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The other thing is that I always include a picture in my blog post.  Well, it’s dark when I’m awake.  And if it happens to be light, there’s a snowstorm in the way.  This winter has been absolutely wild for snowfall — I haven’t seen amounts like this since I was a kid in elementary school.

Anyway, I’ve had to resort to trying to draw rudimentary shapes with my mouse for this post.  On the plus side, if I ever need to make a stained glass graphic, I’ve now got the technique figured out.

My application package for the Library Technician program at the Nova Scotia Community College arrived yesterday, and then, at the grocery store,  I bumped into a “dog-dad” I know from the Bark Park.  He works in the reference department of the main branch of the library.  We talked a bit about my plans, and I left the meat department feeling very encouraged indeed!  I’m always on the look-out for good omens, so I’ll take that chance meeting and run with it.

I have created a button on Zazzle.com (and will likely create other products using the same image) so that, if you choose, you can help support my efforts to witness the end of an era.  My fascination with space began with Columbia’s launch in April of 1981, and I really want to be there to witness the shuttle’s final chapter.

If you would like to purchase a button, please click the image to the right.  Thanks, and — launch on!

But the highlight of the afternoon for me was being a human birdfeeder.  The chickadees at the park are incredibly friendly — at one point I had four of them perched on my hand, and three on my hat!  (It’s amazing what some well-placed bird seed will do.)  It’s always a surprise to feel how little chickadees actually weigh, and such a gift to be given the trust of something so gentle and delicate.

We stayed until our hands and feet were numb, once again counting ourselves blessed to have such wondrous natural beauty so close to home.  I hope my little friends, wherever they may be, are keeping warm this winter night.

The deadline for applying to St. Thomas sailed by.  I hadn’t had a chance to get the materials to my references, et cetera, because I got sick with Norovirus.  (I won’t elaborate.  You don’t want the details — trust me.)

So I set my sights on getting ready to apply to Acadia — and promptly got the flu.  Again — stuck in the house (this time with no voice)  for several days.  And I began to wonder if the Universe was trying to tell me something.

So I took a look deep inside and asked, “Do you really want to work as a teacher?”

And after a while, a little voice replied, “Not anymore.”

And I felt relieved.  No leaving my husband to go study.  No massive student loan again.  No worrying about getting a teaching job to pay off that massive student loan, especially since I know a number of fine new teachers who haven’t been able to get a contract in several years of trying.

It was like I gave myself permission to finally put that to rest.  I suddenly realized that my childhood dream of being a teacher wasn’t dead, but that it had already been fulfilled.  I was a substitute teacher for ten years, and while some substitutes are just paper-pushers, I was given opportunities to teach and I actually taught.  And I made a difference in a number of kids’ lives.  That was the dream, and I did it.  I was a teacher.  I may teach again — crafts, or creative writing, or maybe even develop a travelling space show for schools — but I have absolutely no desire to be a classroom teacher anymore.

So I got thinking, and I remembered how excited I’d felt when I applied for a library assistant’s position at the university last fall — and how devastated I’d been when I didn’t even get an interview.  I’ve always loved libraries, from the time I stamped and shelved books at the circulation desk in my junior high school.  I even worked at Acadia’s library when I was there doing my BA all those years ago.  I love to read and I love to write, and books have been among my best friends and journeys. I would love to work in a library again.

Armed with this epiphany, I started poking around on the net to see what I could find and there it was: the Library & Information Technology program through the Nova Scotia Community College.  I would be able to do it online, so no leaving Hubby.  The tuition and fees are also significantly lower than doing a B Ed, so no massive student loan hanging over my head (just a little one).

Although the university library would be my dream placement of course, there are plenty of other libraries and archives where I could work as a library technician.  Even the local hospital has a library.  I could even work in the public school system, come to think of it.

Applying for the B Ed didn’t feel right.  This does.

I’ll keep you posted.

So here are my three choices, in alphabetical order, with general thoughts about each one.

First up is Acadia University, in Wolfville, Nova Scotia — my Bachelor of Arts alma mater and where I intended to do my Bachelor of Education degree in the first place.  It’s a 16-month program which has a May start date, which means (I think) that I wouldn’t have to wait until September to get the ball rolling.  Although it is the longest program, and the furthest away, if I have to leave home, then going to a town where I lived for four years would be my first choice.  And I’ve always had a feeling of “unfinished business” about Acadia, like I’ve needed to go back and finish what I started.

