drop my sleeping bag on the single bed (no bunk beds for me) in the westernmost upstairs room in Ballard: this is my place of choice. It's furthest from the stairs, and you can hear the frogs in the pond. I realize I've left the toffee and cookies back home, and the D is probably gorging on them. Oh well. I grab a chip from treat table and make tracks to the labyrinth.
Menucha, in addition to having fabulous food and views, has this really wonderful labyrinth. The walk is flat basalt stone, lined with brick. The center flower is many-colored river rock, each color delineating parts of the petals, browns, blacks, pinks, greens, rusty reds. Rose bushes circle the space, with arched entrances to the east, west, north, south. Part of it is shaded by the surrounding trees, but the center is warm with sunshine.
A young woman is sitting cross-legged in the center, surrounded by papers and books, hunched forward over them, long brown hair hanging to the ground. She does not look up as I begin my walk, slowly circling back and forth and inward, thinking about Albuquerque, my newly renovated home, the difficult relationship with D, my exhaustion and depression, my commitments to people and projects and organizations, my finances. As I approach the center, the young woman deliberately gathers up her papers, stands, and walks off the labyrinth, due east, eschewing the winding path out, looking straight ahead. I am startled: I did not mean to drive her away. But I am grateful, for now I too can sit in the center and think.
I sit, I think, I empty my mind, I feel the sun, I listen to birds and the not-so-distance shouts of people and drones of yard equipment. I get up and walk out, still thinking. I bow to the labyrinth's center and say, "Namaste."
But I still don't know what I want to do. And, after 24 hours, much fun with my fellow UUs, and two more labyrinth walks, I still don't know. I don't think I ever will.
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