The following blog post is from about two years ago. I'm happy to report that I'm gainfully employed as an ESL Instructor!  

I'm taking a TESOL class now -- Teaching English to Speakers of Other Languages. In fact, I'm not just taking a TESOL class. I'm working toward a TESOL certificate. There it is. I admitted it. 

It's not that working toward an online certificate is unusual; but it is a time and money  commitment and I haven't told many (any) body. 

My hopeful certificate is through University of Georgia's continuing education program. I signed up while at Panera a couple weeks ago. It's a place where I've made a number of life decisions. It helped that I had a credit card with me that had a low balance. My significant other [at the time] had repeatedly mentioned teaching English as a good option. His daughter had friends in the Philippines who were getting income as online ESL instructors. Why not you? (At least I'd put an end to the helpful suggestions.)

A couple months ago I started a "project" book, so that I could write down the what, how, and why of my goals, a structure inspired by Stacey Abrams in a TED Radio Hour podcast. It worked well for a while, and I'm sure that I'll go back to it. But the project book was not part of my luggage at Panera that day (I always have at least three bags with me). I guess I'll have to back into the what / how / why of this one. 

A Stella Day

 Stella and I had had our ups and downs just prior to this incident (I'd pull her leg, she'd claw me, etc.), and after a series of apologies I was thinking that I'd have to give up on the cat relationship. I've always been a dog person anyway. 

But after coming back from dinner on a Saturday night, the relationship rekindled. I was finishing a project in my room and it was the perfect atmosphere for her -- jazz, wine, the comforter, of course, (though I insist that she lay on a towel). We had cat nap / laptop time like never before. My housemate, Filip, a cat expert from Finland, came and scooped her up when it was time for me to go to bed. (I draw the line at having the cat sleep over.) 

But the evening made too much of an impression, as I thought it might. The next day Stella went out shopping to get me a present. The problem was, it was still alive. As I unpacked groceries I heard a slight bustle at the cat door and an animal sound. Hard to tell if it was a yelp or a meow. One glance down the hallway and I knew that I was getting a delivery. I saw a blur of Stella and something furry in her mouth headed toward my room. I screamed. Thank god Filip was home and the door to my room was closed 

Filip headed the cat-squirrel into Sally's room, where Stella dropped the squirrel and it ran into Sally's bathroom. 

"Close the door!" I yelled helpfully from the kitchen in my teacher voice. In fact I had Filip close the bathroom and bedroom doors. I wasn't going to be tormented by cat-with-squirrel on my Sunday afternoon. 

A couple times Filip and I met in the hallway between our rooms. What was going on in there? "Should I check?" he asked. We wondered if the squirrel was still alive; what was it like to spend four hours in a small room with someone who wanted to kill you? Etc. etc. 

Eventually Sally came home and common sense prevailed. She bent over Stella, half scolding, half with humor: "Now what am I going to do with a squirrel in my bathroom?" Then she picked up the cat and deposited her outside. Step one. Next, Filip and Sally began to corral the squirrel. The bathroom had been upset. Things floated in the toilet. Sally's earring plate was overturned. It was an active scene. 

After a couple time out's, when Sally and Filip returned to the kitchen sweating, the squirrel was somehow cornered into a cat carrier (one of my earlier ideas, I must say), encouraged by two long yard sticks (Sally is a seamstress among many other talents). The squirrel scratched at Sally's finger tips through the carrier. She let it out near the street and it leaped onto a nearby tree. I imagined it would sleep well that night.

After that the cat door was discontinued. Sally said that Stella was abusing it. The squirrel wasn't the only offering (though the only live one). Stella won out over a pesky mockingbird and there was another, smaller bird. 

Stella was depressed for a while, but she's adapted and regained her cat step, though with less mojo than during the hunting sprees. (After the mockingbird incident I saw her on a victory lap in the middle of the next street.) Hopefully the squirrel has survived. And that was a Stella Day.

