Recollections and Revisions

Hello from Kona, Hawaii,

Later this morning I will onboard winging my way back to the mainland. The last 5 days have been spent on the Big Island, a place I last visited almost 50 years ago, although I am not sure visited is completely accurate as I was stationed on Oahu. Twice a year we would relocate to the Pōhakuloa Training Area in the middle of the island to practice our firing skills in both 105 and 155 Howitzer Batteries. My stationing in Hawaii was unexpected as I had only been in Cherry Point for a few months before being offered a billet at Kaneohe, and, of course, as a NW Iowa boy, the chance of locating to the Aloha State was beyond anything imaginable. So in April of 1974 I was aboard a C-140 on a MAC flight from Offutt AFB to San Bernardino and then to Hickam AFB in Honolulu. As I scroll through the Rolodex of my memories, I remember feeling a bit overwhelmed by being so far away from my Iowa roots, honestly a bit frightened by being in a new unit, and realizing there were about to be some significant changes in my life. I also remember the heat and humidity, which in starched utilities seems incredibly oppressive.

Within a month of my arrival, my unit, Alpha Battery, 1st Battalion, 12th Marines (and I suspect other Batteries too, though I don’t remember for sure) would relocate to the Big Island for a month, as noted above. The largest of the islands in our 50th state is a very different place than the idyllic scenes of the surfing waves of North Shore or the sunsets over Diamond Head. Indeed, Kona has such things, but the majority of the volcanic large island is exactly that: lava and wilderness. It too has its beauty, but it also has eruptions (like one actually occurring this week) and snow. Yes, it snows. I did not believe it until I saw it. Last evening we drove to Mauna Kea’s access center to watch the sunset, and it was windy and cold (probably 30+ degrees cooler than an hour away in Kona, and certainly not humid). Driving through the clouds, both ascending and descending, looking down at clouds from our vantage point, or seeing a sunset occur through the clouds is mind-blowing to some extent; that is for sure, but it is not something I need to experience more than once. While my travel mate has teased me a bit concerning my amazement upon seeing the PTA gate, I was such a naive young person at that time. I had little idea of the differences in the islands, the climate, or even the culture. Now I am actually stunned. Additionally, while I found being in Hawaii somewhat astounding, even a half century later, I am not nearly as enamored. In fact, I would struggle to find a reason to return. I know msny might find such a response alarming, but I am not that 18-year-old, wide-eyed Iowa boy, turned Marine. The other thing that did amaze me (and provide some appreciation) is the stunning cross-section of culture encountered daily, from mainlander-transplants to others who have come from throughout the Pacific Islands, the cultural tapestry is unlike anything I have experienced in such a confined space.

My recollections of Kona and Hilo were walking the streets of the main tourist areas, which is what a number of 18-23 year old single-Marines would do. I remember being out dancing until early hours of the morning and often getting back to our hotel rooms as the sun rose. I was often a tag-along in the group as I was much too shy, inexperienced, and a follower-type in those days. It is ironic what things we remember when we focus on a specific time. A succinct memory of those Hawaiian mornings included experiencing a new McDonald’s option: breakfast and an Egg McMuffin. I remember being overjoyed to find something so readily available and simple for breakfast. A weekend back in civilization after 10-12 days in the field were always a welcome respite. And being free to travel around the islands seemed quite special for a Midwest boy, who had never traveled much of anywhere. Fifty years later and a significant amount of travel provides a substantially different optic of what Hawaii has for a soon-to-retire, upper-60s, professor. As many know, I am pondering quite intentionally what my next step, move, or adventure might be. And the more I ponder the less certain it seems I am. Having options are generally positive, yet those choices can also be perplexing. Even as I have traveled, my online class has been part of my week’s work, and there will be more tomorrow, but I seldom find it burdensome. Often I find it stimulating and of importance. There has been more than once I have given thanks to end up doing what I do. It is often I note I love coming to work each day; I love when the lights go on and something is not longer difficult for someone. Seldom do I regret where I am, and perhaps that is, in part, why I am so unsure of what next.

