More than a Prodigal

Hello from the farm,

The reality of typing that is setting in as I look out the windows of my cousin’s farm house. I see harvested fields as far as the eye can see. Gone are the mountains and the topography of the Poconos, where I have spent (in total) about a third of my life. Indeed, looking that up, I have spent more time in Pennsylvania than I have in my home state, the place I call home. That was a bit of a shock when I thought about it. Certainly the number of people I know most intimately, have spent the most time with, and have shared more than just moments with are far more numerous than my Iowa connections, and yet those Iowa connections know the boy I was. Recently, as many know, I posted my high school senior picture, I was certainly a youngster. That summer I worked two jobs and lived at my grandmother’s house in Leeds. It was the beginning of when I started to detach from my adopted home. It was the genesis of when I began a journey that still continues, though much has been achieved. I realized for the first time, and to a great degree that I felt alone, as if I had no home. Certainly I had a house in which I stayed, and a family (or people) around me every day. At that time, I am not sure I could articulate what I can now. What I knew is I spent much of my time walking gingerly . . . treading lightly to avoid the wrath of the mother in the house. Too often I failed, but I learned to remove myself even though present. That senior year I was learning to navigate a new school, finishing my studies, and trying to imagine what post-graduation would bring.

Now it is more than a half century later. That reality in itself is a bit mind boggling. My perception of the world, of my life, and yes, my memories of Iowa are very different from that 16-17 year old child, and indeed, I was a child. When I take the time to ponder my Iowa departure, it was a time to run away. It was a time of searching and trying to figure out where I fit, where I belonged, and perhaps if I belonged anywhere at all. One of the reoccurring threads in my blog is having a sense of place. Iowa is home for me, but what makes it so? It is about more than geography, and it is certainly more than experience. As I come back, I wonder how I fit into this more rural location, what a country song refers to as a fly-over state. Sioux City, when growing up was the 2nd or 3rd largest city in the state. I am not sure where it stands now, but I am sure the Quad Cities, Cedar Rapids, and, of course, Des Moines are larger. And while I did some work on farms, I was not a farm kid. And yet, in the few days here, I am feeling comfortable, relaxed, and still focused.

Today, the bug is off the dolly; the dolly is in the horse barn, and the bus is sitting outside it’s soon to be home for the next months. The first few days of administrative necessity is done and it seems all those things are managed. There are some things like Starlink, that has been activated and need to be set up. There is the cleaning out and rearranging the shed (Audrie’s temporary home) to prepare the build space, and there is the actual unloading of the bus. All of that will happen over the next couple days . . .

A couple days have passed and I am still working on the project above. Hopefully today, but since I last worked on this post, I have driven to Waukesha, WI, back to Menomonie, and at the end of the week, I am back in Mallard. Completing some visits, surprising long-time friends, sharing times in a cemetery, and reminiscing were all parts of the last few days. It was (appropriate for the time of year) a cornucopia of events, emotions, and experiences. I did experience, and it was emotional for me, the new movie, Bonhoeffer: Pastor, Spy, Assassin. It is an incredible film that does a really masterful job of managing the complexity of Bonhoeffer’s life, theology, and choices. Of course, writing a dissertation about him affects my perspective. For those who do not know of Bonhoeffer, it might be easier to misinterpret to fall into some particular perspective of his work and intention.

Much of what I am experiencing, not only in my recent trip, but in my daily existence, seems to be a full-circle return to my roots, not just in multiple geographic places, but through people, in my emotions, or likewise in some of my wrapping it all together experientially. Additionally, in the midst of it all, we have less than 40 days left in a calendar year. My return to Iowa was a possibility at the beginning of the year, and imagining travel was also rattling around in the ether of possibility, but the decision to buy a shuttle and embark on a bus build was not really anywhere in my thought process. I will admit I am both excited and overwhelmed by such a process. I can appreciate the space needed to undertake such a project, and preparing both in terms of tools and physical space is what I am working on this week. Even arranging tools in a way to expedite my work is part of my consideration. I probably need to purchase a couple things to manage safety also. A good pair of wrap-around safety googles are a first piece. Considering a good pair of coveralls to save on daily clothing too. As I have noted, I am treading in new waters, feeling a little like dog paddling.

As I continue to write from the Iowa cornfield, now dotted with turbines, I will be going to my brother’s side of the family for the Thanksgiving holiday. Earlier this year, I stayed at my sister-in-law’s home. There was a moment as I sat in her dining room, at my grandmother’s dining room table, looking at the buffet I remembered as a child. I will be around that table this week, and that connection to the earliest moments of my life will not go unnoticed. Leeds, and 4547, as it was known by my grandmother’s elder , sister, are my first memories of life, even though I was probably close to two. It was the home where I felt more loved, cared for, and safe than any other time in my life. That table and the people gathered around it are perhaps my most precious recollections of my entire childhood, if not my life. The evocation of drives to the South Dakota farm known as Happy Acres (ironic I just connected it to calling my house in Bloom the Acre) for holidays or vacations are important to me as I find myself back in rural America. There is the recollection of a 1957 Chevy blowing a piston on the way to Volin, South Dakota (I think that might have been one of the last Chevrolets my father ever owned.). There are other significant growing-events that are swirling through my head at the moment, but they bring joy as I consider my Midwestern roots. Perhaps the difference, besides the obvious ones of time or aging, is the appreciation I have that was not anything that occurs in the moment. As we gather, I am reminded of those I know who might spend this week somewhat isolated, feeling less than thankful. It reminds me that our world can be difficult; it can be tough and seemingly uncaring. There are moments we do not respond as thoughtfully, productively, helpfully as we might or should. As I return to my roots, there are those times I am unsure of the path, unprepared for what is to come, but returned I have. Whether I am a prodigal is perhaps up for debate, but it’s nice to be home.

Thanks as always for reading,

Michael

Carpe Diem and a Field of Dreams

Hello from the farm,

After a number of missed departure dates, managing hurricanes, freight companies, and other unexpected events, I have made it to Mallard, IA. and my dear cousin’s and husband’s farm. It is not my first time here, as they have been gracious to host me before, but this time is for an extended period. The anticipated bus-build begins. I arrived yesterday, after a 2 1/2 day drive of a little over 1,200 miles. It was uneventful for the most part, but driving a 1999 Ford E350 Shuttle, and pulling the Beetle, is a tad different than anything I have done for a while. The last time I was towing things around, it was it a 5 Ton with a 155 Howitzer in the Marine Corps, and I was 50 years younger. There might be a couple of other minor issues (perhaps an injector control pressure sensor or oil pressure sensor). I also learned about how low I am willing to allow the gas tank to get. However, I am here and today, I am getting my bearings a bit and then it is on to getting things accomplished.

It was certainly fall as I headed across Iowa, the majority of crops were harvested and the fields empty. The second half of yesterday’s drive was cold and rainy, but that is certainly better than snow. The trees are mostly bear, and it reminds me of that sort of normal pre-Thanksgiving weather I knew as a child before we would go to the relative’s farm in South Dakota. I am sure there is a lot of pheasant hunting going on as the season began about a month ago. As I ponder today, I am reminded that today is my sister’s birthday. It is still stunning at times to believe she has been gone since that April day almost 16+ years ago. There is so little we are actually prepared for when it come to big picture. I spent some time on Tuesday night actually working on some of this with my niece (access to things, decisions, and yet, what happens if something happens to me). When Kris passed there was nothing in place. That was difficult for everyone. That is not an uncommon occurrence, as I remember from when I was a pastor. People do not like to have those conversations. Today, is a going through mail, managing a couple of other issues with logistics, and making sure I have all the things in place.

One of my favorite movies, in spite of some of the issues with Mr. John Keating, is Dead Poets Society. Certainly the 1950s are a different time than what happens in either preparatory schools or colleges and universities today, but pushing critical thought and thoughtful analysis is very important. Part of the title is the Latin phrase that Mr. Keating shared with his students, Carpe Diem (Seize the Day). It seems like a simple adage, but it is not such an easy thing to accomplish. We get caught up in the routine of our lives, and too often we become the epitome of the tail-wagging-the-dog. It is easy to believe we are the victim of circumstances, either immediate or long-term, but seldom is that true. We choose to be the wagged dog. We choose to feel victimized by our circumstances. I am well aware of the differences in personalities and how we are more “wired” to manage our lives in a specific style or manner, but I do not believe we are pre-determined in how we end up or what we can or cannot do. There is incredible pressure in our world to know what we want, where we are going, and how we are going to pay to get there, and most of that begins far too early in people’s lives. When I left Sioux City as a 17 year old, I have little idea where I was headed, with the immediate destination of MCRD. Even when I left my tour of duty, coming back to Sioux City was merely a stopping place. In the 40 years, which is the last time I spent more than a month there, I have traveled the world, changed professions, was married and divorced (twice), and achieved some status in my profession and retired. And there were moments, events, and situations where needing to seize the moment was inescapable and necessary. During those times I allowed someone to take charge of me, the consequence was generally less than optimal (e.g. a Bishop, a former spouse, a Dean, a President – of an educational institution). And yet, each time, I was able to pick myself up and imagine what next, to dream of a new possibility. That did not always happen instantaneously. There were some dark moments. Indeed, there were times I felt overwhelmed and directionless, but it is not necessary to remain in that space. It requires an inner-fortitude that refuses to quit. I am not sure where that came from or how I managed to hold on to it with such tenacity.

