Last night Helayne took me out to dinner. For "old time's sake", we went back to where we had shared many late-night meals, after our classes at Worcester State U., last year.
"This is a celebration--of your birthday, Minns--and my landing a teaching position!" Helayne looked marvelous in her black chiffon blouse and slacks.
Looking decidely less chic, I raised my iced-tea, to toast. Helayne deserved it. She has turned her two decades of nursing expertise AND her new teaching credential (as well as her MAs in nursing and history) into a full-time teaching job at the cool STEM school, Worcester Voc Tech. Someone dropped out of the slot and Helayne, ever on her game, applied at the correct moment.) They put her through a zillion more hoops--a vocational technical school has different standards than a regular high school--and they didn't want her as a history teacher. However, her years of nursing--which had burned her out--turned around and gave her the thrust and the shine to fit the slot as a teacher of nursing students--high school vocs--kids who knew what they wanted and needed help preparing. She aced the additional exams. She provided the additional licensing. She nailed the position. I am ecstatic for my buddy--though I will miss her shot-gun position in my life.
I flashed back on the first day that she took me to the library to apply for the first set of exams that would enable us to apply for the licensing credential at Worcester State. My house was too "public". We were doing this "secretly"--to see if we, both 55, could even pull it off. Most people, taking the education MTEL tests first time around, take only one or two of the required three exams. Even at that rate, half the people testing fail and have to re-take the tests.
We didn't know this until after the fact.
We both took three tests on the same day. Middle of an ice-storm. People were hurling in the classroom, even as we tried not to inhale the stench of panic and keep our focus on the tests. Somehow, we passed all three tests and were admitted into the credential program at Worcester. (Though even the Dean was leery--demanding that we both take over a basic psych course--mine because I'd taken it in New York,not in MA--and Helayne because she had taken hers out of state, too. It didn't matter that both of us had been working in human services, offering counseling, classes and directing programs for troubled humans for over two decades--in my case--three! Oh no. We had to CLEP our psych 101 class... More savings down the drain. More head-achey studying and running around trying to score textbooks...but we made the appointments and took the test and passed.)
They couldn't stop allowing us to enroll for the license!
In all of our classes, we were at least the age of the professors, and always the oldest students. There were raised eyebrows in beginning: why did these two old ladies want to become high school teachers at this late date? Could these two old ladies keep up with the technology? Could they keep up with all the research and writing? Could they make it up three flights and across campus through the snow, the ice, the tornado-induced thunderstorms in summer?
When we pulled firm 4.0s and were (often) told that we could TEACH the class, by the professors; or found ourselves helping others in the class (whether it be a roaring drunk classmate with home life issues or a single Mom newly in from the South and stunned at what was required to teach in MA or in - the- closet gayboys afraid to reveal the homophobia they were encountering as they worked through their professional lives...); becoming pals with the twenty-somethings surrounding us, even the Dean stopped raising her eyebrows.
All through this process, Helayne had a clear conviction that this was "The Right Path". She was a burning light that gave me pep talks every time we made the drive to Worcester. (Only once, when we had left the basement of WSU during a tornado warning which cleared the campus, and suddenly found ourselves trailing the storm--the radio warning us to "get off the roads immediately and seek shelter"--the sky black as shoe polish on one side of the car--my little Subaru--the other side a sickly yellow--in front of us the whirling storm itself--and us just fearful of stopping and being unable to start again--driving right through--the lightning and wind bending trees across the road and over us--Helayne praying to all my Catholic saints and crossing herself in ways I'd never noticed before--she finally admitting she thought we were going to die.
It was the only time she showed any signs of doubt.
When we arrived in Gardner, safe, wet, unstruck by lightning, and still friends, I began to believe.
Of course, during my travels in the West, I had come across people with the same kind of burning conviction in their eyes. Always, when present, those people accomplished what they set out to do--predicting the future--populating it with their dreams. I've learned to respect that look.
Helayne held it as she started on the adventure.
It has proven accurate--at least for her.
(Unmistakably accurate.)
To this "other sense of Belief", I toasted.
"It's coming for you, too, Minnsie...maybe in the fall...I know it," Helayne sipped her red wine. (However, she wasn't smiling.)
Just in the past month her own "weird time" had retreated. During that time, my parallel experience gave her hope ...as hers did me. (Now, this too, was shifting.) Her priorities had to change, even if her loyalties did not. (My heart is sad and upset with my own selfish concern even as my friend succeeds...but I am worried.)
Suddenly, a chubby, red-headed, soul-patched waiter in black is standing by the table. He introduces himself as "Don".
Helayne engages in some serious banter, while I scope the "new" menu.
(Same old same old--which comforts--with the additon of "summer seafood festival"...hmmm...)