 Dear Stella,

I am so sorry about this morning! When I walked in the kitchen and saw you in the sink, I blurted out, "Stella!"  That woke up Sally, of course (though she said she was already awake). 

Then when Sally was bent over you, smiling, scolding, you gave me the cat death stare. 

I've felt bad all day. I really didn't mean to get you in trouble. Believe me, I do things all the time that would get me in trouble if people found out. It was just such a shock to see you at eye level when you're normally a stay-on-the-floor kind of cat (well trained, thankfully). But I've seen you jump, so I shouldn't be surprised. 

Anyway, please forgive me. I won't give you away next time, or maybe I'll just pretend not to see you. (I'm a big push over when it comes to children and animals.)  

Please keep in mind that I'm not a cat person, but you really are a super cool cat. Maybe even part dog.

Julie 

  

                                                      

Lost, found, and left items

Things leave and reappear in my life, seemingly without me. 

Things that want to be lost, no matter what: Shortly after deciding to leave SCAD, the school where I'd taught for nine years, I went to my nephew's wedding in Dallas. The afternoon of the wedding, my partner and I were in an Uber running an errand. I was wearing my SCAD baseball hat -- one of my favorites -- and had this weird feeling that I wouldn't be able to hold on to it. Of course I left it in the Uber. Maybe symbolically I was letting go or feeling oddly guilty for leaving the "mother" institution (SCAD is a major presence and source of prestige in Savannah). Whatever the reason, I couldn't have held on to that thing and I knew it. 

Things that just won't be thrown out: These are usually very sweet connections to important people that I've convinced myself to donate or toss. It reappears, often in the magic space of my car trunk. I was going to give away a skort that my sister gave me, for example. She wore it during our last visit, then in one of our many clothes discussions, took it off and said it would look better on me. I disagreed when I got home. Despite a couple trips to Goodwill it stubbornly remained in the trunk. Now it's safe in my drawer, waiting to be worn and remind me of sis.

Things not meant to be lost, so they reappear: A prime example is a small gold angel (it's flat; I think it used to be on a necklace) that I kept on my dresser. My partner had given it to me. I think that the angel was one of his "found" items. He has a keen eye for discarded things that others might enjoy (that's just his nature). When he used to rent out properties people would leave things behind and gifts came in abundance. I got a beautiful pair of boots that way. A few months ago I moved and swept the angel into a Kroger bag with all its friends on the top of my dresser. When I re-assembled them at the new place, I was wadding up the Kroger bag and out fell the angel. Now I keep a closer eye on it. 

Some things just have a spirit of their own. 

 

Where's my bike helmet? Want to ride downtown ... 

My partner cleared out the car port where I had left it last and then put it, of course, exactly where it should be -- in my bike basket. 

My partner is meticulous. It's a quality that has served him well as a general contractor. Did the profession influence his behavior, or was it already present, as in a six year old who categorizes his sock drawer? 

His mother assured me that it was the former, because as a teen his room was typical -- strewn clothes, shoes, a trumpet for a period of time, frisbees, etc. 

His first construction project was the home where he was living in Minneapolis. His living and construction space were carefully separated by a plastic curtain, I imagine, and other neat markings. 

His father came to visit and described the scene. 

"I couldn't believe it! This same guy who had two feet of stuff on the floor of his room had created an impeccably separated work and living space. When I say 'work,' I mean construction, and all of the things that went along with it. I thought, 'What happened?'"

An impeccable work space has become his habit.  gotten worse since then. He is a hoarder, as most general contractors must be to some extent, but the hoarding is highly organized. Tools all have their place, along with bowls, baskets, and Tupperwares of nails, bolts, etc. (He has an affinity for Tupperware). The tools needed for a job are assembled the day before. 

Organization has merged with another quality, preparation. One of his sayings is, "And you're on your way." He makes himself ready to be "on his way" I'd say almost everyday. Traveling means a suitcase at least mostly packed the night before. It waits by the door for him hours before time to depart. (This truly drives me insane.)  He likes to lounge before leaving on a trip, watching golf on TV or a movie. In the meantime I'm in a frenzy between bathroom closet and make up bags. 