Part of it is an unfailing belief in the possibility of hope. While I do not believe I am an idealist (earlier in life, that accusation or claim would’ve been more accurate), I am still an optimist. I want to believe in some innate goodness in our corporate identity. What I realize (and even more so in the last days), there will always be those who believe in the good and bad of something. There will be those pleased and displeased with how things turn out, but we all still dream and hope of something better, something more satisfying, something where possibility can become reality. I have pondered the idea of place and identity for most of my life, and my next adventure is taking the time to ponder both. Recently, while going to the movies (I saw the new movie, Conclave.), Nicole Kidman, who has been doing PSAs for AMC Theaters offered another one. She notes that we come to the theater “for magic – not just entertained, but somehow reborn – stories feel perfect and powerful, because here, they are.” I am not sure I will be always entertained during the coming months because I believe the learning curve will be significant, but it is an opportunity for learning a lot of practical skills that are significant for life in general. I think I will be looking at a lot of YouTube and doing a lot of researching. Some of that was part of this morning. I know the process for the build will be something outside my wheelhouse, but I will be watching the process of others, asking questions, and listening to my cousin’s husband, whom I believe is quite knowledgeable about all sorts of things I am not. Additionally, we will learn together. If you think about the second movie mentioned in the title here, “If you build it, they will come . . .” is the mantra that Ray listens too, much to the chagrin of many. I must say people have either looked at me with a degree of wistfulness or some with a greater degree of “you are a bit crazy.” This was particularly the case when I worked diligently at selling most all I owned. In the movie, the watchers are reminded “people will come for their dreams; they will come for the peace of days remembered; they will come to watch their heroes.” It is a dream for sure to be here building something that is still conceptual to some degree. Taking a trip to another place once it is operational is also a dream of sorts. Some of my best memories are coming together as I land (at least temporarily) in Mallard. My girl cousins are some of my most blessed memories from my childhood. It was not only the incredible joy of six sisters, but the kindness of their parents, Don and Virginia. They were always so supportive. I took that for granted for too long. Perhaps it is because of their enduring kindness, which I have experienced these last few years that gives me the trust that in these cornfields, much like a baseball diamond, a rather non-descript 1999 Ford shuttle that someone latex painted will turn into an incredible tiny home on wheels. Assuredly, there is a need for a vision of the possible. There is the practicality of making what is imagined something that will be usable. It requires my willingness to depend on those who know more than I do, but not merely in a way that I stand back and watch. I need to be involved; I need to get my hands dirty. I need to fill my mind with a new skillset that is both thinking and doing. I am quite excited, though I know there will be moments of frustration and times I feel quite inadequate. What the last months have taught me is while there are regrets, I cannot change what has happened, and wallowing in regret eliminates hope, which is essential to life. I think hope is what makes us unique in creation. We can imagine the possibilities. We can fathom the unfathomable. My days are becoming a combination of two movies: one from my life as a professor and what it meant (and will be) to seize the moment; the second returning to my Midwestern roots and believing in the dream that life holds adventure and possibility. Regardless our past we are capable to moving forward and living with a sense of hope and progress. Amazing what Ethan Hawke did in his first movie . . . little did he know where it would all take him.

Thank you for always as reading.

Michael (the wandering, learning, builder)

When its All Counted

Hello from a little restaurant in Danville (PB&J),

We are less than 24 hours from the official opening of election day here in the country, and if I were to say it has been a national cycle like no other, most would say that is an understatement. Like many Americans, I cast an early Mail-in ballot. I did not believe I would still be in here in Pennsylvania, though I am. According to the NYT, over 75 million people have already cast their ballot. The total number of ballots cast in the 2020 Presidential Election was 155, 507,476, which was the largest percentage of the electorate since 1900, and 46% of that vote was mail-in (it is important to remember this was during the height of COVID). If we get the same overall turnout as last election, that would mean over 48% of the people voting did it by mail. The change in that mode since 1996 is incredible, which 89% of the electorate voted in person. My figures come from both Wikipedia and the AP. Even since the last election, where former President Trump argued vociferously that mail-in was fraudulent, the Republican Party has certainly moved toward at least a cautious embracing of the “absentee” mode. What are the consequences of a wider swath of the electorate moving to this mode? First, the likelihood of having a clear winner on November 5th is virtually impossible. Second, the longer it takes, the more suspicion there will be about the veracity of our process.

It is important to understand why it takes so long to count. First, there is the mere volume of votes. Second, there are those states whose laws do not allow for the counting of mail-in ballots until election day. My state is one such state, and as the rather top tier battleground state because of electoral votes, it is completely impossible to have the votes all counted by the end of Tuesday evening. The managing of the envelop within an envelop and then signing the outside envelop, which does not see that difficult to me, has proven to be a problem. And a problem to the level that the SCOTUS just ruled on a Pennsylvania challenge in the last 48 hours from the last election. There is the possibility of submitting a provisional ballot, which means it is not counted until there is no doubt there is no second vote out there. All of that takes time. One still needs to vote in their assigned precinct. Last election, I believe there were over 2.5 million mail-in ballots cast in the Commonwealth. The other state, which does not allow early counting includes Wisconsin, which is also a battleground state. The 2020 election saw a 90% turnout in Wisconsin and a 71% turnout in Pennsylvania. I believe this election will see similar results. Why do I consider all of this? Because I want to understand the process versus casting stone and dispersions about what we are doing. I believe the people who have committed to working the polls deserve our respect and our support. I believe we still have an incredible democracy in spite of the significant volume of commentary that asserts otherwise. In the 15 years I have lived in Columbia County, I have been greeted by many of the same people each election cycle. They have committed themselves to our democratic process. Second, I live in an area referred to by many as Pennsyl-tucky. I do not live in a blue county.

What I do find important, in spite of the intense, the extreme level of vitriol during this election is the consequential broadening of people who are paying attention to the candidates and the process. I think the reason for that focus is based on a few important things. When the election was between and 81 and 78 year-old set of declining males, and a rematch, people were disillusioned, and understandably so. The move toward a person a generation younger as well as the gender difference (particularly at the last moment) is unprecedented. Second, former President Trump, regardless what you think about him, is a lightening rod, and certainly some of the things he says when he goes off-message are head-turning. Finally, I believe the sharply divided electorate, which has characterized our 21st century American will continue to create more involvement. This returns me to some of what I wrote recently. The money spent on our political process is obscene. Even in this state, the money spent on the Senate race is staggering (344 million as of 48 hours ago). More importantly, the two major donors to the Republican challenger, David McCormick, are from Florida. The monetary floodgates opened by Citizens United v. FEC has foundationally changed how we manage the election process at all levels. Again, there are consequences for the average American, and it is easy to feel disenfranchised. Nevertheless, I believe the importance of casting a vote has never been more necessary. It is only through our voting that we can begin to quell some of the disinformation, the misinformation, and the international players that seem to increasingly influence our political process. When we turn out and cast our educated vote (note I added a adjective to that), we show that we need to protect our political experiment that Benjamin Franklin was questioned about by Elizabeth Willing Powel. I do believe if we think, if we ask questions, and we analyze before we vote, the Republic is safe, but too often people do not put in the requisite work. The why is an easy question, but the answer to why is complex.

For too long, young people more characteristically have been disengaged with our elective process. While I am hoping some of that will change with a younger person running for President, I spoke with a person I know incredibly well. They are generally thoughtful and engaged, but neither registered nor voted today. They decision to not do so was telling to me. I do not believe they could bring themselves to vote for the former President, but asked what Vice President Harris had really done for them in the past four years. First, I noted the role of Vice President and the reality that the same would have been asked about any Vice President. Then I noted specific places her deciding vote in the United States Senate mattered for things they actually cared about (e.g. first-time home ownership, the importance of the SCOTUS and what the current court did). What I got was a promise they would register and vote going forward. Certainly, there are a number of things that could be said, but getting them to think about this more critically was an important step. Statistics show a regular lack of involvement of the 18-24 demographic that is 20% lower than other voters. That is a stunning statistic, particularly when there are 30.8 million people in that demographic (NCES.gov). When I was in the classroom, I noted the importance of a first time voter because their vote will resonate for them for 60 years or so.

