Gone were Jubilant June and July and in a flash came Anxiety August.
Amid the fun and the sun, the inevitable task of Job hunting and house hunting snuck up very suddenly. The last couple of weeks were replete with anxiety-inducing searches on any and everything I could find, trying to plow out monotonous cover letters and requests for rent, all while questioning everything in my mind.
And then, I got a break.
On Wednesday, I landed a job interview with 'Home Instead' Senior Care in Vancouver. By the morning of the interview, I was feeling pretty confidant about the prospects, noticing relatable anecdotes and conversation pieces come naturally to my mind. From the site, I got the sense that I would be a strong candidate, but I hadn't quite developed a full sense of how I saw it. As soon as I entered the lobby of their offices, that changed. While I awaited my interview, I grabbed a pamphlet from the nearby shelf and opened to a "day in the life of" sort of comprehensive list of all the possible things a caregiver does. Tasks ranged anywhere from feeding the cat, to watching movies, to going on trips and then of course, the practical bathing/dressing etc. Beside the pamphlet were catalogs of groups and sports teams and services in the area catering specifically to seniors. I found myself getting surprisingly motivated and pumped up. For one, I love having a wide variety of things to do instead of one repetitive role. And reading about the active groups in the catalog brought to mind images of going to different events and groups and maybe even motivating some that stay in to go out and try something new (physical capabilities permitting). I may be sounding naive, and I refrain from dwelling on any idealized visions of the thing, but it began to seem like more and more rewarding work.
Well, I wouldn't be showcasing my enthusiasm if I didn't get the job.
I've postponed 100% acceptance for the next week and a half or so, since I applied to a few other places in the area and would like to have the chance to weigh options, should any get back to me in a timely manor. Because of that, I won't yet go into the full job description, but I am excited to say that I have step number one of Operation: Post-AmeriCorps Transition covered. I will be employed.
The next step in the game is to find a house. This has been even more stressful and disheartening for a number of reasons. However, I'd found a listing for a place right on the Columbia River just the day before and had been hoping to hear back from them while I was in town. Alas, not all stars align as we think they ought, and I still have yet to hear back from them. However, today I heard back from not one, but two runner-ups and I will be back in Vancouver tomorrow to check them both out. This also means one other shot at having the other place call me back for a convenient visit (fingers crossed)
Well, as per usual, I wasn't going to let the long out-of-town trip be strictly errands, especially not for a 45-minute interview.
The interview got done right around lunchtime so I got to meet up with Leo and the two of us went to grab some Vietnamese, looking all ritzy in "I've got a real job" garb (well, me as best I can). I thought I'd never had Vietnamese and just asked the waiter for the most popular vegetarian dish, but when he brought out the Crepe, I remembered the delicious Tamarind Tree where my mom and I went over Spring Break. The visit was shortvbecause it was on Leo's lunch break from his new job but even a minute makes the days 1,000 times better.
I'd done some perusing prior to my jaunt to the city and had come across a group by the name of Three for Silver based out of Portland. They were playing a gig that night at The Grocery Cocktail & Social. From the few tracks I'd checked out, they seemed worth sticking around for. I passed the afternoon on the endless street of everything-convenience, getting some groceries, bumming at the Whole Foods cafe, picking up some supplies for a spontaneous Open Gym day next week and getting my dear Iris patched up for a leak in her tire. Around 6pm, I headed to the downtown area for the show. With time to kill, I walked around a nearby park and up the more populated blocks to get a sense of the area. The park was pretty done up, with a fountain, a few gazeboes, sculptures and large shade trees. The areas most immediately near The Grocery featured many other bars, lounges and other shmoozy sorts of places.
With more time to kill, I drove down to a Walgreens for some necessaries. As I was leaving, I noticed a makeshift art gallery set up across the street. It bled back into an alleyway behind a neglected building, which seemed like maybe it could house some grassroots art collective.
The artwork was diverse enough that I figured multiple artists took part. What I found however, was a group of five staked out behind a trailer parked in back. When I asked about the art, all fingers pointed to ''Bill" and older, brash sorta guy in an armchair across the opposite side of the trailer. He didn't seem fowl-mannered at all, but he also didn't seem eager to offer more than a wave and a smile. Two of the posse though, were much more engaging and we got into a bit of small talk. Will and Ashley were also recent transplants to the area, finishing a long road trek from New York. Will was also an artist and a skateboarder and shared some information about the art community and Bill's whereabouts. He pointed out that some of the artwork were actually woven pieces of canvas, depicting different paintings that made up one. He was about to buy this one:
I had said my goodbyes and headed back to the car when I realized I was looking for evening company. I turned back to invite them and the two seemed very interested, but a bit confused when I offered vague directions as to where it was. In retrospect, I should've just traded contact info. They didn't make it down.
However, I was in no short supply of good company. Getting seated at the bar, I was greeted by a very inviting hostess who I came to know as Kathy. A couple seats down from me was a man I would come to know as John. As I broke into conversation with Kathy about where I was from, John overheard the Packwood namedrop and perked up: "I camped out in Packwood for three months!" John it turns out, had been a Packwood "resident" of sorts back when they still had the mill. The work he was doing on roads and things at the time had them stationed long term. "I didn't want to leave when it was time" he said, nostalgically. It seems to have that effect.
John and I talked non-stop as he shared about raising his family camping and how it had been seared into his kids' lifestyles. "One came back this way to own a campground!" John looked to be about in his early 70's and was still kicking. I grilled him about living in the area and he had a lot of praises for it. Living only a block away, he frequented the live music at The Grocery and name dropped a couple of the recent bands he'd seen. By the time the band was set up to play, I'd moved to sit beside him and we were good buds the rest of the night.
