thewritingprofessor55

Hello from the Fog and Fame Coffee Shop,

It is Saturday; it is homecoming weekend for the university (and the high school); and it is raining steadily for the 6th straight weekend. I am sad about the continuing weekend washouts because it makes two-wheeled journeys to an area diner for breakfast impossible. It does make staying in to grade more reasonable, and the dozens of extra students this semester require productive weekends; so perhaps this is divine intervention saying me from my lack of discipline, something that does plague me from time to time.

As our world is one week into the latest tragic outbreak of violence, declared war, the forced evacuation of Northern Gaza, and yet another profound humanitarian crisis, I find myself struggling to understand where I stand. I imagine I am like many in my generation, taught about the right Israel had to exist. Likewise my visits to Auschwitz, Dachau, and Buchenwald influence my perspective. Sitting in the classes of Dr. Annamarie Orla-Bulowska, one of foremost brilliant scholars of Jewish life, taught me about tue complexity of the Jewish identity in ways I never imagined. Even my own work on Dietrich Bonhoeffer and his push against Hitler and his pogram have influenced my perspective. And yet at what cost? Most simply in a way that had caused my knowledge to be quite one-sided.

Certainly, as is common, my perception is strongly influenced by the position of our (my) government. While I remember the Camp David accord under President Carter, and I am aware of the Oslo Accord, I had little idea until I took the time to read about them over the past week. And as much as I have considered Israel’s action to be self-preserving, I too often over-simplify the complexity of the Palestinian peoples, and too often buy into the perception that all Muslim (and I use this term intentionally) actions are against Israel. I, too often, lump all Middle Eastern people into the same large basket. How foolish! How contrary to everything I supposedly teach in my classes. The last week has created a crisis for my soul, for my brain, and for my emotions. While I realize Hamas is the controlling body of Gaza, I have no clear sense of how many people there have a supportive perspective of the militant group. When I see the control that Israel has over the area, I find myself questioning how different Gaza is from the Ghettos the Jewish people were confined to through history. Maybe I am naïve, but if so, please help me understand.

It seems there is a generational divide among Americans about the situation in Gaza also. There are questions about the idea of lex talionis in the current Israeli response. While I want to believe that Hamas is as barbaric as told, I cannot believe the majority of 2.3 million people in Gaza support those actions. So is the response of the IDF appropriate? Again, I ask this because of my lack of knowledge and perspective. And still I read about what happened when at the music festival or hearing yesterday, that Hamas is executing a hostage an hour (I think this was on NPR). I try to find a reasonable position between believing most Palestinian people want to live their lives reasonably and as such, no differently than Israelis. And yet the history of war, the statements of annihilation, the military occupation makes it so difficult to see the life of the typical family, from either side. Needing safe rooms in one’s home, or the bombing of a hospital (and there are statements from both sides blaming the other) are beyond the pale in terms of the inhumanity, the atrocity, or yes, even the criminality of such actions. And I sit in the safety and comfort of my home writing about it all. What can I do differently to cause, to advocate change? It is that very question that tears at the pit of my stomach, that has me awake at 2:00 a.m..

As I write this, the President is either in route or has landed in the Middle East, our Secretary of State has been there for days, and our Defense Department has dispatched two carrier groups to the Eastern Mediterranean. Meanwhile, we have a non-functioning House of Representatives, a failed vote for Speaker last evening, and the attempted strong-arming of members by their own caucus (they can only afford four negative votes, and there were 20). The war in Ukraine is headed into another winter, which slows down all process in terms of large-scale advances; there are more provocations in the Straits of Taiwan than we often hear of; and elections in Ecuador and Poland will change the landscape of both countries and in the latter case, Central/Eastern Europe and the EU. And as I am overwhelmed with grading cover letters, resumes, and memoirs, my daily life sees little change. My life, in spite of student needs, seems mundane in the midst of such global turmoil. I find myself exclaiming, “¡¡Mierda!! ¿Que sigue?” And while I know I need to go about my daily life, my soul aches for a troubled world. Is there a collective way we might go about making our world more equitable, more thoughtful, more committed to genuine peace? What can I do when I genuinely do not want to merely throw up hands up in despair? I find myself wondering what the world must have felt as Hitler invaded Poland, plunging the globe into WWII? I know as a country we attempted to stay out of that as long as possible. Pearl Harbor would change that all. Some four score later, we involve ourselves to the tune of 75 billion to Ukraine (I am not saying we should not, for the record). However, it is the first time since the Truman Administration the most money we have spent on foreign aid was to a European country. The aid during Truman was as part of the Marshall Plan to rebuild Europe. And yet numerous times I have read stories about the concerns we cannot manufacture munitions quickly enough. What does this say about our world?

