On Tuesday we dug the champagne out of the back of the fridge where it had been hibernating since New Years. Mark had received his official acceptance to Columbia College, along with a generous financial aid offer.
On Wednesday I learned I'd been accepted into the Rhode Island Teaching Fellows Program, an accelerated route to a teaching career in a high-needs district. If all goes well, I'll be teaching special education in September at an urban high school. This is becoming a pattern. Seven years ago we moved to Rhode Island; six years prior to that we'd moved to Costa Rica. Seven year itch?
On Thursday, Marty was laid off from his job. Although this was not unexpected, it still came as a shock. We now join the ranks of the unemployed who struggle to pay mortgages and utility bills, and who can't find new jobs because there aren't any. Don't cry for me America, but if you want to deck a hedge fund manager, be my guest.
So we're putting our house up for sale and downsizing. We were planning to do this in a year or so, but now it's not a choice. Anyone got a shotgun shack for rent?
I'm sure this will all be even worse when we actually look at the figures, but for now we're trying to keep our sense of humor. When Marty delivered the unsettling news, I'd just finished ironing a bunch of his work shirts. Dang. I called Marty yesterday to see how his job search was going. He was having lunch out. Where, I asked, at a soup kitchen? A friend who'd been laid off earlier in the week had taken Marty to a nearby tavern for lunch (and beer). Misery loves company.
We have a few tricks up our sleeves, and we keep reminding ourselves it could be worse, even if we don't quite believe it. In the meantime, we'll be keeping our seat belts fastened, throwing our hands up in the air, and occasionally screaming.