He's a regular at hot yoga, which generates a lot of laundry. No worries, because it's dropped off in the laundry room on the way into the house, and the bag of new work out clothes gets packed and set on the counter for the next day.

"And you're on your way" is his philosophy of being prepared: Be ready for what comes next. Not a bad way to live your life.  

photo of bike and helmet?  

Non-catering

 Okay, Gretchen, this is for you.

I've promised my little sister (Big Brothers / Big Sisters), now friend, Gretchen, that I'd start to blog again. Among Grethie's many wonderful qualities, she's stubborn and persistent. If I didn't start blogging tonight, she'd be on me until I did. 

I catered tonight. Not really, though I call it catering. "Catering" is more socially acceptable than working for a food service temp agency. You go to hotels, conference centers, and, as in tonight, college cafeterias, and fill in their work force. Yes, the benefit is that I can say "no" anytime. They text me pretty often because I've been with them a while (and there's a shortage of workers overall). I've met some cool people who have expanded my view of Savannah and life in general. 

As I was coming on my shift today at 3:15 PM, I saw Mary leaving. Mary looked like she had aged years, and I had to look a couple times to see if it was her. We worked together when I first began in late 2019. A few months after that (before COVID hit), I thought that she'd quit. She was helping her son with his hotel by managing the breakfast business, which I assumed would be her last gig before retirement. She didn't look up to say hello today, but she had kind of checked out from socializing the last time I'd seen her. 

It's time for a change. Can I make enough money without "catering" and other similar jobs? I've really needed this job at times, but hopefully I'm getting to the point where I can invest more time in areas where I can make more money. Mary was one of many signs to change while I can. I bet that she only works for the agency once in a while, anyway. 

Habits

A few years ago I was interested in habits. I was looking for a cure to what felt like an ongoing sludge of time management and organizational issues. While on a trip to Seattle I picked up a copy of Charles Duhigg's The Power of Habit. 

Duhigg believed in finding a "turnkey" habit that would be the start of a whole-life turnaround. I always thought that mine was getting up at 5:30 AM, which I have yet to accomplish. 

The funny thing is, I've always liked the idea of scheduling and habits. I remember my sister making fun of me for wearing a watch with my bath robe and pajamas; I was destined to be a time nerd. I'm attracted to planners and stationary stores.

            

But early in adulthood I seemed to hit the opposite end of the spectrum. Bags of paperwork and magazines followed me to every address. As a teacher, a frequent critique was "slow turn around time" on grading (a violation of SCAD's contract, I was reminded). For the sake of my income and other reasons related to sanity I've been determined in the last few years to recoup at least part of my organizational nerd. 

My strategies? I do set my alarm, though at 6, not 5:30. When I'm on track I try to be in bed by 9:45 and inch the alarm earlier by a couple minutes every week. I reward myself with a mark on that day in my calendar with a favorite colored pen. Small things, but pivotal. The To Do list! For some reason I resisted it for years and kept transferring a daily list. Crossing things off the To Do list is magical. I also have a daily list when I'm really / paying attention.  

I'm actually not so bad about good habits; once I do something at a well-suited time of day, I'll keep doing it at the same time or in the same sequence.

A bigger hurdle is to stop repeating bad habits. That may seem like an obvious part, but the attraction to bad habits can have an extra twist of sabotage: It felt more familiar, hence weirdly comfortable, to charge ahead with the bad stuff as opposed to the good. Or, it could have simply been the usual, child-in-charge approach to what's in front of me (this refers to the child - nurturing parent - rational adult triad of self-parenting). 

I've stopped a few destructive habits lately and it feels good. My "parent" voice has stepped in and promised me future rewards or replacements. My relationships have improved. I'm much more careful about maintaining physical balance (eating / sleeping, etc.) to prevent sliding toward the brink of bad behavior. A few piles of papers still exist, though. Maybe if I wear a watch with my pj's ...