I see a parallel between the acrimonious atmosphere in our government to the mordant actions or reactions in our world politic. Is it merely idealism on my part to wish for something better? Is it naïveté on my part to believe we can be better? When I listen to, read about, or bear witness the incivility that seems more the norm than the exception, I find myself exclaiming like the Psalmist’s lament, “How long O Lord?” It might be easy to hang my head and want, like Jeremiah, to say I do not know how to speak or I do not know what I can do. And yet I believe we are called to stand up and cry out against the hate, the fear, and the inequity that seems so prevalent. I know most of what I question here is complex, but difficulty should never stop the questions. Struggle is endemic to our humanity. Questioning injustice or arguing the inappropriate use of power is not only necessary, it is fundamental if we are to have hope for a future that values life.

It is about 5 days since I began this blog, and each day, as I go about my daily life, living in the comfort of my privileged life in North-central Pennsylvania, I cannot help of feel the guilt of my privilege. I cannot help but wonder if all the flying of diplomats and Presidents will result in a Middle East where both Jews and Palestinians might be equally valued and given a chance to live without fear? I wonder if an autocratic Russian President could ever change course, realizing that the Soviet Union of the 20th Century will not be resurrected in the Europe of today? I also realize these questions are from my comfortable room in my safe home, a very different safe place than many other places in our world. I wonder and imagine what we have done as I lay awake, writing to clear out my brain for at least a few minutes or a couple of hours. It matters for my soul because much of this goes back to the three mono-theistic faiths in our world and each group’s conviction of their own assurance that somehow, should you believe in such a being, their God ordains their actions. For me, it seems my soul at moments does not cry out, it only cries.

Thank you as always for reading.

Dr. Martin

Hello on a cool, autumn-ish, Sunday morning,

As seems to be typical of my sleeping habits, particularly when it is still cool and dark when my alarm awakens me, I do not want to get up. This morning I gave in to my sleepier inclinations, rolling over, laying comfortably, and falling back asleep. Now I am running a necessary errand, buying 9-volt batteries after both a smoke and CO detector decided it was time for new batteries. Before I proceed much further in this post, I must give my former, and initial department chair, Dr. Susan Thurin, credit for my blog title; it is borrowed from her published book, which considers the reality of retiring from the role as an person in higher education. It is a thoughtful, witty, and enjoyable read as she reflects on her life after leaving a life of full-time academe.

As I have put in an official notice of retirement, I think I need to re-read her thoughtful words, seeing if the reality perspective, this new set of VR googles, if you will, reveals something I perhaps missed on my first read. I find myself re-evaluating almost everything I do, everything I imagine, everything I hear, read, or remember. There are moments all of this seems exciting and yet frightening. There are times I feel the need to embrace every possibility and also paralyzed by the multitude of options. As the morning temperatures reveal the actuality of a changing season, the colors and the wind serve as a harbinger of what will be here before I am ready. The same can be said for what occurs next August. As the Fall midterm is already upon us, some have asked if I have created a countdown calendar yet. I have not, nor am I inclined to do so . . . And yet, a quick calculation does offer the number of weeks. What I do find myself doing, however, is trying to make sure my proverbial ducks are in a row. This means careful consideration of economics, health care, vehicles, insurance, and even belongings. The need to simplify is front and center.

