My Fifth Career....And What It is Not

As one of the very first baby boomer children (38 days into the era to be exact), I've always been among the first to experience all those boomerish events. One boomerism that is even more true for the children of boomers is having many careers over the course of one's working life. I'm into my fifth. (Not the one you think, I'll open that fifth at dinner.)

Career #1 was teaching in Des Plaines. Incredibly naive, I thought I knew everything about teaching, but fell on my face over and over again in the classroom. I did receive incredible mentoring, developed life-long friendships, began presenting at conferences, and began my writing career.

Career #2 doesn't fit neatly into a time frame but began way back in 1968 when my mentor asked me to contribute my classroom applications to the theory she was writing about on teaching Spanish phonics to children. That led to further collaboration with her, then to solo writing ventures. That came to a halt when Career #3 began, but has been resurrected during Career's #4 and #5. And, miraculously, the royalty checks keep on coming!

Career #3 was my most important career...that of full-time mom. Besides having the privilege of being the one with my babies and preschoolers all day, this job came with other sub-careers such as den mother, church president, PTA health and safety chair, Sunday school teacher, and Kindergarten story teller. For better or worse, those years shaped my children and taught me the most.

Career #4 came unexpectedly when Kevin was in first grade. We both started school full time that year....he with a wonderful teacher and me with an incredibly difficult groups of 7th and 8th graders. By the grace of my kind principal, I returned the following year to much nicer students and by the end of career #4 had developed a few more lifelong friends, had greatly expanded the conference giving gigs, and, contrary to what I thought I knew at the beginning of career #1, left career #4 realizing there was still a lot to learn about learning!

Now I'm three years into Career #5 and I'm still trying to figure out what it is. I know what it is not. It's certainly not playing golf or going to the Senior Center. After spending this afternoon planting bulbs and unsuccessfully trying to dig up and separate irises, I know it's not gardening. Unfortunately for Ken, it's not being a gourmet chef....or even a moderately good cook. It's not - perish the thought - substitute teaching.

What it is is a lot of neat surprises.

This sounds like I'm writing an autobiography. That really wasn't my intention, but traveling to Wisconsin this morning for breakfast (something I sure couldn't do in Careers 1-4!) just got me thinking about the inter-twining of all the life experiences.

I met "H" in Kenosha for breakfast. I first met her when I attended a BER seminar she gave back in the early 90's. Later on, she did some consulting in my school district and we became friends. She went on to do foreign language consulting all over the world, wrote the major methods text on the market, and we ran into each other once every few years at a conference. Recently we re-connected - where else? - online. Now I'm the BER presenter and she's likely to mentor me some more. What fun it was to chat this morning with someone who shares my passion for working with foreign language teachers and what fun to see how life experiences intertwine when you least expect it.

My sons both seem to have an incredible grasp on what they want to do with their lives and both are doing all the necessary things to make those goals happen. They both know how important it is to make contacts with people in their fields and to pursue every opportunity, no matter how minor it may seem at the beginning. I hope they will have as much fun with careers #2,3,4,5.....as I have and will someday in the distant future have many "breakfasts in Wisconsin" with people who helped them along the way!

Today's News from the Family Blogs

The family bloggers now include one son, one sister-in-law, one niece and one nephew. For people who live all over the country but hate to make phone calls, it's just delightful to keep in touch via cyberspace. Today I laughed through my sister-in-law's disgusting but funny experience with a pre-school student, then chuckled through my niece's vignettes of life with two little boys, then grinned at my son's funny photographs and commentary, then smiled as my nephew beautifully expressed his love through poetry. Then I thought, "What humorous or beautiful tidbit can I add to the family tales today?" Here goes.

