Readers, I apologize for the brief hiatus. It’s surprising how little time you have when you are expected to get up early and work. While the number of baths I take on a daily basis has dropped a little, I’m still able to fit in almost daily naps.
In my last column I mentioned that I had gotten a temporary position at a private boarding school in Winchendon. I wish I could say that it was due to my unique cover letters, stellar interviews, and hard work/dedication to the job search process. Alas, this is not the case. Well, my cover letters were pretty unique. As any job seeker knows, writing cover letters is BORING!!!!!!!! Most of them start off with something about the position being exactly what you are looking for, followed by why you are qualified for the position blah, blah, blah, and work well with others blah, blah, blah. After writing about five of them I decided to change my approach. While I included the above-mentioned information in an abbreviated format, I thought it was important to include one of my greatest loves in the letters—doughnuts, obviously. This is literally an excerpt from one of my cover letters for the position of a production assistant for a TV show:
“I’m a hard worker and as long as I get a doughnut break, I have no qualms about putting in the necessary time to make sure my job is done well.”
See, I don’t think that is too much—a little humor but still professional.
I did get carried away on some of them and talked about my pet rabbit Tucker and his mood swings and my starring as Mary Poppins in 4th grade, which may have been too much. Do I recommend this tactic? Uh, well, I had two employers ask me back for interviews. I ended up only going to one, but these letters were a heck of a lot more fun to write.
I happened to get the job at the school through a friend of a friend. I’m pretty sure every time I told people I was looking for a job, they said I would get it through networking or someone I knew. It was upon hearing this so much that I felt justified in taking a little break (about 2.5 months) in my search. I would occasionally peruse the classifieds and craigslist and if something really jumped out at me, I’d whip up one of those “unique” cover letters, but I spent less and less time working. I was fortunate enough to be substitute teaching and living with my parents, so my expenses were limited. If I were to give advice, it would be to make as many friends as possible. When people are paying attention in class, you should be planning slumber parties and making friendship bracelets for those students who have the mark of success in their eyes.
I was hired to be the lacrosse coach, teach one class, and be a dorm parent to about 17 high school girls. Compared to everyone else’s very full schedule (five classes), mine was relatively light. There was one catch to the job offer—I had to live at the headmaster’s residence. As one can imagine this gave me pause. I would go from living with my own dear parents to living with someone else’s dear parents. Hhhmmmm?
Could I really live with another set of parents? I did it in Portugal one summer, in Belgium, and then again when I first moved to Germany. Does it sound better to say at 29 you live with your own parents or at the headmaster’s compound? It turns out that I can live with just about anyone, another thing to add my cover letter. While we share an entrance, I have my own little area upstairs with a bathroom and two bedrooms and surprisingly, I spend quite a bit of time with the headmaster and his wife.
There was one little catch on my side that I failed to mention when initially speaking with the headmaster about the living situation: Tucker Grammaticus, my rabbit. He made the two-hour trek to Winchendon and has proceeded to chew on the carpet, a lamp cord, and my alarm clock. I’ll probably leave out those last few details should the opportunity arise to discuss employment for next year. When no one is around and I’m talking to the girls in my dorm, I may or may not give myself the title of associate headmaster. I mean I live at the headmaster’s residence. That has to count for something.
So far, I don’t have any complaints and am amazed at how much I enjoy working with high school students after working with elementary school children for the past five months. In next week’s chronicles, I will discuss the awkward situations I have created while teaching and my best friend’s wedding where I did not, in fact, fit into a size 10 bridesmaid’s dress that I had so triumphantly ordered.
My Super Mom with my grandmother and I in our apartment in Portugal.
Okay, readers, the news you have all been waiting for and that I have been promising for the last few weeks…I’m in another wedding. My best friend Cathy Wenzel asked me to read something at her wedding in July. Woohooo, two for two! I’m a bridesmaid in one and a reader at another. Uh oh, this might get my housemates Jack and Wandra back on that whole marriage and grandchildren kick again. Anyway, Cath mentioned something about a passage from the Bible, but there must be some wiggle room there. Surely she would want me to use my creative talents, dramatic reading voice (remember, I was a reader on the Buzzards Bay Polar Express trip at the holidays), and affinity for slam poetry to entertain her guests. This could lead to a career as a professional wedding reader.