Revision, that global consideration of what one might do with something written, is seeming more and more parallel to the change between being gainfully employed and moving into retirement. It seems to require some of the same extensive rethinking of identity and purpose (not all that different from rethinking audience and purpose). Perhaps there are more consistencies in the two than initially considered. It is difficult to revise something we have spent so much time developing, so much time pouring ourself into. My former department chair has writing a book titled Retiring Minds, which I have just started to read. The anonymous anecdotes about some former colleagues were tremendously telling as well as amusing, but facing retirement is, at least for me, a bit daunting. Is it because I so need a plan? Is it because I am so used to having a sense of control over the primary areas of my life? I have thought somewhat incessantly about this, and I do not, at least currently, have an answer. However, control is certainly an element. As I continue to age, I find I am more shy about what I will do, and I find I am less comfortable in social spaces. And yet, ironically, I have no difficulty in being in front of a classroom. I had little difficulty preforming on my guitar, hosting a wild game dinner, or even preaching after those first few sermons. It is because in those letter spaces I had some sense of control. It is not merely being in front of people, rather it is having a specific plan or purpose I believe. It is understanding the basics of the audience. Perhaps I understand the changes that retiring might bring, but I do not always have a sense of where that will take me or what the consequences of this new journey might be or hold for me.

And yet, might the ability to control what I do, when I do it, or where offer even more a sense of predictability? Will the knowing what I do not have to do be something that provides a stability I do not have as a faculty or department member of a constantly evolving new integrated university? Fortunately, I have a year yet to figure it out. What I realize, much like my students, and even more to my disdain, it seems I am asking for a rubric. Just tell me what to do. I find my own words ringing in my ears – “i want you to think.” And that makes sense to me. Think about the possibilities and make a plan. The other day as I drove across the states is my youth, I spoke with a seminary classmate. He is such an insightful person, one who asks such thoughtful and probing questions. He picked my brain getting me to ponder the next phase and consider it with a gentle, but serious examination, allowing me to ask the appropriate what if? questions. After our conversation, I found myself gazing out the window (but keeping an eye on the road) and marveling at the verdant fields of growing corn or just emerging soybeans. The beauty of geometric rows and managing of hills struck me with a new appreciation. The sounds of the birds, the smell of the soil, and the profound beauty of the heartland gave me both pause and joy. And then the next day, I heard the incredible promise of Matthew 6 during the interment of both Fred and Ruth Peters. “Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap, or store away in barns, and yet, your Heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they?” So much of our value is placed on what we do, how much we make, or what we have. And yet, as I was reminded over the past week, it is the people in our lives that give it the most value. The recollecting with David and Barb, the spending precious time with Patti and Nancy; the meeting for coffee with my former student and meeting her two fabulous children; the sharing lunch with my profoundly talented Stout colleague and the unparalleled wisdom of her spouse or connecting with both neighbors and others in Menomonie reminded me of how fortunate I am. Spending an evening with my beautiful cousin and her wonderful husband or sharing breakfast with my lovely sandbox buddy, her husband and sister connected me to my entire spans of life in less than 5 days. From age 5 to present, there was someone from every decade of my life. The recollections are too many to process at moments, and yet they have all been witnesses to the constant revision that seems to characterize my life. It is each and everyone of those people and how they have been woven, much like the uniquely wonderful rug that currently graces my kitchen floor, into a tapestry. Each offering something that makes the person who ponders his next steps hopeful in the midst of uncertainty. Comforted in believing all these individuals and our shared experiences will provide a foundation that offers stability in spite of change. Indeed, through recollecting we understand more completely, and yet dimly, as the scripture reminds us. It allows for revising of our path because revision offers the possibility of improvement, of more fully appreciating what our ever evolving future might bring. To all who found time in their schedules this past week, thank you. Thank you for blessing my life and my travels.

Thank you as always for reading.

Dr. Martin