The alarm went off in the pitch-black darkness of 6:00 a.m. and by 6:40 I was off in the freezing October weather to see school friends at our first birthday breakfast of the year. Although it is always great to see these special people, our conversation seemed to dwell on illnesses, surgeries, and difficult parents. I briefly stopped at home and was treated to a one-sided conversation by my cleaning lady about her recently deceased client. By 8:45 when I left for church for my day of manning (womaning?) the phones for the vacationing office manager it was not just cold, but raining. The day was pretty quiet but did involve phone calls about death and illness. Another volunteer came in and described her recent painful condition and resultant surgery. During quiet moments I read a totally depressing novel about the Holocaust and Arab-Israel conflict. When my phone "womaning" day was finished, I went to the nursing home and felt the continuing sadness over the recent loss of dear but illegal immigrant employees.

Then tonight I find out that Tempe is dating Booth's boss rather than Booth who really loves her. Then, unbelievably, Izzie Stevens got fired from Seattle Grace. How can they fire her right after her miraculous recovery from horrible cancer? Then Violet still has no feeling for her baby, the only available kidney for a dying woman is from her HIV-infected sister, and the "bubble boy" goes to a school dance and collapses from infection.

OK, the last paragraph is about TV and I guess that's not real.

The paragraph about my day is true but.....there were many laughs at breakfast, the church day included welcoming our new pastor and a lunch with a good friend. The nursing home visit included pleasant conversation with my mom. And TV watching was a nice guilty pleasure.

It was just a pretty ordinary, not very exciting day....and it's very hard to compete with today's funny, joyful, and silly news from the family blogs. :-)

Strange Things I've Learned This Week

After several years of wearing athletic shoes that were so wide that I felt like I was wearing rowboats on my feet, I went to a REAL shoe store where they have employees who actually measure your foot and bring you shoes in your size! I learned that my left foot is a half size larger than my right foot (not to be confused with my right leg which is a half inch longer than my left leg). I learned that, yes, my feet are still narrow in spite of the rest of me being definitely not narrow. I learned that only 5% of the populace has narrow feet and that shoe manufacturers (except for the wonderful New Balance brand I bought) are not willing to make shoes that only fit 5% of the world. I learned that sale shoes at a real shoe store are not really more expensive than they are at DSW. Most importantly, I learned that, if I wear shoes that actually fit, my ankles do not have to hurt after walking.

Now I have to learn if anyone sells skinny non-athletic shoes to my minority group.

While listening to a talk radio segment about the I-Phone, I learned that the most popular "ap" for the I-Phone is the I-Fart. Yes, you can set your phone to make long, short, wet, or bubbly fart sounds. Yes, you can set this "ap" to go off if someone else touches your phone. Yes, you can set the timer so your fart sound goes off in the middle of your parent teacher conference. Of course, now that I think of it, I've been at a few parent teacher conferences where that would have broken the ice....as it were.

Speaking of parent teacher conferences, Kevin taught his first private percussion lessons at a local high school this week. He learned that it feels mighty strange to be called "Mr. Kosnik" in a non-pejorative setting.

I've learned that the Chicago Tribune no longer has proof-readers. Colonel McCormick must be rolling over in his grave since his venerable newspaper has fallen to the depths of spelling hell. It's bad enough when people confuse "then" and "than", but this week the FRONT PAGE said that "X" is better THEN "Y".

Of course, why should the Tribune be better than foreign language teachers who, in theory, have gone to college. On listserv messages this week, one teacher spoke of "alters" her students were going to make to observe the Day of the Dead while another was going to teach her students some "site" words.

So, I've learned that my feet are too skinny, that I have no sense of humor about I-farts after thirty years of hearing "Hey, Who cut the cheese?" in middle school classrooms, that I'm too young to have a son called "Mr.", and that I guess it's better to ALTER my SITES THEN not to.

And, yes, a preposition is what I ended this entry with.

La Migra - Day Two

Fifty people are no longer at Rosewood: kitchen and laundry workers as well as CNAs.

I don't know if these people were "just" fired, were fore-warned and didn't come to work yesterday, or have been deported. What I do know is that the sweet CNA who put my mother to bed each night with a caress to her cheek and a gentle "Good night, mama" is not there. Lupe who always has a smile for everyone and who has learned a tremendous amount of English in a few months is not there. Aldo, father of a young boy who sometimes came to work with his dad, is not there. It's very sad.