Incidentally, Cathy is related to the big news I was going to announce. Readers with faint hearts might want to have a seat. I got a JOB! Please, please, don’t fret. It actually is just a temporary one. I’ll be back in Buzzards Bay and unemployed by the middle of June. Cathy’s best friend works at the Winchendon School in Winchendon, and she found out that they were looking for a lacrosse coach to finish out the school year and let me know about the position. I’ll tell you more all about forays into the world of New England boarding schools in the next column, but there is a topic that is much more pressing that I want to talk about, and slightly more permanent.
I’m going to use this installment to talk about a little old lady you might know—she’s my housemate during the day and my mother at night—Wandra Harmsen. Yesterday was my mom’s 60th birthday and on Sunday we’ll be celebrating Mother’s Day. And even though we are getting her a pretty sweet gift, this column is my gift to my mom.
Yep, that's my mom.
I have a pretty great mom. I don’t have any empirical evidence, but since this column is called the Chronicles of Nadia, no one can really contradict me. She really is. If you think that I have had some adventures, you haven’t seen anything. Wandra Lee Harmsen has been all over the world as a member of the Baha’i faith. When she started dating that white guy who lives with us, she had to endure comments about dating outside of her race. She and my dad were arrested in Bermuda because they were sleeping in a cave on a beach, they hitchhiked across the country, attended Woodstock (yep, they were hippies), were friends with the late comedian Andy Kaufman, were forced to leave Cape Verde because of their Baha’i activities, and traveled to Portugal on a cargo ship. I mean there is so much more, but I’d like to think that my mom would really want me to focus on the part of her life that involved your friendly neighborhood chronicler.
It was the Baha’i faith that took my parents to Cape Verde and then on to Portugal. If you recall, my parents weren’t able to have children of their own, so they went to an orphanage and were just wowed by a little singing and tap-dancing girl who fought for the meek and was the voice of the voiceless. No-brainer, if you ask me. About six months after they brought me home, the orphanage called to tell them I had a younger sister. Dang it, if only I hadn’t answered the phone, I would be an only child. Just kidding, Doobie. My sister and I are so fortunate to have such a strong black woman in our life. My mom is my role model. I have so many powerful memories of her. But there is one memory that stands out the most to me and I love to hear my mom tell it. She hates the story. Even when I asked her to retell it for this column, she got annoyed at her friend overreacting and not checking the room more carefully.
Here is the memory to end all memories:
My best friend in Portugal was a little boy, who was also adopted. His parents were also Baha’is and foreigners living in Portugal, so our parents became fast friends. One day when I was 3, my friend and I were playing in his room. He had a small tent that we used to hang out in and listen to music. Yeah, even at 4, I was pretty hip and independent. As the story goes, his mother came into the room and called our names and for some reason we didn’t answer. She looked around quickly and then panic set in, and she assumed that we had gone out on the balcony and fallen off. So the parents ran downstairs to the back entrance of this apartment building. The doors were locked and instead of waiting to call the building maintenance man, my super mom punched her hand through the plate-glass door and unlocked it so they could get out. What?! I love it.
They ultimately realized that we were just, in fact, in the little tent in his room, but at this point my mom’s hand was bleeding. She went to the emergency room in Portugal and got stitches. Her pinkie never fully healed and to this day she can’t straighten it out completely.
Every time I hear this story it just makes me think my mom fought for me. This memory is proof that you don’t have to share genes, blood, experience morning sickness, or carry someone for nine months to be their mother.
Mom, Debora and I strive to be a third of the person that you are in our eyes. We love you so much and are proud to be your daughters. How can we ever put into words first the decision you and Dad made to adopt two orphans and then to give us the lives that you have, sacrificing so much for us? So, thank you. Thank you for everything.
If you are lucky enough to have an amazing woman in your life, let her know on Mother’s Day how important she is to you.
In “The Chronicles of Nadia,” Nadia Harmsen, 29, of Buzzards Bay hopes to offer readers a lighthearted and optimistic look at her efforts to “figure it all out.”