There are three points in my life where I started over, began life in a new place with minimal stuff. The first time was when I left college and a first year of seminary. Susan, who was my wife, and I were just married, and we lived in Omaha Village, the married student apartments at Dana college. I remember working at Pizza Hut two nights a week because that money covered our groceries for the week. I remember making a small personal-pan pizza because that would feed me for the evening, and it was one less meal to fix or purchase. And it was much the same when I left that marriage, I had moved to the Upper Peninsula of Michigan for my first teaching position, and I was living again in a dorm room. Eventually I had a three room apartment. I had little, but what I remember is I had what I needed. I would be married a second time, and when that marriage ended everything I owned (and there had been two houses owned at the same time, with all the things that went into a new home) fit into a pickup truck, and as I note, I did not own the truck. I moved back to Michigan to finish a doctoral degree, sublet a furnished two bedroom cabin that had a small kitchen/living room area and a bathroom. I had my computer, my books, a few dishes, a ’93 Dodge Shadow ES, a computer, and my clothes. In many ways life was simple . . . sometimes strapped, but again, I was able to make do.

We collect stuff, and I am as bad, and perhaps worse than some, but what I have learned is it is exactly that – stuff. It is perhaps possible that the experiences of losing almost everything were positive for me. Those moments taught me what has real value. Most certainly, we can put a price tag on most any material thing, and those who know me are well aware of my love for Christmas things, for decorating my space, and for tech gadgets, but they are all things. I spoke recently with an auctioning company about selling it all, and that plan is in the works, telling them that if it does not fit into a suitcase, it needs to go. I will be doling some things out this fall to various people, and even this past weekend, I gave away some things to a former student and her significant other. It feels good to gift things. I think there will be a great deal more of that occurring in the weeks and months ahead. Pondering stuff compels me to consider what is of importance, as well as what deems it important. There are pictures, dishes, and even clothes that carry sentimental value. Those things become heirlooms, things we bequeath to others, or as I am attempting to do, give them to the appropriate people ahead of time. Then there can be no squabbles after my demise. Not trying to be morbid, but having experienced families at those times when I was a parish pastor, I remember clearly how tense things could become over stuff. I have a sweater that is one of the things I will probably keep until the end. It is a sweater I purchased for my father only weeks before he passed away. I remember crying as I folded it and took it with me after his funeral. There are dishes or small glasses that are more than a century old that my niece will aappreciate, but most would not see them in the same light. So . . . indeed there is stuff.

When I was a parish pastor, I remember the advice of both my seminary professors as well as one of the senior pastors who served a parish in the conference I was in. They both sagely noted, “Take care of the young people and the old people, and let the rest take care of themselves.” The wisdom of their words escaped me as a newly ordained pastor, but I would soon learn the truth in their advice. There is a profound difference in giving care to someone and taking care of someone. If you must take care of the other it is because they are incapable. If you give care, you assist, but you do not control their actions or dictate the outcome. It is a practice that has served me well in the academy also. A few years ago a well-meaning, but struggling student told me rather emphatically that he did not need to experience anything. He did not want to have to think about what he might do. He said, “I just want the professor to tell me what to do.” I remember being aghast at such a response. I remember struggling to find appropriate words to offer, particularly when I was rather angry that a student would find such a path reasonable. How do we offer insight into our world without giving all the answers? How do we provide a direction without completely clearing the pathway for those we are asked to mentor or educate?