As I finish this blog, it is now election day. All polls, prognosticators, pundits, or other political gurus note this will be the most competitive Presidential election certainly since 2000. What I do hope is by the end of the next 48 hours or so, we will have a clear sense of who the President-elect will be. As importantly, I hope the candidates and the American public will accept the result of the election. I do believe the great majority of the American people want to believe in, trust in, this American experiment. As noted by Dr. Franklin, back at the beginning of the Republic, that we will have a Republic as long as we can keep it. This two-and-a-half century experiment has been a strong example of what can occur when people are given the freedom to decide. Certainly, there are some dents in our shiny armor. Certainly, there are some questions regarding if it all matters. And yet in my heart of hearts I believe it does. May you have good weather as you go to cast your vote today. May our poll workers be safe and secure as they try to assist us in our democratic process. May we believe in the goodness of the American public . . .

Thanks for reading as always. And please vote today!

Michael

Remembering Susan

Hello from Starbucks on the campus,

It is an incredibly beautiful fall day, and the colors are spectacular. I spoke with the women painting the townhouse, and they were impressed at how clean I left everything, which meant a lot because they see a lot of stuff. It is strange to feel a bit homeless at the moment, a bit more than transient, and a future left to possibility. I think the fact that all I own is boxed and sitting in a single garage, and it has some space left, reminds me of the temporary reality that life is. Certainly, we make plans, both short and long-term; we have hopes and dreams, and we have preferences, but as recently pondered, how much power do we have?

At the end of last week I was at the wedding of my former student/surrogate daughter; unexpectedly, the night before, her parents renewed their vows on their 26th anniversary. Her grandfather, who is struggling with advanced cancer, was there to witness both events. The starkness of that contrast did not go unnoticed. We go about life, planning for tomorrow. We imagine the future, often wondering what we might do to make it successful. And yet, what constitutes success? Is by the way we feel, what we are able or not able to do? Is it other people think? I remember a while back asking my morning group if they believed they had achieved the American Dream, that sort of quintessential measure of success? It led to a very interesting discussion. I am not sure if, in a sort of comprehensive manner, what they decided, but it definitely let to some pondering on their parts. As I move toward the reality of what life will be post-Bloomsburg, the fact that I have options and the opportunity to do things never imagined as a child, could be viewed as successful. The chances I have to create something I want is certainly a profound gift, of that I am sure. During this week, I am trying to figure out a schedule that has been rearranged more than a few times already, and while it is frustrating, I have a place to stay, opportunities to see some people that I might not have before I leave. All of those things are positive. I will have dinner with another surrogate hijita yet this week, another person who has grown significantly since that first Freshman Writing Course. Two major goals toward moving will be completed before the end of the week. The windows were installed in the bus last week, and the Beetle, like every other vehicle aspect of my life, had a bump in schedule, so it will be next week before it is finished. The bus continues to be a significant one-step-forward, but serious baby steps. That has proven to be a serious issue. As I now write this, it is Wednesday morning, and I have updates (to some degree) on both vehicles. The transmission has been loaded and is in route from Florida to the Ford dealer. It should arrive on Friday. I did try to impress on them that I need to be out of my garage by next Wednesday or Thursday. I am looking at the calendar, and it is going to be difficult it seems. This has been in process since the last couple days of August. On the Beetle front, the bumper was supposed to be in this past Monday; now they are saying Friday also. That means next Wednesday for the bug also. So much for my initial date of September 20th, the second date of October 5th, and then the 25th. Oh my.

Earlier this week, I found out that one of my former Lutheran Youth Encounter teammates, the persons I traveled with for a year in 1978-79, has passed away. Susan, the talented soprano of our group, has passed from the complications of an autoimmune disease called Neuromyelitis Optica, an incredibly debilitating disease. The unexpected has a way of throwing us off course. This event that caught me off guard, at least to some degree, because while I was away of her health struggles when we last spoke, there is an immortality to each of us. Susan, actually the youngest member of our group and she had experienced some health problems even in teens. If I remember correctly, she had already had back surgery. When I last spoke to her shortly after she was diagnosed and had moved to a care facility, she was honest and thoughtful about what she was facing. We had a wonderful conversation, and when I tried to catch up with her later, I was not able to contact her. It is hard to believe (as I looked back at our FB messages) that it was four years ago. While there were a number of things Susan was fond of, and even more capable of, I think she often understated most of those abilities. From her angelic voice to her stunning ability to understand numbers, from her incredible creativity to her love for those she cared for, she was profoundly capable at anything she decided to do. When I returned to St. Paul after getting married a different Susan, she helped Susan, my wife, get her first real professional position in the investment world.

After I had failed out of Iowa State University, a year that saw two people in my immediate family pass away, I was lost and troubled. It was somewhat on a lark that I applied to be a member of an Lutheran Youth Encounter team. Little did I know that I would be selected. Little did I know that traveling with four other people would be so instrumental in changing my life. Three of my teammates were from Bethany College located in Lindsborg, KS. Gloria, John, and Susan, in order of age, had been recruited together I imagine. What was evident is they brought incredible talent, character, and ability to our little group of five. Susan, John, and Gloria were all PKs, which was a bit disconcerting to me at the time as a Marine Corps veteran. And yet, the Bethany contingent made Ruth and I feel welcome. As we traveled that year, I remember saying it felt like we were all married to 4 other people at the same time. As noted, it was a year that changed the direction I would go, and each member of the Daybreak team were instrumental in developing what we were able to do that year. When I think of Susan, she probably had the most capable voice of all of us. Her clarity and tone were very strong, but she was also a person that was able to blend and offer such a clear and wonderful soprano to our little ensemble. I had a puppet, a blue headed frog named Maxwell. One of my favorite memories was a sketch she and I did called “Grumpy Day.” That is the picture above, and Gloria is holding the curtain and John is sitting off at the right side (dark hair and a beard). Susan had the most expressive face, and she could roll her eyes with the best of them. When I read Susan’s obituary on her Facebook page, I learned even more about her. I did not realize she had not graduated from Bethany at the time, I guess if I thought about it, I should have realized that. Yet, she not only went back, but eventually earned a M.A. and was working on her Ed.D. Again none of this surprising as she was a brilliant woman. Her area of writing actually overlapped some of my friends, and I remember one of my colleagues noting they were at a conference together.

As I pondered the year traveling with John, Ruth, Gloria, and Susan over the last couple days, I still realize how much I learned from all of them. While I had experiences they had not, nor will they ever, they taught me a lot about the world, about myself, and about things I could not have anticipated. Each of them offered insight into a world I had little experience with. In someways, they became the first surrogate family that really knew me and accepted me, in spite of my faults. I had so much to learn about being open and vulnerable to the other. I believe there were ways they understood me better than I knew myself. In spite of my struggles, my stubbornness, or my fear, they loved me in spite of myself. I see that much more clearly even now than I would have ever been capable of back then. John and I would eventually be seminary classmates. Nothing I ever imagined when I first arrived for LYE training at Lake Wapogasset in Amery, Wisconsin. Gloria was the teammate who kept us guessing as we never knew what she would say next, but in someways, she was the keyboard glue that kept us together at times. John and Ruth became that match sort of destined to be together, and I am beyond grateful for their continued contact through the years. There are people like Lee and Judy Swenson, John’s and my first host family in Newton, IA. We have been in touch now for over 2/3 of my life. As I think back about the traveling, the theology, and all that went with that year, I see it quite differently than I did then, and it is a sort of mixed bag, but I have no regrets about choosing to travel with Daybreak that year.

The passing of Susan is a poignant reminder of our mortality and the way that people move in and out of our lives. In spite of one’s absence from our daily thoughts or existence, what they did and the influence they had is more of who we are than we often realize. It was our visiting Dana College (twice) that would set me on the path to return to college there the fall of 1979. My involvement in campus ministry teams at Dana was a direct consequence of my being on Daybreak. It would be a profound part of my decision to eventually attend seminary. And my being a campus pastor would eventually lead me to attending Michigan Technological University, where I earned a PhD. It is not difficult to connect those proverbial dots. I would attend church in the Twin Cities where John and Ruth were, continuing that connection. John’s being at seminary when I attended was very difficult than living together (often with the same host family because there were only two males), but the connection maintained. That connection has maintained in that I had dinner with them in Illinois when was back in the Midwest this past winter.