This story was originally published in the Bourne Enterprise-www.capenews.net
June 25th, 2010 in
chronicles |
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I’m sure you all have been wondering what I have been up to for the past few weeks. The substitute teaching has really kept me busy, but something even more important has transpired over the last couple of months. I…I…am going to be a bridesmaid in my friend Tara’s wedding. Tara, who is one of my lacrosse teammates from college, called me on Skype a few months back and asked me if I would be in her wedding. My dad overheard the tail end of the conversation, which led to some false hopes.
Me: “Yes, I would be honored. Thank you so much.”
Dad: “Oh my gosh, did you just accept a job offer?”
Me: “Nope, Pops, something even better.”
Now fast-forward a couple of months and I’m the recipient of several telephone calls and a couple of messages on Facebook. Apparently as a bridesmaid, I’m supposed to order my own dress and get fitted.
You know what? As I listened to her threats of having to completely change all of the bridesmaids’ dresses if I didn’t order my dress immediately, I do recall her having said something about a dress, measurements, and ordering by a certain date. Oopsy! The store didn’t have the exact style of dress that I would be wearing, but the sales representative informed me that I could try on another that was nearly the same style. So I tried on a size 10, and it fit perfectly. This was advantageous for a number of reasons:
1) The dress was scheduled to arrive one day before the wedding, so there wouldn’t be any time for alterations.
2) I could go easy at the gym since if I pushed myself too hard, I might lose some weight and then the dress wouldn’t fit me. As much as this thought pained me, I was willing to make this sacrifice for my dear friend.
Disaster averted. No, not out of the woods yet.
I place the actual order, and the representative said it was too late to place the order. I did have a little freakout because I thought my friend was going to kick me out of the wedding. That’s what I would have done if one of my bridesmaids was such a slacker. However, a few minutes later, the representative said my dress had been successfully ordered.
Okay, that’s not really the good news. This is both good, and bad, news. It seems that my substituting days have temporarily come to an end. Let us reflect on a couple of those highlights. I learned quickly, when teaching colors, not to ask the students to point to something in the room that is brown because, without fail, they almost always pointed to me. I also learned that when a little preschooler goes skipping off to the bathroom, it’s not a good sign. I’ll take you to the moment.
Veronica: “Ms. Harmsen, can you take me to the bathroom, please?”
Ms. Harmsen: “Oh Veronica, of course. Thank you for asking so politely and not just running out of the room.”
Little Veronica goes skipping out of the classroom. I think she had a bow in her hair that matched a cute little skirt that she was wearing. I’m walking quickly behind her as she skips with unadulterated glee toward the bathroom. And, as she rounded the corner, she turned to me, and I swear her voice became demon-like and dark, the lights flickered, and her once brown eyes had a slight red tint to them, as she said, “It’s number two!!!!!”
For those of you who haven’t worked with preschoolers, you have to help them go to the bathroom, if you know what I mean.
But I have had some really incredible moments with these kids—some pretty heartbreaking ones as well. At one point some 2nd graders asked me how much it costs to bail someone out of jail. They were swapping stories about bailing their parents out of jail. Really, 2nd graders? And another student caught me off guard after I asked him what his favorite movie was and he answered that, since he was living in a homeless shelter, they really hadn’t watched movies. It broke my heart. I had no idea, and it was awe-inspiring to see how he said it so matter-of-factly.
I’ll be honest, substitute teaching for the past couple of months made me realize that I don’t want to be an elementary school teacher. Yes, the students shower me with compliments about my hair, my natural chocolatey odor (I don’t smell like chocolate—maybe like doughnuts, but not chocolate), or the fact I’m a spitting image of the First Lady.
In all honesty, I’m not a very good elementary school teacher. I’d much rather entertain them with stories of my pet rabbit Tucker’s temper tantrums or unwillingness to try on different outfits. Elementary schoolchildren are great. One little boy asked me on a daily basis for hugs. I tried to ask him for his lunch money in exchange and he would just laugh and put his arms out.
I have learned that I want to work with children and next Chronicles you learn just how that has happened.
Jennifer Kennedy with twin daughters Zoey and Avy
There have been some pretty big changes in my life, but before I share them, I thought I would interview another local resident who is employed and loving it. I chose this next person because her job involves two things that I genuinely enjoy…no, not doughnuts, though my love for them has not wavered.
This business involves flip-flops and coffee.