"We don't like fish," Helayne innocently tells the man.
He reddens,admits that he writes comedy and that's a good line...
I look up.
"You write comedy?" He has my attention.
One of our "pals from WSU", James, is also a comedien/teacher.
"Yeah--used to work for some big names--" he continues, bouncing from foot to foot.
"Like who?"
"Oh, maybe you wouldn't recognize them--I was in California--Los Angeles--"
"OMG--that's where Karen just came from! Where in California? I used to live there for a while, too, many years ago!" Helayne is excited.
I am a bit surprised...
"Well, actually, the Valley--North Hollywood--" the waiter grins.
"I lived in downtown L.A; in Hollywood; Laguna ..." I squint at him, trying to see if he is for real.
"How long you out there?" he asks.
"Thirty plus years," I answer, suddenly "homesick".
"Wow--I just got here, too. I was out there for like fifteen years--now I'm living at home--with my parents--" the waiter confesses.
"How old are you?" Helayne asks, innocently.
"I know--I look younger than I am--guess!"
"You are in your thirties."
"Actually, I'm forty-five. It's weird being back here, but when the whole California economy crashed in '07, well, my jobs got smaller and smaller and I couldn't find work anywhere...went through all my savings...had to move back... not that it's any better here...at least now I'm going back to school--Fitchburg State--"
"You are kidding!" Helayne claps her hands, looking at me. "That's almost what happened to her!"
The waiter blanches. "Really?"
"Yeah, really." I take a swig of my iced-tea.
(Did Helayen set this up?)
I tell him about the non-profit situation; the publishing situation; going through MY savings; my Mom's illness; coming back to a small town where one doesn't exactly "fit" anymore.
(What the Hell; I'll never see this guy again...we aren't using last names...)
"Don" shakes his head in assent.
Don knows about Gardner...
Helayne launches into her story, too--the truncated version. She is elated and excited and wound up.
"I was just lucky I landed this waiting job...it's rough...but hang in there...I'm here Sundays, Mondays, Tuesdays...if you ladies are ever around...just drop by..." Don takes our orders.
"Wow..." Helayne finishes her wine."That's the white-boy version of your story!"
"What are the odds..." I just shake my head...(What ARE the odds...)
"It is going to get better, Minns...I know it...I feel it in my gut...Happy Belated Birthday!" Helayne smiles, glancing back at the kitchen doors.
(From her lips to God's ears.)
I take a bite of chopped salad.
"This is a celebration--of your birthday, Minns--and my landing a teaching position!" Helayne looked marvelous in her black chiffon blouse and slacks.
Looking decidely less chic, I raised my iced-tea, to toast. Helayne deserved it. She has turned her two decades of nursing expertise AND her new teaching credential (as well as her MAs in nursing and history) into a full-time teaching job at the cool STEM school, Worcester Voc Tech. Someone dropped out of the slot and Helayne, ever on her game, applied at the correct moment.) They put her through a zillion more hoops--a vocational technical school has different standards than a regular high school--and they didn't want her as a history teacher. However, her years of nursing--which had burned her out--turned around and gave her the thrust and the shine to fit the slot as a teacher of nursing students--high school vocs--kids who knew what they wanted and needed help preparing. She aced the additional exams. She provided the additional licensing. She nailed the position. I am ecstatic for my buddy--though I will miss her shot-gun position in my life.
I flashed back on the first day that she took me to the library to apply for the first set of exams that would enable us to apply for the licensing credential at Worcester State. My house was too "public". We were doing this "secretly"--to see if we, both 55, could even pull it off. Most people, taking the education MTEL tests first time around, take only one or two of the required three exams. Even at that rate, half the people testing fail and have to re-take the tests.
We didn't know this until after the fact.
We both took three tests on the same day. Middle of an ice-storm. People were hurling in the classroom, even as we tried not to inhale the stench of panic and keep our focus on the tests. Somehow, we passed all three tests and were admitted into the credential program at Worcester. (Though even the Dean was leery--demanding that we both take over a basic psych course--mine because I'd taken it in New York,not in MA--and Helayne because she had taken hers out of state, too. It didn't matter that both of us had been working in human services, offering counseling, classes and directing programs for troubled humans for over two decades--in my case--three! Oh no. We had to CLEP our psych 101 class... More savings down the drain. More head-achey studying and running around trying to score textbooks...but we made the appointments and took the test and passed.)
They couldn't stop allowing us to enroll for the license!
In all of our classes, we were at least the age of the professors, and always the oldest students. There were raised eyebrows in beginning: why did these two old ladies want to become high school teachers at this late date? Could these two old ladies keep up with the technology? Could they keep up with all the research and writing? Could they make it up three flights and across campus through the snow, the ice, the tornado-induced thunderstorms in summer?