Although people would say that with the other two university options, I could either commute back and forth, or come home every weekend, I think that would be more distracting than good.  I just want to settle in, do the very best I can, and get as much out of it as possible.  And I think that a little more distance (being five hours away rather than just one) might allow me to focus better on my studies.  And because I attended Acadia all those years ago, it may give me an edge when they’re looking at my application.

In looking at the housing information for mature students, I’m most impressed with Acadia — a centrally-located residence specifically for us.   In my heart of hearts, I want to go back to Acadia, but we shall see.  The application deadline is January 21, 2011.

Next on the list is St. Thomas University, located about an hour up the road in Fredericton, NB.  Five to seven years ago, I would have jumped at the chance to go to St. Thomas — in fact, I have three rejection letters kicking around with STU letterhead on them.  But now it’s third on my list, and if it weren’t so close and an 11-month program, I probably wouldn’t even apply there at all.

At the risk of them finding this blog and snatching up the REJECT stamp again (been there before — can handle it again), I’m going to tell you why my feelings on STU have changed.  No, it’s not the sting of the three previous rejections, but has more to do with the circumstances surrounding the last one.

The most prominent image of St. Thomas University is George Martin Hall, named (according to the STU website) “in honour of Reverend Monsignor George Martin who was President of St. Thomas University from 1975-1990. Over seven decades, Msgr. Martin served St. Thomas as a student, teacher, registrar, executive vice president, president and alumnus.”  Well, it just so happens that “Father George” was my husband’s great-uncle, and although I’m not the sort to pull strings, the third time around I was desperate enough to go see him.  All I wanted was an interview — to get out of the automatic, marks-based slush pile so I could at least talk with a human being, and if they wanted to reject me after that, fine — so Father George called the university on my behalf.  But there was no interview — the only response I got was the same rejection form letter.  And that time I wasn’t so much disappointed on my own behalf (because I’d already been rejected twice before), but downright angry because I felt it was a slap in Father George’s face.  And to be honest, I think I’m still angry enough about it that it would take months before I’d be able to look at George Martin Hall without my blood starting to bubble.

Anyway, I’ll be applying to St. Thomas, and naturally if they are the only one of the three to accept me, I will go.  But I hope that doesn’t happen.  I really, really hope that doesn’t happen.  The deadline to apply to STU is January 15, 2011.

And last but not least, there is the University of New Brunswick — Fredericton Campus, also (funnily enough) in Fredericton.  Technically speaking, I’m not sure I have to apply to the university itself, but just the Bachelor of Education program, because I’m still a student at the University of New Brunswick’s Saint John campus.  (It’s been less than a year since I took my last course.)  Anyway, the deadline isn’t until January 31, 2011, so I have time to call them to figure it out.

Like STU, UNBF is only an hour away, which means I could commute (although driving through moose-infested CFB Gagetown during winter storms is not appealing) or come home on weekends (which might be too distracting and time-consuming).  But being closer to home is nice.  Hubby and Piper might come visit me once in a while, and if I had to live in a strange city, one that I am already somewhat familiar with would be okay.  Plus the Provincial Archives are on campus (although since STU is also pretty much on the UNBF campus, they’re close to STU too), and UNB’s Planetary Space Science Centre “is the only NASA-supported planetary imaging facility in Canada.”  Can’t you just see me lurking around the PSSC?

The other plus for the two Fredericton universities is that since they are both in New Brunswick, my certification would already be from the province in which I plan to teach (although I don’t think getting NB certification from a Nova Scotia university is as much hassle as it used to be).

So anyway, this is my game plan for the next month.  Talk to my references, get my applications in, and then try to forget about it all until March or April.  Guess what’s going to be the hard part?

But because I didn’t have a Bachelor of Education degree, I couldn’t be more than an “on-call educational specialist,” as I jokingly named myself.  No contract, no security, and — because I was a “local permit” and didn’t have my actual teaching degree — looked down upon in some circles.

But I was there for ten years.  Why?  Because I loved it. I loved being in the classroom, and I loved being with the kids.  I loved sharing knowledge and helping students discover their academic passions, and sometimes being the only voice of encouragement they had heard in months.  I taught the strugglers and the high-flyers, and I loved it.