But what can we leave of ourselves? What words, actions, experiences might we offer that leave a very different impression after we have moved on, be in merely from a professional situation or eventually from life itself? These are the things I believe matter for others in a more profound manner. In two of my classes, I regularly require my students to create a Google map/memoir, asking them to create a personal Google map that offers insight to their future 18 year old children about who they are as 18 year olds. Through people, places, and events, I have asked them to offer some glimpse into the person they are now, the world as they see it, and then to imagine the world of their future children. It is an assignment that has evolved, and it is something that I have created for my nephews, nieces, great- and even great-great . . . that is stunning to me that I can have three generations behind me. That reality makes me feel older than I am, at least for the moment. Imagine if your parents would have written you a letter then they were 18 and gave it to you when you were 18. What would you want it to say? What would you hope to learn? In someways, that is what this blog does for anyone who reads it. It offers a glimpse, a snapshot, into how I understand the world as I see it with the experience and view of someone who has been blessed to experience so many things. While I am moving toward retirement, my mind will do anything but that, or at least that is the plan. I hope to find new things, new places, new adventures, and yes, new ways to learn and grow. I hope it is through my words and actions I leave the most important things for my students, my relatives, and my friends. I hope it is through the way I treat others that people will establish the most insightful understanding of the person I am. All the stuff in the world will fade away, but I do not plan to do anything of the sort, whether I am retired from work or life. A few years ago, working with the idea of image and understanding ourselves, I used the groundbreaking series Glee in my first year writing class. The video below was the last song of the series that served as a wrap for their amazing splash into America culture. It has been almost 10 years since the show completed, but there are still things we could learn.

Thanks as always for reading.

Dr. Martin

Hello early in the morning,

Fear is something each person experiences. It is that emotion that an embarrass us, haunt us, humble us . . . and it is powerful perhaps accomplishing all of these things simultaneously. It is something we are led to believe we should overcome, something we can set aside, and yet, when the fear or object of our fear is so great we hope to avoid it at almost any cost, we refer to it as a phobia – fear of dogs, fear of snakes, fear of heights, fear of spiders or bugs and we even have Latin names for these phobias. And yet, from where do these so-called maladies originate, from where in our brain do they originate? And as importantly, can a fear ever be a positive thing?

We do categorize them as rational or irrational, so there can be some certainty that there had been significant study on the phenomenon of fear, and I have no doubt, no fear, that both my psychology or philosophy colleagues could point me in a number of directions to offer answers to my musings about this human trait. And yet, fear is not unique to our species. I have had people tell me, all well-intending that a snake is more afraid of me than I am of it. I can say categorically that I doubt that is possible, but again, it addresses the reality of how incredibly powerful fear can be. As some know, at least I am painfully aware of from where that fear originates. And is it the degree by or to which someone fears something that makes it therefore irrational? It is indeed true that there are healthy fears (even the phrase sounds oxymoronic to me)? And I can see in my own life that fears evolve, develop or dissipate as we age. They are added, or perhaps appear over time, sometimes without expectation or without any sense of origination. And sometimes things that previously created no specific response have become more problematic, more fear-producing. We are such incredible creatures, and more stunningly, our brains are so profoundly complex.

Fear is about comfort and understanding our comfort zones is not a static thing. However, regardless the circumstances that create this fearful response, it is a place for growth. It is a situation that offers an opportunity to learn, both about ourselves and our surroundings. Asking reflectively what we did and what we perhaps might have done is a really helpful thing. It reminds me of the summer I did my Clinical Pastoral Education (CPE) working as a chaplain in a hospital (I actually noted some of this in a recent blog). We had to write something called “Verbatims” after a visit. We needed to the best of our ability write down the complete conversation as close to word-for-word as possible. Then we had to sit with our supervisor and discuss them. This allowed for reflection and opportunity to see if we could have provided care for effectively. I think at times even a similar thing for understanding our fear might be helpful. I know that it is often through writing something down I see it most clearly. While I am pretty sure my fear of serpents is not going away anytime soon, and my pretty serious discomfort with significant heights will always cause me pause, it is the newer sort of fears or discomforts that precipitated this blog.