Susan, I am grateful to you for many reasons, but mostly how you put up with me during our traveling year on so many levels, when you were kind and welcomed me into your home the summer following our travels, for sticking up for me at times when it was probably difficult to do so. Thank you for the kindness and honesty you had regarding Susan, mmany wife, and what you shared with me years later was more important than I ever acknowledged. I remember the last time we spoke, and in spite of your struggles, the same brilliant Susan was still present. I am suspecting this terrible disease took its toll on you in many ways. I am sorry you are gone, but also glad you are no longer suffering. There is a bit of an irony to the date of my passing, and it is another one of those dates that had a significance in my life. To Gloria, wherever you might be, I wish you well, and I still smile about things you said or shared. John and Ruth, thank you for being in touch with me. Your influence on my life, as well as your continued presence, is more of a gift than I can put into words. Life is fragile and fleeting. Susan I can imagine you singing your way through those pearly gates, and heaven, indeed, has an amazing soprano stolling its streets. The year we traveled, there were two groups that were brought in, most often for larger gatherings. One was the Washington/Seattle area called Spiritbourne, and the other was three characters from Concordia, called Brethren. The video below is from Spiritbourne, but I would put the three women of my team up against them anytime.

Thanks as always for reading.

Michael

Onions or Ogres

Hello on a Saturday evening,

I remain in Bloomsburg certainly a couple weeks beyond my expected departure date, and with perhaps two more weeks to go. The subjunctive mood perhaps is because I honestly have no real concrete, predictable, date of the installing of a correct transmission and what will follow to be on the road. I am hoping by November 1st, but I will not hold my breath. Without an iota of doubt, I know I am at the mercy of schedules, hurricanes, and freight companies. On a positive note, however, the new windows arrived and are currently installed. That is a major piece of creating a livable space as I travel. Additionally, still being here made managing the wedding that I was part of this week much less arduous. And spending time in Sullivan County (the Northern tier of Pennsylvania) was quite spectacular in mid-October. Spending time with my former student on her special day, being blessed to be accepted as a family member by her parents and grandparents, made the day even more memorable for all.

As I write this we are 17 days from the official Election Day, though I have little confidence we will go to bed that night knowing who will be the President-elect. And let me say this unequivocally, it is not because of any malfeasance, but rather because of the continued data that shows how close the election seems to be. When states like my current state, Pennsylvania, cannot, by law, count early ballots until Election Day (2.6 million mail-in ballots were cast in 2020), it is impossible to do that in 24 hours. If I had even a quarter for every text message or email I have received in this election cycle, I think I could repay myself for much of the money I have spent on the bus build. As much as I enjoy the concept of political discourse, of the function of the federal government, and how we have, until recently, believed that our election process is safe, I find myself exhausted by the tenor, the volume, and the increasingly dystopic reality of our elective process.

It is this that brings me to both the title of my post and the real focus of this blog. The power wielded by the two parties in our federal system is untenable if we want to argue we are a government of, by, and for the people. I can appreciate what Vice President Harris wants to assert that she wants to be for the people, and I am even willing to go as far as saying I think she intends to be that kind of President (and I am also aware that some, even those dear to me, will disagree vehemently). I am also quite aware of their arguments. My reasons for believing her are the onion in my title. There are layers to why I either do, or hope to, believe. And yet not all of it is sweet, and some of the elements might create tears. Since she became a candidate, she has raised 1,000,000,000.00 (that is billion) dollars. That is both incredible, and asinine. Former President Trump has raised about half that amount, but that does not include PACs for either candidate. Open Secrets, an organization that follows election spending, expects that almost 16 billion dollars will be spent in total for the 2024 cycle. That is more than the GDP of around 50 countries. Think about that. And I am well aware that many in either side of our political spectrum believe we are still left with the choice that is the lesser-of-two-evils. I am not there, but I am still disenchanted with what we have become. I should also note I have already voted.

I do believe the political process itself has become an unpredictable monster, the ogre. It is completely understandable why many feel disenfranchised, disaffected, and disappointed. The consequences of these three adjectives is profound. At best people stand on the sideline believing their vote is irrelevant. At worst, they believe there is something much more sinister, more malevolent, at work. And that lesser than positive belief came to the fore following the last election. I am not sure if there is an idealism that I desperately hang on to or if there is a naïveté that allows me to believe we can still move forward in the true spirit of representative democracy or if it is truly that democracy is always messy. When I step back and examine both candidates, there is certainly much more than a difference in vision for the country. It is even more than a blue versus a red dichotomy. It is more complex than Federalism versus States’ Rights. It has become generational; it has become more complicated because of the reality of what former President Trump did and who he is in terms of both his Presidential conduct, which has been ruled on by the SCOTUS, and in his personal dealings, which do overlap his getting into office in the first place. That too is an onion of sorts, and it is dealing with the monster (the ogre) he seemed to create. Again, I realize there is some disagreement with my perspective.

As a rhetorical scholar, I am steeped in the idea of discourse, of coming to consensus, and I have strong feelings about appropriateness, about decorum, and about civility. It is for those reasons I struggle to respect the former President. I believe that truth is essential to creating the character of the person who represents us in the highest office of the country. I believe the Commander in Chief needs to show deference to those who serve in the military, support our allies, and exhibit a character that the American public can readily support. The number of people who say they do not like him, they do not like what he says or how he acts, but will still vote for him boggles my mind. Perhaps he is both the Ogre and the onion. During the last year, the decline of President Biden became such an issue he stepped aside (and I sure the pressure on him to do so was immense). Former President Trump has shown many of the same issues, but many want to say there is no such issue. Again, the job of the President has enormous responsibilities, expectations, requirements, physically, mentally, and emotionally. The reality is the Republican Party has been decimated by this supposed businessman/politician. And yet, while I am comfortable with the move to Kamala Harris, I suspect there are layers to that onion I might not like. The power that either the DNC or the RNC hold is immeasurable. Where does that leave the American public? Perhaps our entire political process is an ogre.It might seem that I am disillusioned, but I am not. This is where the onion comes into play. As noted, I have already voted, and I am adamant that everyone who has the ability to vote should do so. It is the way to make some difference in what happens. The difference in the vote count in Florida in the 2000 election when the Gore v. Bush recount was stopped by the SCOTUS was 537 votes. That was out of 101,450,508 (which Al Gore actually won the popular vote). That is a difference of .000529. The difference was less than 1/4 the freshman class at the university I taught at this past year. There is my numerical reason that argues your vote matters. And the 21st century has shown that we are an evenly divided country in pretty much every election since. The last real landslide in terms of the popular vote was 1984, and four of the most lopsided have been in my lifetime (1964, 1972, 1980, and the ‘84 elections). One of the others was Lincoln’s re-election in 1864 (history.com). The reasons chose for not voting are certainly varied, but feeling it does not matter hovers toward the most common. A recent study showed that over 20 million people do not have or find it difficult to obtain an ID necessary to vote (that shocked me); another significant reason is Election Day is not a federal holiday. Again, not something I thought of. Economic barriers (less than half making less than $20,000 voted in 2012), which can affect everything from issues of transportation to information, are shown to disenfranchise (Rodriguez, 2020). As the person with privilege, which I must admit I am, I seldom realize that my opportunity to vote is not what all experience. The onion is certainly more layered than I often see. The reality of our democracy, of our Republic as some are now wont to call it, arguing they are not the same, is we are controlled to some degree by the Elons, the Jeffs, the Marks, and the billionaires who control our capitalist nation. Have I been successful and blessed in my life? Yes; in comparison to the generations of my ancestors, I have. However, more importantly, those who control the vast majority of our national wealth, those who have incredible influence on our national interests, want me to believe, want you to believe, that. If we are content, they can do what they do. Again, all layers of the onion we have. Perhaps it was not by accident that my incredible history teacher, Mr. Larry Flom, used to refer to the Union (the United States) as the Onion. Perhaps there is more to the satirical news outlet being called the Onion than I first thought.

As we move rapidly (and perhaps not rapidly enough for some) towards Election Day, it is my fervent hope and prayer that we can, as a nation, cast our votes, support our democracy, and believe what we do as an individual citizen matters. In spite of the complexity that is our republic, that is our nation, let us support those who seem to be more vulnerable than ever, the people working the polls. Let us remember they are citizens just as we are. Finally, I need to give the priest at our local Catholic Parish credit for the title of my blog. Music and politics are sometimes strange bedfellows, but I offered this video as a reminder of those who put their lives on the line for our democracy every day. Semper Fi!

Thank you as always for reading, and please vote.

Michael

Understanding Beauty

Hello at the end of a busy, but beautiful, fall weekend,

Slowly, but consistently, things are coming together for my finishing up my time in Bloomsburg. However, things seems to occur both unexpectedly and consistently that thrown the proverbial wrench into my planned process. As I noted in my previous post, there is so little I have power over. My transmission is back in Florida, but there is little that is happening there as they prepare for the devastation of yet another hurricane. Additionally, there seems to be a bit of a curse over my owning of my beloved Beetles, as Bella, the latest of the bugs as been hit twice within a month requiring more body work, which will take additional time. Perhaps there is something good to all of this, but I am not sure what it is. It is providing more time to manage some other things, so perhaps that is the proverbial silver lining in all of this.