I loved it. Past tense.  I don’t think I burned-out, per se, but it seemed that problems I’d encountered ten years ago had multiplied ten-fold.  Lack of respect.  Defiance.  Lack of parental support — either for the kids or the adults who are trying to maintain a productive classroom environment in which to teach them.  And then there’s the increasing atmosphere of politics, frustration, pretension, insecurity and arrogance in the staff room, as increasing demands and dwindling resources bring out the worst in the teachers.  A lot can change in ten years.

In multiple attempts, I was unsuccessful in applying to the highly-competitive Bachelor of Education program because, due to illness fifteen years ago, my transcript marks were in the basement.  But last spring I appealed my transcript, and now my average is a better indicator of my abilities (and a much stronger contender for admission).  So here I am, with application deadlines looming in January, and I should be excited.  But I’m not.  In fact, the closest emotion I’m feeling is dread.

I still want to teach, but it’s the university level that’s calling to me.  For that, I don’t need a Bachelor of Education, but I do need at least a Masters degree.  If I go for the B Ed, I definitely won’t be able to swing a Masters.  (The Masters I want to do is a Masters of Science in Space Studies — through distance education from the University of North Dakota — and the tuition is daunting.)  I’m getting too old to laugh in the face of  student debt.

Part of me says, “Well, just apply to the B Ed anyway, and then decide,” but by the time one figures in transcript and application fees, it adds up to more than a hundred dollars which could definitely be put to other uses.

I honestly don’t know what to do.  Thoughts?

For my American friends, 30 cm of snow equals approximately ONE FOOT!  And since I’m along the Fundy coast, I might get rained on while shoveling, and then there will be more snow.  Eurgh!

I sure am glad Piper gave me money to get some new boots for Christmas!

I’m still loving my job as much as I did three weeks ago. and I love the quiet.  Best of all, it has allowed me to finally learn to live in the present moment.  Somewhere this past summer, I read that depression results from dwelling on the past, and that anxiety is always about the future.  If we can just learn to live in the here and now, we’ll instantly be better for it.

It’s the idea of “mindfulness” — being in the present moment and living it, instead of it getting past us because we’re squinting to see forward or have our heads turned looking over our shoulder.  It’s possible to live one’s entire life without actually living it.

I didn’t know how to break out of this problem, but here I am, suddenly free.  I applied for this job, thinking it was my idea, when once again it seems that I have simply found myself where I was supposed to be in the first place.

Sitting here in the dimness, I am acutely aware of the subtle sounds around me — the two clocks ticking against each other in two separate rooms, the sound of my client’s breathing, and the minuscule changes in it that signal she may be gradually waking up.  Her radio is on in her bedroom, and every hour the Canadian Press shares what it feels is news.  It’s so ironic; because I work the overnight shift, I often have no clue what day it is, but I feel so much more in touch with each and every second contained within it.

The other lesson I’ve learned in the few short weeks I’ve been here is that I’m gradually shaking off my life-long tendency to procrastinate.  Part of this is a direct result of being more “in the moment,” but part of it is pure practicality.  Because Hubby and I have completely different schedules now (except on the weekends, when we’re both home), I actually have to plan ahead and make sure I get things done.  Simple, everyday things, like laundry.  Taking my shower and getting ready for work in time for Hubby to go to bed.  The nuts and bolts of daily life.

But there is a bigger picture as well.  As much as I would love to have this job for the next fifteen years — because she’s such a sweetheart and I’m so happy here — the sad reality is that I will never know when my last shift will be.  My dear client is ninety years old.  And so I need to get my ducks in a row as soon as possible — use this period of employment to figure out my life:  what I need, what I want, and how I plan to get there.  I have a black notebook on which I’ve glued a label that says G.M.S.T. (which stands for Getting My Sh*t Together), and I’m using it to plan, and think, and decide what I want to do.

Priority One right now is to put away six months’ worth of bill payments, while I have a job.  Ultimately, I think I still want to do what I set out to do when I started this web site years ago — I want to use my creative talents to create the life I want to live.  If I could be a self-supporting creative type person, who also teaches one or two courses, that would be great.  And if Santa could bring me courage for Christmas, that would be great too, but for now I’ll work with what I’ve got.