When we pulled firm 4.0s and were (often) told that we could TEACH the class, by the professors; or found ourselves helping others in the class (whether it be a roaring drunk classmate with home life issues or a single Mom newly in from the South and stunned at what was required to teach in MA or in - the- closet gayboys afraid to reveal the homophobia they were encountering as they worked through their professional lives...); becoming pals with the twenty-somethings surrounding us, even the Dean stopped raising her eyebrows.
All through this process, Helayne had a clear conviction that this was "The Right Path". She was a burning light that gave me pep talks every time we made the drive to Worcester. (Only once, when we had left the basement of WSU during a tornado warning which cleared the campus, and suddenly found ourselves trailing the storm--the radio warning us to "get off the roads immediately and seek shelter"--the sky black as shoe polish on one side of the car--my little Subaru--the other side a sickly yellow--in front of us the whirling storm itself--and us just fearful of stopping and being unable to start again--driving right through--the lightning and wind bending trees across the road and over us--Helayne praying to all my Catholic saints and crossing herself in ways I'd never noticed before--she finally admitting she thought we were going to die.
It was the only time she showed any signs of doubt.
When we arrived in Gardner, safe, wet, unstruck by lightning, and still friends, I began to believe.
Of course, during my travels in the West, I had come across people with the same kind of burning conviction in their eyes. Always, when present, those people accomplished what they set out to do--predicting the future--populating it with their dreams. I've learned to respect that look.
Helayne held it as she started on the adventure.
It has proven accurate--at least for her.
(Unmistakably accurate.)
To this "other sense of Belief", I toasted.
"It's coming for you, too, Minnsie...maybe in the fall...I know it," Helayne sipped her red wine. (However, she wasn't smiling.)
Just in the past month her own "weird time" had retreated. During that time, my parallel experience gave her hope ...as hers did me. (Now, this too, was shifting.) Her priorities had to change, even if her loyalties did not. (My heart is sad and upset with my own selfish concern even as my friend succeeds...but I am worried.)
Suddenly, a chubby, red-headed, soul-patched waiter in black is standing by the table. He introduces himself as "Don".
Helayne engages in some serious banter, while I scope the "new" menu.
(Same old same old--which comforts--with the additon of "summer seafood festival"...hmmm...)
"We don't like fish," Helayne innocently tells the man.
He reddens,admits that he writes comedy and that's a good line...
I look up.
"You write comedy?" He has my attention.
One of our "pals from WSU", James, is also a comedien/teacher.
"Yeah--used to work for some big names--" he continues, bouncing from foot to foot.
"Like who?"
"Oh, maybe you wouldn't recognize them--I was in California--Los Angeles--"
"OMG--that's where Karen just came from! Where in California? I used to live there for a while, too, many years ago!" Helayne is excited.
I am a bit surprised...
"Well, actually, the Valley--North Hollywood--" the waiter grins.
"I lived in downtown L.A; in Hollywood; Laguna ..." I squint at him, trying to see if he is for real.
"How long you out there?" he asks.
"Thirty plus years," I answer, suddenly "homesick".
"Wow--I just got here, too. I was out there for like fifteen years--now I'm living at home--with my parents--" the waiter confesses.
"How old are you?" Helayne asks, innocently.
"I know--I look younger than I am--guess!"
"You are in your thirties."
"Actually, I'm forty-five. It's weird being back here, but when the whole California economy crashed in '07, well, my jobs got smaller and smaller and I couldn't find work anywhere...went through all my savings...had to move back... not that it's any better here...at least now I'm going back to school--Fitchburg State--"
"You are kidding!" Helayne claps her hands, looking at me. "That's almost what happened to her!"
The waiter blanches. "Really?"
"Yeah, really." I take a swig of my iced-tea.
(Did Helayen set this up?)
I tell him about the non-profit situation; the publishing situation; going through MY savings; my Mom's illness; coming back to a small town where one doesn't exactly "fit" anymore.
(What the Hell; I'll never see this guy again...we aren't using last names...)
"Don" shakes his head in assent.
Don knows about Gardner...
Helayne launches into her story, too--the truncated version. She is elated and excited and wound up.
"I was just lucky I landed this waiting job...it's rough...but hang in there...I'm here Sundays, Mondays, Tuesdays...if you ladies are ever around...just drop by..." Don takes our orders.
"Wow..." Helayne finishes her wine."That's the white-boy version of your story!"
"What are the odds..." I just shake my head...(What ARE the odds...)
"It is going to get better, Minns...I know it...I feel it in my gut...Happy Belated Birthday!" Helayne smiles, glancing back at the kitchen doors.
(From her lips to God's ears.)
I take a bite of chopped salad.
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