In my moments that offer some respite from the daily tasks that require my attention, I have been looking through fifteen years of photos taken around the globe, which were taken during my time in Bloomsburg. There are some reoccurring themes that come to the fore as I peruse the images snapped (mostly on my various phones). Fall colors, winter scenes, Christmas, sunsets across the water, or flowers are predominate. Each of them offer a different perspective on beauty, and each of the themes are not based on a human being, though that is where I think this post is eventually headed. What constitutes beauty? Who decides? It is always subjective or is there something innate? These are things that run through my mind as I ponder the concept of beauty. Indeed there is both an objective and subjective aspect of this integral term that has such power for us as humans. While beauty has both Greek and Roman historical aspects, through time, and as recently as the 18th century, David Hume noted,”Beauty is no quality in things themselves: It exists merely in the mind which contemplates them; and each mind perceives a different beauty”(1757). Immanuel Kant, in his work, The Critique of Judgment, asserted, “The judgment of taste is therefore not a judgment of cognition, and is consequently not logical but aesthetical, by which we understand that whose determining ground can be no other than subjective (italics in original)” (1790). Edmund Burke, a contemporary, would assert, “by beauty I mean, that quality or those qualities in bodies, by which they cause love, or some passion similar to it” (1757). I think for me, this might be where the concept as well as my “feeling” about beauty finds the most tangible reality.

It is something that moves me in the very core of my being, and yet it seems sometimes that can be a thing, something which is momentary. It is fleeting or dependent on a number of factors that come together in an instant. If that is true, can anything be beautiful? If it is momentary, what connects those moments to make beauty something that lasts or affects my spirit? I think about how often beauty is about emotion, about incidences, about physicality, about experience. What allows beauty to transcend any of these and provide something more consistent? What I have realized about myself (and I am not convinced this is an attribute) is often my response to beauty is unexpected, unanticipated, and more significantly ephemeral. I am okay with the first two aspects, but not so comfortable with the last of the three. I know there is an aesthetic to beauty for me, and that is about anything – item, element, situation, or person – I deem having beauty. What I know is beauty gives me hope; it moves my soul, and it can often leave me in tears. Perhaps that is what is most significant to me. It moves my entire being to believe there is something beyond us that provides a goodness. When I look at the changing colors of the Pocono Mountains that are where I now live, there is a profound ability to move me, to believe in the possibility of something beyond myself. When I see the beauty in the stark whiteness of a winter blizzard, there is a purity and cleansing that reminds me of something beyond what we see. The infinite colors, forms, and hues that are revealed in the flowers from early Spring until the mums and asters of the late fall provide a color wheel that is beyond anything we ourselves can create. And yet these are examples that have nothing to do with the physical human.

As I reach a place in my life, questioning to some extent, how I have been single for a quarter of a century, and for all of a quarter of a century in the first third of my life, wondering if or how that could change, I seem to be examining what I found, or find, beautiful. With a critical and serious consideration of the who and/or when such a belief occurred, there does seem to be a couple of connecting threads. The physical attributes are a beginning, which does, I believe, make me quite normal. However, I believe I move on to the intellectual and emotional attributes rather quickly. That is not to say that physical attraction ever disappears, but rather I imagine our perception of the external characteristics changes as we age and change ourselves. What I do find rather consistent is an attraction to more diminutive, but strong, women. I think those who exude a rather plain take-home-to-mom, but still surprisingly seductive sense intrigue me. Why would or might I confess this? It is more to explain my perception of beauty than anything. There is something to be said for aging gracefully, for having pride in one’s appearance, that is also head-turning to me. And then, having a playful and positive attitude does a great deal to enhance one’s beauty.

The attitude is integrally connected to one’s ability to think critically about the world, readily question issues that matter, and a willingness to engage in thought and conversation about things that give them pause are essential to enhancing one’s beauty, at least for me. Being passionate about the beliefs and values they hold dear is also significant. When one engages with the world thoughtfully and intentionally, I believe they slow the aging process. If our minds remain younger, I believe our physical bodies remain younger. As I have noted to some of the gentlemen I share mornings with, I have been carded more than once as of late when I attempted to claim a senior-citizen discount. While I suppose that is a compliment, my immediate reaction is something more akin to “Damn!! Now I am getting carded at both ends of my life!” I do believe that being aware, being involved, and being thoughtful of the world does a lot to keep me feeling and thinking more carefully and consciously than I would had I not been involved with 18-23 year olds for the last three decades. What a unexpected and undeserved blessing. While it might have taken a toll on my eyes, it has helped me evolve; it has helped me ponder and reconsider things that moved me far beyond the NW Iowa boy I was. That is in no way a diss toward my upbringing, either in geography or philosophy. The foundation I received in my Westside/Riverside formative years is something for which I am eternally grateful. Additionally, it is something that I am still coming to understand. There is always a profound thread that connects the various timeframes of our life. We are products of our history, be it in our individual families or the reality of our geographic polis. However, we need not feel victimized by it, though often we find it easy to blame that. I wonder how that life experience has informed my understanding of beauty?

Attempting to understand that, I think back to my first crushes on others, those elementary moments we thought our classmate was the most wonderful, beautiful person in the world. Those times when we hoped we might get to sit next to them, that they might notice us. I was not that noticeable person, as I saw it, though just in the last couple days I found my second and third grade report cards. It was interesting to see what my teachers wrote about me. Often looking younger, being smaller, and struggling to know where I belonged has affected my perception of many things. I am aware of that, but it is only recently that I found myself considering how it affected my perception of others, not merely at that time, but even now. I think there is more consistency to what I have understood about or felt toward others, particularly those I found attractive. certainly, my small stature affected I perception of not only what I thought about others, but it also affected what I believed they thought of me. Often I was the sort of nice little brother at best, and perhaps the mascot at worst. I admired what I found attractive from a distance because I had no confidence they could be interested in me. That perception existed until I was in my mid-20s. Even then, though I was older than most of the people around me, I still lacked any courage or conviction that they could have a reciprocal interest in me. Furthermore, when they were, I was unprepared for such a response. When a person showed significant interest, my general response was one of fear. As I think about it, their beauty was something to be admired from a distance, in a sort of abstract or artistic manner. The consequence was a serious lack of understanding for me, which, of course, was both unexpected and confounding to them. I am sure that is, in part, why being single for a quarter of a century has been manageable for me. Even now, when I find someone amazing, I am generally for a loss of words (unless I found them in an elevator :), and you know who you are). For me there is a purity in the beauty I see in others. There is a goodness. Perhaps because I find such an aesthetic something that comes naturally. I think of a couple of people I have known since they were in their 20s and are now in their 30s and 40s. They are as attractive (and probably more so), and they seeming do little to maintain that. Much of it is who they are as well as their appearance.

Perhaps what I understand more clearly at this point in my life is the subjectivity of our understanding of beauty, but also the totality of what creates a sense of beauty for me. It is everything about the person that extends far beyond the initial attractiveness that might turn our heads or affect our hearts. Beauty is enhanced and maintained through experiences we share with the other. Seeing beauty in the midst of our life events is not always easy, that is most certainly true, but it is essential if we are to understand the true comprehensive nature of what constitutes beauty. I am blessed to know some profoundly beautiful people, and those same two (noted above) in particular continue to bless me from a distance. Both are former students, now amazing mothers, incredible professionals, unparalleled in their goodness, and two who have allowed me to know them now for decades. They both give me hope; they provide me with a sense of happiness; and I am excited to see where their lives will lead them. Managing the gifts we are given is not always something we do well. I pray that I will do this better as I continue along this trek I have been blessed to have. A couple of years ago, I used the show, Glee, to help my students explore their identities. I am still amazed at what Ryan Murphy created and developed in this incredible group of high school choristers. The complexity of relationships and managing beauty comes out clearly in this video.

Thanks as always for reading.

Michael

What Constitutes Power in an Unpredictable Time?

Hello from Bloomsburg,

It is the first week of October, and fall is upon North Central Pennsylvania. After an abnormally dry end of the summer, the last week has been cloudy, with intermittent showers, and the colors. which have some significant changing are muted a bit with the lack of sunshine. There is a possible break in the persistent clouds today and tomorrow should offer a bit more clement day. If that occurs, I will be out taking pictures of what I anticipate to be quite splendid. I do love the changing (in spite of what follows, which I do not like quite as much, though there is beauty there also) seasons and the different requirements of maintaining comfort. The first fire in a fireplace, the falling leaves, the trick-or-treaters, and the rustling leaves are all part of that experience for me.

As I consider the tone and atmosphere of this election year, I find myself pondering the change that seems to be indicative of what has occurred in the first quarter of a 21st century. As a history student in my undergraduate work, as well as the historical aspect of my PhD, I am well aware of times in our national history where we seemed to be irreparably divided, and the first time was not the Civil War, but earlier in the struggle between States’ Rights vs. Federalism. I am quite sure there was a significant lack of decorum and civility at those times. The other thing that mystifies me in how power was managed, brokered, if you will, or exercised. What is power? I believe it is integrally related to control. And while I believe this to always be part of the equation it is related to capital (money). And yet, I am also interested in how this change is action (e.g. civil discourse, thoughtful analysis, critical thought, and basic decorum) affects the implementation of power.