Flip Flops Cafe on Main Street, Buzzard Bay, doesn’t have doughnuts but they serve these cinnamon sticks (have them warmed up) and frosting. Oh, do I love frosting. My sister and I used to sneak spoonfuls of frosting from the containers my mom would keep in the basement. We’d leave the foil seal on it, so she thought the container of frosting was unopened, but little did she know there was a reason we were so willing to go into the basement to look for a can of peas. Aha, who got the last laugh?
Okay, so when Jennifer Kennedy moved to Bourne from Taunton at the age of 10, she never imagined that she would be managing a successful little coffee shop on Main Street. The eldest of three, she planned on being a lawyer after graduating from Bourne High in 1992. After high school she lived with a host family in Spain and then headed down to Florida as a prelaw major. While in school she worked for a personal injury law firm and realized that the law wasn’t her calling. She ended up graduating from Bridgewater State College in prelaw but later found herself working at Sovereign Bank.During that time she met the man who was to become her husband out at Otis Air Force Base and they got married in 2001.
If you recall from my article with Wenzel’s Auto Body owner James Wenzel, he also met his wife at Otis Air Force Base…. Maybe that is where I should take my 90-year-old grandmother to meet the love of her life. Ms. Kennedy then worked as a Head Start teacher in Plymouth for a year before giving birth to her twin daughters Zoey and Avy. They sat in on the interview and will reappear later on.
How did the idea of a coffee shop come about?
Ms. Kennedy never intended on working at a coffee shop, but when her aunt died a few years ago, her mother, Kathleen A. MacDougall decided to open the shop in memory of her late sister, who loved flip-flops. Ms. MacDougall’s husband, Ralph J. MacDougall, owner of Coastal Motors on Main Street, saw that the building next door was for sale and purchased the property. In 2006, a few months after her sister’s passing Ms. MacDougall opened Flip Flops. Celebrating the opening of the shop, Ms. Kennedy, her mother, and several other family members got flip-flop tattoos.
Do you have any job advice for a high school graduate?
Ms. Kennedy said it is hard to know what you want to do at 18 or 22 even. She suggested “trying different things.”
What’s it like to be a manager of a coffee shop?
Since Ms. Kennedy never planned on working in a coffee shop, she had to learn everything on the go. She said one of the most important things is customer service.
What is the hardest thing?
Ms. Kennedy said that even though being the manager allows a lot of flexibility, she does have to spend a lot of time there.
What are your days like and how much vacation time do you have?
She usually works from 8:30 AM to 3 PM every day and works on the weekends, but doesn’t have a set schedule. On average, she has about two weeks of vacation and takes more time off in the summer because her daughters are off from school. Having a lot of vacation time is important to me. I got spoiled living in Germany, where I would usually take about eight weeks of vacation a year. It was unpaid, but it was worth every penny I didn’t make.
What comes after this?
Having always loved working with children, Ms. Kennedy is in the process of going to school so that she can become a certified elementary school teacher. One of the challenges is finding a way to keep managing the coffee shop and teach, two things she really enjoys doing.
As we were walking back in the coffee shop after having taken some photos of Ms. Kennedy and her daughters outside, I asked the two girls if they would like to own a coffee shop when they were older. The twins shouted in unison, “NO!!!!” The two 7-year-olds seem to know exactly what they want to do when they grow up. Proud owners of hermit crabs, fish, hamsters, and a dog, they both want to work with animals.
Zoey informed me that she wants to have a “Hamster Café,” where all rodents would be welcome. I asked if rabbits would be welcome, and she said yes. Maybe if a certain little black rabbit behaves himself, he’ll be sipping on lattes with his friends in a few years.
Avy said she would like to get into animal ear-piercing. Yes, animal ear-piercing. Again, I asked about rabbits, and Avy said that rabbits would definitely be able to get their ears pierced.
It was nice to sit down with Ms. Kennedy and her daughters and realize that things don’t always work out as we planned. That’s okay, because you never know where you might end up and you just might like it. And I’m going to hold those two little girls to their dreams because my pet rabbit Tucker has got two big black ears that would look beautiful pierced and he can be a little cranky early in the morning.
April 9th, 2010 in
chronicles |
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I would like to thank everyone for all of the birthday wishes. It was a great birthday, and I’m actually still celebrating it. I like to stretch out the festivities as long as possible and since most of my friends live outside of Buzzards Bay it’s an easy thing to do.
