Day 269

We have an interested buyer for our condo. It looks like we’ll be getting out of Bedminster soon. YAY! I’ve been wanting out of that condo for years. I never really liked it. It was supposed to be a temporary home. But I got stuck there for fourteen years. Getting out of Bedminster really isn’t enough. I want out of New Jersey, where I’ve been stuck for the last sixteen years. Four years ago, friends of our picked up and moved from New Jersey to Utah. That’s what I’d love to do. Maybe not Utah, I need a big body of water. I’m not sure the Great Salt Lake would be big enough to satisfy me. However, there are plenty of other states that would make me happy. My spouse is more particular. She says she’s game for New England. Our problem is finding jobs. We are both nearing fifty. We have multiple degrees and years of teaching experience. School districts, especially now, are broke. We both have a great deal to offer, but we cost too much. My fear is I’ll be stuck here another year, another five, another decade. My bigger fear is that I’ll die here. I need to get out. But I learned a long time ago, that wishing for something — along with working hard to achieve it — isn’t enough. One needs a breathe of luck — something I am sorely lacking. Sadly, even in New Jersey, finding a full time job is impossible and I’ve been looking for years. I’m not sure what I’ll do and I’m starting to feel overwhelmed and panicked. 

While I continue to strike out in my search for a literary agent (and I’ve been querying multiple agents in regards to several projects), I am successfully publishing my shorter work in both print and online journals. Early this month, Writer’s Egg Magazine published my essay “The Day Daddy Died.” (It is a cleaned up and modified version of my Day 30 blog post — https://jaegerwrites13.wordpress.com/2020/04/14/mama-day-30/ — which many of you have already read.)

On December 15th, The Blue Nib will release it’s winter issue (https://thebluenib.com/issue-44-of-the-blue-nib/). It will include my essay “Adaptations,” an essay that explores my homeschooling experience with G3. While I love being able to share the links of my published work, there is something special about having my work published in a print journal. It’s tangible. Something I can hold in my hands and put on my bookshelf. 

This morning, I woke up to an acceptance in my inbox. Global Poemic: Kindred Voices in the Era of Covid-19, will be publishing my prose poem “Fallen,” which of course is about Dad. The online journal has been publishing some incredible poems about life during the pandemic. I am shocked and honored that they actually accepted my work. 

Yesterday, my son wanted to know why Paul Revere got all the credit for his ride to warn the colonists that the British were coming. I told him about Longfellow’s poem, and how literature has shaped the way history remembered that night. We went on to study the battle of Bunker Hill, which once again history got wrong. The battle actually took place on Breed’s Hill. After the lesson, my son became thoughtful then took out his poetry journal and spent the afternoon working on a poem. This morning he showed it to me.  Our conversation went as follows:

Son: I wrote a poem.

Me: Can I see it?

Son: You’re good at essays and stories. You’re not that good with poetry. I would like a professional to look at it. Can you please ask Mrs. Cordaro?

Son: You’re ten.

G3: Do you want me to be successful?

Cordaro is one of my writing friends. She’s the poet in my writing group. I wasn’t at all insulted by my son’s comment. It made me chuckle. Because he’s one hundred percent correct. I’d trust Cordaro’s critique of poetry over mine any day. 

This afternoon, after my son finished his school work for the day, we drove down to the sound and took a walk. Again the sand was covered in dead fish. I don’t remember any other year were there were so many dead fish. It seriously reminds me of those Biblical plagues I learned about in Catholic school. We had to be careful where we stepped, because if we lifted our eyes from the shore the odds were good we’d step on them. While at the beach my son had fun exploring. And we had fun practicing our technique using the bahng-Mahng-ee.