Certainly, history demonstrates how power can be used, understood, implemented as well as how that exercise of power has profound consequence. As I have noted in previous posts, Dr. Thomas Wartenberg, professor emeritus and author of the book, The Forms of Power: From Domination to Transformation, offers a profound examination of how power functions. Wartenberg considers the positive qualities of power, reminding his reader that the social construct of power is complex and something worth considering. For me the simple idea of agency is the most basic form of power. Individual agency is central to our acceptance of the belief that we have free will. And yet, when and to what degree does our ability to exercise agency occur independently? My interest in this comes in part as I find myself navigating the beginning weeks of retirement. There is a freedom in my ability to manage or control my schedule. That is the first thing apparent. I can choose more completely both what I will do and when I will do it than even a couple of months ago. Schedule and time constraint has an entirely different feel since mid-August. And yet, I find myself increasingly dependent on agents outside myself, so do I feel more powerless? I must say, “I do not.” Perhaps the reason is a different sense of time and what is necessary (required, commanded, mandated). This is not to say there are no requirements. The amount of mail I receive from the State of Pennsylvania, from my heath care, or from the Social Security Administration is almost overwhelming, but I do not find myself stressing about it. The requests from others has not been something I find annoying or unreasonable, and certainly, as I have worked on a project, the things (and there are a number of them) that have occurred unexpectedly, changing my daily plans, perhaps my weekly, and now into what might be a monthly plan have manifested themselves almost daily. And yet, there seems to be no real feelings of consternation or vexation. And this is a change in my own demeanor. I must be honest about that.

I am quickly realizing that most of what I will do on my project is dependent on a number of external factors, factors over which I have no influence. In the past week, the two most significant bus processes to complete before leaving Bloomsburg have run into issues. The unexpected process of getting a transmission is now more complicated because the transmission company in Florida sent the wrong transmission. This necessitates sending it back, getting it rebuilt (they will tear it down and begin again), and then sending it back to the Ford dealer. On a more positive note, I found other things I believe need to be managed before heading out like re-clamping the entire exhaust system. Not what I wanted, and at moments feeling like I should have been more judicious. And yet these things will be helpful and make my eventual traipsing around smoother. The second significant element is the windows, and I received an email yesterday that they are being shipped. However, they will not be here by the date I had with the installer, so that will need to be rescheduled for a later date. I am anticipating the transmission and the windows will now overlap. Then when I was in Wilkes Barre a couple of weeks ago, a person backed into the Beetle. That will go in for repair the same week all this is happening, so both vehicles will be in the shop. That is not a problem except I have a wedding to officiate at the end of that same week, so I need to consider what other transportation options might be needed. Additionally, I will have to load up the bus. At one point, I would have been overwhelmed, frustrated, perhaps angry, and how much would that change what I wanted? Not one bit. So where is my agency, my power, in all of that? It is what I can do or how I can respond. What I choose to do with all of these variables is where my agency lies. This is not where I have always been in my response. I do believe some of that roll-with-the-tide attitude is because I am older, and yet, some of it is realizing I have options. There is no problem with a change as long as I communicate that with other people. I merely need to work with everyone and be on the same page. Again, my power is in how, I respond.

If I move this idea from my individual self to the more social construct that Wartenberg considers, how might issues of agency, control, and power work in our present morass of a world that envelops us daily? From what is happening in Lebanon or Gaza, what has occurred from Hurricane Helene, that there is a significant strike of Longshoremen, the continuing military conflict in Ukraine, how much power do we have to change any of this? Little to none if we are to be honest. Furthermore, if we are to focus on the things that seem to demonstrate our powerlessness, what are the consequences? It would be easy to feel disillusioned, perhaps despondent, and even despairing, but when we allow for such an emotional toil, again, we give up agency. I have learned that agency is foundational to contentment. We spend much of our lives being controlled by those around us (and some are not people, but things): parents, bosses, teachers, money, location, stature. What allows us to be the infamous captain of our ship, the decider of our destiny? I think it is easier to answer than we might think. We have to choose to take control of what we can reasonably manage. I am compelled to ask why this is such a difficult lesson for us to learn. I have noted to others often if you have not control over it to not waste time obsessing about it. it is only know that I believe I have made progress in accomplishing that skill. Is it our need for being in control of things, including ourselves? Is it because we are afraid of how others perceive us? It is because we feel a need to be perfect? I think it is some of all of these things. Once again, what do I actually have control of? What I think and how I respond, and honestly not much more. It might be easy to feel rather powerless, but I think it is actually the opposite. When we choose both our ability of how we think about an issue we affect more than what we will do. We affect how it affects us. We have the ability to minimize the stress and anxiety something can cause. That might be the most significant thing to happen. The unpredictability of our world is a given, and it seems that is even more apt to be the case presently.

I am surprised how retirement has changed my perception of the things that occur around me. It is as hectic, topsy-turvy, and ridiculous as always, but seem to be less affected. Is that what not having a schedule does? Is seems so. There is a simplicity to my life, even in the chaos of what others do. One of my favorite bands as noted on my Facebook page of late is Lynyrd Skynyrd. While I appreciate a lot of their music, I know that I would struggle with the Southern Boy, red-nikin’, give-me-back-my-bullets, philosophy. However their song Simple Man is a message I appreciate. This is the brother of Ronnie Van Zant, the original lead vocalist, but a life rendition from their hometown: being a simple man.

Thanks as always for reading.

Michael

Upbeat in a Melancholy Way

Hello from Starbucks on a cloudy, overcast, and misty Sunday morning,

The annual pilgrimage known as the Bloomsburg Fair has finished its 169 year, and the number of trailers, 5th wheels, food trucks, and other things that make up the week long event that results in cholesterol spikes, diabetic events, food comas, and anything else you can imagine for a GI track is packing up. Perhaps it is because I only live about three blocks away, perhaps it is because it my last time as a Bloom resident, or perhaps it is because between friends from breakfast, being a veteran and a senior citizen, I attended more times than ever before. What are my daily go-tos if I attend this gastronomic monstrosity? Roasted corn, an apple or peach dumpling (sometimes with or without cinnamon ice cream), and a lavender London Fog tea cold from the Wandering Brewtique. For the most part, I am able to stay away from all the other fried things.

This last full week in Bloomsburg will be a mixed bag of things. I need to get a lot done in the next two days, and that is merely discipline and making myself do what is necessary. Later in the week, I will spend most of the time cleaning, scrubbing, and making sure the mini-acre is ready to hand off. Significant things are occurring on the bus-front. I was at the Ford dealer on Friday, and they were installing the new transmission. It was exciting to see the bus up on the one lift that would handle it. I got to take a couple of pictures, which will be posted on my YouTube channel (@auguriesofadventure – please do subscribe). There is a bit of a delay on the window installation until Monday, the 7th. All this creates some other changes, but flexibility seems to be the plan for the next month for sure. I think there will be a lot of this over the next months as the build begins. Of course, coming down to days before I leave Bloomsburg has developed a wistfulness that is understandable as I complete this phase of my life. The reality of time marching on and keeping up with it is poignantly evident each morning. There are some of the what-ifs, some of the can-I-still-do this, what needs-to-happen versus what-do-I-want-to-happen that are regular elements of each day. Learning to accept, to be content with what is reasonable to accomplish is something I might finally accomplish.

I would like to take credit for the title of this post, but I heard it yesterday on an NPR segment where Scott Simon interviewed the legendary Herb Alpert, the lead trumpet player and namesake for the Tijuana Brass. He just released his 50th (yes, that many) album, and he is almost 90 years old. He was lucid, funny, and self-deprecating in the interview. I remember my parents having one of this first albums, Whipped Cream and other Delights, which would play on their cabinet stereo often around supper time in the Martin household. There were two songs in particular, which transport me back to my life as a ten year old: “A Taste of Honey” and “Love Potent No. 9.” Another (actually earlier) album called El Toro Solo (The Lonely Bull), is another standard. However, I digress. in his interview, he mentioned the phrase, noting that a concert goer described his music with this description. When I was in my last year at Stout, and in my first couple years at Bloom, a former student used the term melancholy to describe me. Up to that time, I am not sure I would have used that term, but she was exceedingly accurate. There is that element to my psyche. What does it mean to be melancholy? It is merely pensiveness or something more? I love the word lugubrious, but I think in my case that takes things too far. I think my melancholy is a consequence of needing to be profoundly honest about things which have affected who I am, how I perceive others, and how all of that pushes me to be more solitary than I often realized. And yet, for the most part, I am content and optimistic about things, where I am headed, and how my life has transpired.