The lobby is filled today with people filling out applications for employment. Most of the CNA's have trainees shadowing them as they learn the job. Office people continue serving meals. Staff members look frazzled and dejected. Residents are feeling the strain of being assisted by inexperienced people. It's very sad.

I admit to some surprise that proper papers were not a requirement for employment, but also wonder if the home is faced with great difficulty in finding "legal" people willing to do the work. All I know is that I just keep seeing the faces of Lupe, Aldo and others and I'm very sad.

La Migra

There was a quarterly "care conference" for my mother this morning so I arrived at Rosewood earlier than usual. Upon entering her room, Mom asked me if I had noted unusual activity in the lobby. I had noticed that Dulce wasn't in her usual place at the desk and that there were a lot of hospice people around, but nothing strange had jumped out at me.

Mom then said that she didn't get breakfast until after 9:00 and that they were served by the administrators, social workers and other "bosses". She said that there had been a raid by immigration and kitchen workers either were taken or had not shown up at work. I thought this might be another case of my mother's imagination gone awry, but nuanced statements during the care conference did fit her story. I probably will never know what, if anything, actually occurred this morning, but it did awaken strong feelings in me.

My first reaction was actually a feeling of horror in the pit of my stomach. "La Migra" (The Immigration Police) is the cry of terror shouted in places where undocumented people work. As irrational as it sounds, I felt like someone was coming for me. Maybe I've seen too many movies about undocumented people living in fear of La Migra. Maybe I've read too many stories of families torn apart. Maybe I've just put faces and personalities on possible "illegals".

I was hugely relieved to see Dulce and many of the CNAs who take such good care of the residents doing their normal tasks today. I didn't see Lupe, the dear housekeeper who deeply touched me last Valentine's Day when she gave my mom a big stuffed bear. I don't know if this morning's event involved her. I so hope it didn't.

The whole illegal immigration issue, obviously, is extremely complex and difficult. I don't pretend to have the answers, but I can't stop seeing the human faces of these undocumented people. These are people who have come to the U.S. because helping old people use the toilet here is so much better than the opportunities they have in their home village. Some of these are people who have shared their stories with me in Spanish. These are people who work very hard and show so much love for the residents in spite of their low wages. These are people who are trying desperately to make things better for their families.

These are people who are doing something illegal...but are they really wrong?

I Want One of Those

Chicago didn't get the Olympics.

The well-known Cuban pediatrician husband of my college mentor passed away---a fact that has brought back a plethora of memories of the huge influence his wife had on my career and life.

Kevin had a bike accident on Wednesday and is nursing a very badly scraped and cut arm which, fortunately, is expected to heal just fine.

But, what is really sticking in my brain today is a request from Gloria.

Gloria is a very pleasant and "with it" resident at Rosewood. At the end of my visit with my mother a little while ago, I wheeled her into the dining room to be ready for the "Quizmo" game which was about to begin. As I pushed Mom into place next to Gloria, I turned to Gloria and teasingly asked her to keep Mom in line during the game. Then I gave Mom a hug and stood up to leave. Before I could move, however, Gloria said to me, "I want one of those." Of course, I hugged her, and now I can't get her simple and poignant request out of my head.

Many Chicagoans, the pediatrician's family, Kevin and millions of others probably all want "one of those"today, but like most adults, would never ask. What a shame that most of us have to be under five or over eighty to simply say, "I want one of those." What a shame that most of us never think to give "one of those" without being asked.

A "Bog" by Any Other Name

My mother asked me "What's that thing Nancy writes? A bog?"

I said, "It's a blog."

"OK," She said. "I wrote a blog in my head this morning. It goes like this.

I'm sitting on the toilet and the CNA asks me 'Are you finished?'
I answer, 'No, I'm Swedish.'
She then asks, 'Am I rushing you?'
I answer, 'No, I told you, I'm Swedish, not Russian.
She says, 'You're quite frank about this.'
I say, 'If you want to see Frank, he's on the other John.' "

Please, God, let my brain be as intact as hers when I'm 87!