The band was incredible. Tom Waits down on bourbon street in a nightmare before christmas reality with astounding vocals. Or something. The eclectic ensemble of instruments included an accordion, a mandolin, a steel-bath hand-made bass, a banjo (i believe?) and a violin. The group is a talented trio.
Nearing the end-use of the show, John and I were accompanied by a fellow named George, and his wingman Eric. The two of them struck me as superficial interaction at first, but once we cleared some air and got past the ridiculous social norms of bar pick-ups, they were actually a pretty neat duo to chat with. Eric it turned out, is a social worker for 'Council for the Homeless' and very enthusiastically persuaded me to get in touch with his boss about a job, which I will actually consider looking into, seeing as social work is the focus I'm going for.
It may have been the amazing craft cider and fresh blackberry puree cocktail, or the fact that I happened to connect so well with the company and bar tenders that were there tonight, or the high of the absolute love of the music, but I fell in love with the place also. Salty, the owner, was present the whole night and I had the opportunity to small-talk with him here and there, learning about the inspiration for the food (Fried Cornbread done up in his Grandmother's cast iron skillet? the exact nuances I appreciate in a prospective workplace), the inspiration for the name, where he was from....by the end of the night, I was ready to approach him about jobs. I figured (correctly) that it wouldn't be a current possibility, as I knew that two of the three waitstaff were just newly hired, but I had a serious love of the atmosphere and could see it as something I take on later down the road, as a supplement to caregiving.
By the end of the night, I'd acquired a new job, lunch with one of my favorite-est people, the discovery of an art community, a favorite local hangout, new music, three new friends and an invitation to see 'Rent' at the end of September.
As far as transitions go, there are rougher rides, I suppose.
With more time to kill, I drove down to a Walgreens for some necessaries. As I was leaving, I noticed a makeshift art gallery set up across the street. It bled back into an alleyway behind a neglected building, which seemed like maybe it could house some grassroots art collective.
The artwork was diverse enough that I figured multiple artists took part. What I found however, was a group of five staked out behind a trailer parked in back. When I asked about the art, all fingers pointed to ''Bill" and older, brash sorta guy in an armchair across the opposite side of the trailer. He didn't seem fowl-mannered at all, but he also didn't seem eager to offer more than a wave and a smile. Two of the posse though, were much more engaging and we got into a bit of small talk. Will and Ashley were also recent transplants to the area, finishing a long road trek from New York. Will was also an artist and a skateboarder and shared some information about the art community and Bill's whereabouts. He pointed out that some of the artwork were actually woven pieces of canvas, depicting different paintings that made up one. He was about to buy this one:
I had said my goodbyes and headed back to the car when I realized I was looking for evening company. I turned back to invite them and the two seemed very interested, but a bit confused when I offered vague directions as to where it was. In retrospect, I should've just traded contact info. They didn't make it down.
However, I was in no short supply of good company. Getting seated at the bar, I was greeted by a very inviting hostess who I came to know as Kathy. A couple seats down from me was a man I would come to know as John. As I broke into conversation with Kathy about where I was from, John overheard the Packwood namedrop and perked up: "I camped out in Packwood for three months!" John it turns out, had been a Packwood "resident" of sorts back when they still had the mill. The work he was doing on roads and things at the time had them stationed long term. "I didn't want to leave when it was time" he said, nostalgically. It seems to have that effect.John and I talked non-stop as he shared about raising his family camping and how it had been seared into his kids' lifestyles. "One came back this way to own a campground!" John looked to be about in his early 70's and was still kicking. I grilled him about living in the area and he had a lot of praises for it. Living only a block away, he frequented the live music at The Grocery and name dropped a couple of the recent bands he'd seen. By the time the band was set up to play, I'd moved to sit beside him and we were good buds the rest of the night.
The band was incredible. Tom Waits down on bourbon street in a nightmare before christmas reality with astounding vocals. Or something. The eclectic ensemble of instruments included an accordion, a mandolin, a steel-bath hand-made bass, a banjo (i believe?) and a violin. The group is a talented trio.
Nearing the end-use of the show, John and I were accompanied by a fellow named George, and his wingman Eric. The two of them struck me as superficial interaction at first, but once we cleared some air and got past the ridiculous social norms of bar pick-ups, they were actually a pretty neat duo to chat with. Eric it turned out, is a social worker for 'Council for the Homeless' and very enthusiastically persuaded me to get in touch with his boss about a job, which I will actually consider looking into, seeing as social work is the focus I'm going for.
It may have been the amazing craft cider and fresh blackberry puree cocktail, or the fact that I happened to connect so well with the company and bar tenders that were there tonight, or the high of the absolute love of the music, but I fell in love with the place also. Salty, the owner, was present the whole night and I had the opportunity to small-talk with him here and there, learning about the inspiration for the food (Fried Cornbread done up in his Grandmother's cast iron skillet? the exact nuances I appreciate in a prospective workplace), the inspiration for the name, where he was from....by the end of the night, I was ready to approach him about jobs. I figured (correctly) that it wouldn't be a current possibility, as I knew that two of the three waitstaff were just newly hired, but I had a serious love of the atmosphere and could see it as something I take on later down the road, as a supplement to caregiving.
By the end of the night, I'd acquired a new job, lunch with one of my favorite-est people, the discovery of an art community, a favorite local hangout, new music, three new friends and an invitation to see 'Rent' at the end of September.
As far as transitions go, there are rougher rides, I suppose.
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