Yesterday, as I walked around the fair, I was asked again why I would embark on such a journey that is quite solitary. The person who asked was intelligent, inquisitive, and interested. Knowing that, I believed I owed them a thoughtful response, not some canned-sound-byte. What I found myself relaying was how being told I did not belong somewhere had such a profound consequence. Most often feeling like I was a guest, a person-passing-through, a vagabond of sorts, I have learned to adapt and take what is offered, expecting little. I think the reality of curbing expectations has been one of the things that have served me well. It is related to my father’s reminder that no one owes me anything. This does not mean I do not have expectations, but that my expectations are tempered by the simple reminder that we are flawed. This past week, when speaking to three people for whom I have great love and appreciation, I reminded them that the people we love the most have the potential to hurt us in the most consequential ways, but because they try, but because we are vulnerable to them. I think about those people to whom I have given some significant insight or access to who I am. Rhetorically, I have learned to be both open and controlled simultaneously in my life. I am not sure that was something I consciously did or if it evolved over time. I do believe this very forum developed some of that. This past week (the 27th) I was reminded of a two events, both which occurred on that day, one in 1973 and one in 1977. I graduated from Marine Corps Boot Camp, which for any Marine is a day they will always remember. The second was the day my grandmother, Louise, my hero, passed from this world. I thought of both events pointedly on that day.

As I move on to this next phase, this next space, this next possibility, I am excited and blessed. it is somewhat ironic, unexpected, and shocking that I have found this week to be one of reconnecting with something that was much of my life when I was 10 years old. I have about three years into playing the trumpet myself, and my older brother was an accomplished trombone player, even though only in early high school. We would listen to our parents playing of Herb Alpert and The Tijuana Brass (which btw, Herb Alpert is a Russian Jew, and has no Hispanic background). What I have found as I listened to the interview yesterday and revisited his music both on YouTube or Apple Music was the profound ability of music to transport us. It not only brings the sounds, but the emotions. What I remember is how music then, as the 10 year old, was an escape. It was a time that made my mother pleasant. She had a very strong and capable singing voice (as an alto). Music was something that made moments in our home more tolerable. Perhaps that is why I appreciate those memories, but it also reminds me of those other moments that were difficult. Those brief respites from what was more often stressful are much more what created the element that is the title to this post. it is easy to see melancholy as something to avoid, but I have decided it is what grounds me. It is what, oxymoronically, allows me to be optimistic that I can handle whatever comes my way. During the two weeks, there will be a lot of moving pieces, but that is part of the excitement of what is to come. The number of things that have been shipped back to Iowa already is extensive, but there is more to do. This coming week, I think the last couple major pieces of the background of the mechanics of the bus will be in place. And yet that is only the beginning of things. However, soon, I will be in the weeds of all of this. Getting to Iowa will happen within two weeks, and yet then I will be back in the Bloom area to officiate a wedding. Then it will be back to Iowa for the duration. There is a ton of stuff to manage. The next 24 to 48 hour will hopefully complete some of those details. So indeed, I am upbeat. The video below is the audio of a piece from Alpert’s 50th album. It is a song that was composed in the 1930s, and is well known, but it is his “spin” on it. The contemporary way he continues to bring his signature sound, and this song titled, “Are you lonesome tonight?” does such a wonderful job of illustrating the character of this little Northwest Iowa boy, who finds life to be real, thoughtful, hopeful, and yet something worth doing.

Thank you as always for reading.

Michael

What Compels Me to Take This Path

Hello from Panera Bread on a Rainy First Monday of Autumn,

It has been a busy day, and yet one to take some time to offer self-care. Over the past months, I have imagined, pondered, reflected, and, at morments, fretted about the impending life change that became a reality the sixteenth of August. Indeed, I officially retired. So now a month and a few days later, my focus has changed. No longer am I deliberating what my plans are for class, how much tine do I need to spend reading and responding to papers, where will my day take me from hour to hour, and to whom I must respond about something. No longer am I worried if I am accessible enough for my students, even beyond office hours. That is the most profound change, particularly when I have been doing it for decades. Instead, I do have things to manage and there is a deadline of October 1st, but it seems manageable. In part, because I have been working at it pretty diligently. There is a second deadline of the first weekend of October, and that is when I do plan to be completely loaded, bug-in-tow, and headed to the farm in Iowa. And in the meantime, I will be wrappoing up all the pieces (some of which I still need to focus upon).

As I have spoken with people, I have been asked about specifics on where I am going, what I am going to do, and then, when hearing the answer, the response as been varied, but most often I’ve heard, “I’m jealous.” I guess that means to some degree, the plan made is thought provoking, interesting, and even intriguing. So what is the plan . . . some of it is coming into place, some still in the ether, and some perhaps not yet imagined. As most are aware, (and that is certainly on the case of what I have started to do on a YouTube channel “Auguries of Adventure” and much of this will be the audio for my next video), I purchased a shuttle bus, an older one (1999 Ford e350), and have decided to turn it into a mini-house – bus life – and go out on the road for some time. Why? Some of it is about the unknown, some of it because I am drawn to those ideas where someone puts themself into 24/7 learning in a more profound and intentional manner. And undoubtedly, the learning curve from my first questions posed to others at “The Bus Fair” this past June, out in Oregon to a phone call just this afternoon has demonstrated clearly, there is much to learn. The logistics, the components, the chronological order of just the build part is enormous, and all of that will be before I have a functioning home-on-wheels and find myself navigating the contiguous states, and if I would go beyond.

And yet even this begs the question of why would I downsize to the degree that everything I need will fit within about 125 sqft? There are two things that come to mind as I attempt to answer your question. First, there is something good in having what you need, and not a lot of extraneous stuff. I have experienced this once before in my life. When I was divorced about 25 years ago everything I owned fit in the back of a long-bed pickup truck (and I did not own the truck). People who visited in my little furnished cabin on the portage that runs through the center of the Keweenaw Peninsula called me a minimalist, but looking back, it was a good time in my life. I remember when I was first married and living in Omaha Village at Dana College, we had very little and I worked at Pizza Hut a couple of nights a week because those two shifts covered our grocery bill for the week (and I brought home a personal pan pizza each night). There was a goodness to the simplicity. In some ways, I am returning to that, though it is hoped the little bus will be a technological wonder as well as an interior design that turns heads. The second reason, and one that is probably more foundationally abstruse is about my understanding of place and what creates a sense of home. Or perhaps more appropriately in my case what happens when one has really not experienced what it means to be at home in some long-term, consistent manner.

When I was in college, attending Dana College, a small Danish Lutheran College on the Missouri River bluffs, I was fortunate enough to travel to Europe with the late Dr. John W. Nielsen, truly a Renaissance person. The title of our traveling interim class was “Auguries of Loneliness,” a title I am borrowing for a memoir/semi-autobiographical book that is in process (yes, another thing to manage). The title of my YouTube channel, as noted above, uses the same word. Auguries is another word for predictions. In spite of the wealth of experiences I have accumulated, there are a couple of constants, characteristics that seem to reappear regardless time or place. Those traits include resilience, optimism, and melancholy. The first two seem a bit more related and the third might seem a wee non-sequitur. And yet, I believe it is the third that keeps the first two possible. I think more of that might come out as I continue to write and travel. The writing of this blog has accomplished two major things for me. First, it clears out my brain, allows me to think and analyze something before I merely open my mouth about it. Second, in my more thoughtful moments, I believe it has served some good, and I do mean that humbly. I am only a single person, one who has been blessed with opportunity and chance. I am a simple blue-collar kid, who was fortunate enough to encounter extraordinary people and learn from them. It has not been a journey without trials and tribulations. It was not the typical upbringing, being on a third family before I was 5. Much like Homer Wells, the character in John Irving’s novel. Cider House Rules, I needed to figure out what would make me of some use. And yet, even now, as I embark on this new path, I believe there are things I can do, important lessons to learn, and I am excited to see what trails, what experiences, and even who I might meet as I move on a sort of meandering path of exploring. Auguries is a wonderful world because predictions can become reality or they might become something completely unpredictable. Preparation and allowing for possibility are an interesting combination of things, and with careful preparation as well as allowing for possibility to guide us, there are more chances that prediction becomes less likely. How would I describe life as I finish this decade? It has been one that has exceeded expectation, not only by what I expected, but perhaps what others expected of me. As some know, I was born much earlier and smaller than anticipated. The very fact that I lived was miraculous by itself. There were, and are, consequences, and there have been profound hurdles to manage throughout my life. Some of that continues. In fact, as I begin this adventure, one of the first things often asked is how I will manage my health care. Let me assure you, I have asked those questions and planned accordingly. Managing supplemental insurance, Medicare, and other needs are things I have worked on for more than 6 months.