On that same note, the first stages of aging are setting in. As I was getting dressed the other day in front of the full-length mirror something caught my eye. Are those what I think they are? Could it be? Maybe cat hair? Oh goodness, they are—three little black hairs had sprouted on my chest. I immediately thought, “Gramma Dot!!!”
I recall as a young child my grandmother encouraging me to eat certain foods because they would “put hair on my chest.” Fast forward to a couple of weeks before my 29th birthday and zoom in on the three black hairs camped out on my chest. I did what any good African-American woman would do in my predicament—dyed them blonde. Kidding; I yanked those little suckers right out, and it wasn’t without pain. I’m surprised I saw the hairs since my eyesight is going. I guess it is the beginning of the end. No reason to give up eating doughnuts now…might as well go out in a blaze of frosting, carbohydrates, and glaze.
It might seem like being the local chronicler is an easy gig, but rest assured I’ve been busy. While I would have liked to not work and dedicate myself fully to chronicling, domesticating squirrels, and looking for a job, I have student loans. I needed a way to make money, and since my rabbit Tucker has been all but sabotaging his dance lessons, I knew I couldn’t count on making money off him.
I’m substitute teaching in a public school. Yes, the powers that be are letting me instruct children once again. Don’t worry—not in Bourne. I’ll admit I used to have a prejudice about teachers, how easy their jobs were, even though my mom would come home exhausted from a day of teaching.
I was a Bourne student until 8th grade and witnessed on a daily basis how “hard” those summer-sun-worshippers worked. I was a model student. Okay, at times I might have been “talkative” or the “class clown.” Did I get a couple of 4s in conduct? Yes, and I still take issue with them to this day.
I preferred to think of myself as an engager, I’d go as far as to say a teacher. I engaged my fellow classmates in stimulating conversation when there was a lull in the lesson and can one really put a price tag on the laughter of children? I think not. And don’t tell me that my teachers didn’t become better teachers from having to find ways to get me to focus and follow directions. I tested them, pushed them to think outside the box, challenged them to be the best teachers they could be. With this in mind, I thought substitute teaching would be an easy way to make money.
Boy, was I in for a surprise.
I find substitute teaching exhausting, and I don’t do any prep work or bring work home at night.
I’ll take this time to go ahead and apologize to all of my teachers and especially my mother, who worked full time and took care of our house. I never understood why after dinner she’d doze off on the couch.
I don’t know how teachers do it. Good teachers should be paid more and given the respect and support they need. No, no, the Massachusetts Teachers Association isn’t paying me to say these things, though I’d gladly accept thanks in the form of $10 Dunkin’ Donuts gift cards.
My driver/father Jack and I.
Before I even begin to tell you about some of my classroom mishaps, you should know that my dad works in the same school. He has worked there for 24 years and is a school adjustment counselor. The first few times I went to work with my dad the seatbelt in the passenger’s seat of the car was broken, so I sat in the back seat. I’m a stickler for traffic safety. I like to be driven around; it made me feel a little like royalty. I asked him to wear a little black chauffeur’s hat but he wasn’t keen on the idea.
He is also responsible for the morning announcements, and everyone in the school knows who he is. This is good and bad for me for obvious reasons. Here was an unexpected bad reason. I teach elementary school students and they have trouble with the Mr. and Ms. salutations. I’m called Mr. Harmsen at least five times a day. Now I would understand if we sort of looked alike, but we don’t. I mean we really don’t look anything alike. Please see attached photo. He wears glasses and look at those eyebrows. At one point a preschooler called me Mr. Hamster. I almost lost it. I mentioned it to my dad on a car ride home. Here’s how he responded:
Jack: “They usually call me ‘Mr. Handsome.”
Me: “No, they don’t.”
Jack: “Yes, they do.”
Me: “No, they don’t.”
Jack: “Yes, it’s usually the young female teachers.”
In my next installment I’ll explain how I debated with a young kindergartner about the likelihood of him having a pet lion.
Nobody is calling this guy Mr. Handsome.
This article was originally published in The Bourne Enterprise-www.capenews.net
Readers, I apologize for the brief hiatus. It’s surprising how little time you have when you are expected to get up early and work. While the number of baths I take on a daily basis has dropped a little, I’m still able to fit in almost daily naps.