So as I venture out in the next 10 days, leaving what has been home for a bit over 15 years, I leave with a number of things that have changed for me. Seldom in my life have I felt like I belonged somewhere, that I had a home. Bloomsburg changed that. That is significant because it allowed for a comfort I have seldom experienced in my entire life. The infamous rolling stone epitomizes me more than I often realize. And yet that is not completely pejorative. I have learned to adapt, to be flexible, and to appreciate small things I might have not realized. Additionally, I am realizing that it made this next step more possible. I am not afraid of taking such a chance. I am, instead, intrigued by the potential. Will there be times I might second guess? I am sure there will be. Are there times, I might find myself in a bind I did not anticipate? I am sure that will happen too. And yet, how many people even get such a change to explore, to learn, and to attempt something that seemed impossible in their retirement? Not too many, but they are out there. I read about those who sell everything and move to Europe or Central America. I know people who have made incredibly leaps-of-faith, as they are called. The potential to learn is limited by what we do or what we don’t. The adventure is about to begin. My life, all of it, has prepared me for what comes next. Please follow along. The YouTube channel is Auguries of Adventure, and here is the link: Go to YouTube and copy and paste this: @auguriesofadventure. Please to subscribe and follow. I will be documenting the entire build, and the eventual adventures beyond. While I could post something that seems more apropos as the traditional video I end with, I think I will make the post one level removed. “Freebird” or “Simple Man”, by Lynyrd Skynyrd, are two of my favorite songs, but this video is titled “Freebird Child” and is a song by Tammy Van Zant, the daughter of the infamous lead vocalist of the Southern rock classic. I did some searching and she too passed away much to early it seems. Freebirds fly, but they have more of a plan than one might know.

Thank you as always for reading.

Michael

Innocence or Purity

Hello from All Star Bagel Shop in Lewisburg,

I have come over here before, and twice in the last month to get away and hide a bit. Lewisburg is an incredible little borough on the banks of the Susquehanna as well as the home of Bucknell University. I have a blessed friend who is employed here, and a couple of other people I know. The quaint shops, nice restaurants, and the care given for all aspects of town is evident in every direction. And the bagels here arae quite wonderful as well. It is a nice respite to disappear into some relative obscurity at times. There is a comfort in doing what I do, thinking about what I find important to consider at the moment, and even disappear into the world of sound in my Airpods, the music I sometimes return to as well as learning new possibilities. We are into the typical fall days of the hills and nearby mountains of Pennsylvania. While there are some small hints of autumn in the trees, green is still predominant. However, the mornings are crisp, and the need for long-sleeves at the minimum, which of course turn to warm (and moderately hot) afternoons which scream you are overdressed. And yet it is my favorite time of the year. I have always enjoyed the beginning of fall and the return to the classroom. One particular fall I remember was my first foray into the academy as a student. I was in Ames, Iowa, and I remember the beauty of the fall, the colors of the trees, the streets teaming with students, and the incredible vibrancy of the streets as I walked from the Towers to campus. Perhaps that is one of the things that drew me to teaching (not merely Ames, but school in general). While there are some elements I am missing this fall, I must say I am quite content to be required to do only what I decide. It is still a strange feeling, but I am adapting.

On of the albums that has shown up on my playlist as of late is Don Henley’s classic, The End of Innocence. The title song was co-written by Bruce Hornsby, which is readily evident. I remember when it came out, as I was already aware of his work with the Eagles, his duet with Stevie Nicks, or his other collaborative catalog. His song “The Boys of Summer, of course, became synonymous with the Olympic Men’s Gymnastics team, However, the title song from the above mentioned album rings true for me in so many ways as we consider our current world. Even in my somewhat difficult childhood, when I was outside the house, I found a comfort in the people of my neighborhood, my childhood friends and those individuals I refer to (even today) as surrogate parents. The Sopocis, the Reeses, the Goedes (those who grew up with me will recognize those names). What were my best defenses at the time? Trying to stay below the radar even when I was in sight. Trying to do what was necessary to avoid any disproportionate response, and looking forward to church things or other events that would allow me to find solace in the midst of others. I am not sure I ever had a “happily ever after,” but I probably wished for one. I remember laying my “head back on the ground” when I was in my grandmother’s yard. From her house on the hill, you could look out and see the grain towers of the Jolly Time Popcorn Company. As a little boy, I did not know what they were, but I imagined they were the streets of heaven. That was before the “end of my innocence.”

I am not sure where innocence failed me. I can think of moments where it was definitely dented and dinged, but when did it really disappear? Was it when my sister ran away for the first time in 3rd grade because she was afraid of the punishment she would receive because of her report card? Was it two years later when she ran away again, this time jumping on freight train, hoping to find her (our) father? Was it the first time I was told I was not deserving of being an adopted person, that I would grow up to be a nobody? As an elementary school person, and one smaller than most everyone else, what I know now is that had more consequence than I realized. It affected my sister and me (for her the remainder of her days). While I have come to terms with those things in many ways, I think there are still fundamental ways it influences my understanding of others as well as myself. I wonder about the concept of innocence. Certainly there is the legal idea of blamelessness, and while I think by extension there is a relationship here, it is not what I believe to be most significant. There is the idea that one has no malice (this is both a sort of sociological idea for me as well as a religious concept. Sometimes, I think that is more how I look at it generally. There is the idea that one tries to be harmless when it comes to their relationship with another. In my more idealistic moments, I find myself gravitating toward this. It reminds me of Luther’s dialectic of simultaneously saint and sinner. The lack of malice is really the thing that I feel was what was the most significant thing I lost at some point. The hurt of that time turned into sadness, and sometimes it would evolve into bitterness. I did so much to try to stay away from the negativity, but even if it was not apparent on the surface, it found its way into my being like an insidious infection. And much like some infections, I was not cognizant that it was always there, lurking in the background, ready to erupt at times when least expected. Sometimes, I hoped for some prescription that could vanquish that hurt once and for all, but I have learned there is no such thing. We want that miracle, but too often we stand in the way of the miraculous possibility of some cleansing gift, some hope for a washing that might create a new purity.

One of the things I find most mesmerizing is watching a small infant or child (months old and still not verbal). I ponder what they are absorbing with their eyes as they look at everything around them. There is an innocence and purity in their gaze, the opportunity to take it all in without preconceived notions about what it is. Perhaps there is a reason our eyeballs are their true size at birth. It allows for taking in as much as possible from the outset. As I find myself with more time to imagine and ponder, as I have downsized to the point that some believe I have lost my wits, I am feeling more free, unfettered, and content than I have for ages. If things go according to plan, even more the most part, I plan to be out of Bloomsburg a month from today. That will be a significant change. . . . at the moment, some time has passed since I began this. The majority of the blog has been written this afternoon, and I am sitting in Fog & Flame, another coffee shop, and as I look out at another beautiful autumn afternoon and looking up Main Street, there is a hint of color on the trees that line the roadway. The bug is sitting on the street in front of F&F and the top is down. It’s been a wonderful week of fall weather as well as a busy week of events, some planned way back in the Spring. Next week seems to be more of the same. . . .

It’s Saturday and best laid plans of finishing this flew by the wayside. Wednesday and Thursday were spent driving almost 22 hours in total to see a 2 1/2 hour WNBA game between the Indiana Fever and the Las Vegas Aces. Seeing Caitlin Clark play at the next level, and seeing Kate Martin, though she did not play, was a sort of proud Iowa Hawkeye moment. what was most endearing was to listen to the crowd and observe and hear women from 3 to 83 cheer on their team. There were two elementary girls behind me and their passion, and even their basketball acumen, were incredible. The Fever did not win, but it was a wonderful experience. Yesterday, I was asked to present to the faculty of an area school my understanding of AI and its appropriate use in the public school classroom. The response was very positive. Last night, I drove to Wilkes Barre for a rally with Vice President Harris. It was an invitation only, and I did not have a ticket, but the atmosphere on the Wilkes University campus was electric. Again to see so many people about town there who could not get into the venue was heartening. Again I saw men and women of all ages supporting our democratic process. There was a smattering of former President Trump supporters (and I stood observing for a bit and no one bad-mouthed them – which is how it should be) as well as some pro-Palestinian protesters. Again, people were respectful.. Today, I am invited to the Bloomsburg football game and tomorrow it is off to Lancaster to officiate a wedding on Monday. In all of this, there is a goodness, perhaps an element of purity. From the joy of a small girl cheering on their basketball heroine to hoping for democracy to work, from those believing college is their way forward to two wonderful people beginning their lives as a married couple, I am reminded of my father’s response when I asked him about how retirement was going for him. He responded, “I am so busy, I’m not sure where I found time to go to work.” I think I understand. Certainly, it is still different. There is an innocence on my part as I move into this new world. So much to learn, imagine, and still do. Perhaps it’s merely an extension of what has always happened, but with much less stress. I like it.

Thanks as always for reading.

Michael (the retired version)