It seems the older I become, the more overwhelmed I am in crowded places. I am not sure it is some sense of claustrophobia, but rather it is the over-stimulation that seems to happen when there are too many conversations; there are too many possibilities for interaction; there are too many things vying for some attention or interaction. I can manage it for a bit, but then I find myself feeling in the middle of a circus of sorts. It is not the people themselves, because one-on-one, I can speak with them. and they are actually significant in my life. I have been trying to figure it out, and I think it is an issue of noise (the multitude of conversations, bustling about, or my feeling of never knowing where I fit in, which perhaps sounds surprising). Some of it has to do with volume, but it is not some shocking in-front-of-a-concert-speaker thing, but rather maybe the continuous nature of it. It is sometimes I feel like the infamous third-wheel, the spare that should remain in the trunk. And it is not because of the others, it is my own personal struggle. It is such a different space I seem to occupy than when I was in my 20s and 30s. And yet, as noted recently, when I was growing up, I was perceived as a shy person. It seems I am reverting back to that. It is perhaps I am more shy in the midst of the larger spaces with numbers of people. In my current Google map, which I first started to write almost a decade ago, I refer to myself as the lonely-in-the-middle-of-the-crowd person. I am not sure how becoming that person transpired, but when I consider some of the things I have written, I see a connecting thread. Why might it be I am uncomfortable or feel inadequate in those spaces, which one might believe to be much safer than when I am teaching, when I am speaking about wines at a former dinner situation, when I am called upon to make some remarks, or even when I was a parish pastor and was placed in highly stressful situations? This is a conundrum for me. And yet I am blessed to be included, and I realize that.

I find myself craving the solitude I have at times, and simultaneously pondering if it is helpful or detrimental. I love being in my classes and working with my students. I love when I can connect with a student and help them come to terms with some aspect of their education, which seems to be vexing them. I love when I can work through a problem with students in a way they can walk away feeling better about themselves. I am humbled when someone reaches out years later and something all those years ago made a difference. This past summer, my classmates and I spoke with both incredible respect and love for our history teacher, Mr. Larry Flom. It is 50 years later and he passed away before the turn of the century, and we are still speaking about him. It is those kind of teachers who inspire me to do better, to go further, hoping that something offered will make a life-long difference. Undoubtedly, there is an idealism in that hope, but it is that same idealism that probably helped me achieve getting to this point in the first place. There is an interesting dichotomy in what I do because there is a solitude in it. When I was a pastor, when I was a server, when I am teaching, there is no where to hide. It is all on me, and the strengths or weaknesses are there in front of everyone. And yet that does not cause me fear. Why is that? From where does that strength or ability come? I have also wondered if COVID has something to do with it. It seems that COVID gets blamed for most everything. I remember initially believing that the online teaching was a way to be more efficient and more focused, and I believe it did that, but it did not make it easier for students. That is certainly the experience I had during those COVID semesters.

It is easy to see fear negatively, particularly when the memories or the emotions connected to that fearful issue are so intense. And yet fear is necessary . . . it is the foundation of our instinct for survival. It is the basis for knowing when to continue or when to stop or change course. And yet, how do we know in the midst of it that there is something efficacious? When does the decision to run or remain as a thoughtful fear provide a more beneficial outcome? Perhaps it is previous experience; perhaps it is more critical thought and careful analysis in advance. As I begin to chart a new course for the years ahead, I hope that some of the things I have learned along the way will offer a more productive and perhaps even more successful future. While there are certainly some things that I could have done without, each of those experiences did something to create the person I am as I consider what to do after I empty an office, sell-off belongings, or make some additional decisions about what next. Yet, there is lot to do before that time, but it is evident already that it will come more quickly than anticipated. And there is some fear to that also. What next with no concrete plan is not the way I generally go about things. I do plan, and I need to have some sense of what will happen. Perhaps there will be new fears, which is always the case with the unknown. Perhaps there will be less fears with less responsibility. Most of those who have retired before me see to be very content with their new found freedom. They settle in and what happens has consequence, but not the sense of dread or worry about the ifs. We’ll see what happens next. Will I find new fears or face the same ones that are such a part of my limited perspective. I remember my Great-aunt Helen telling me I was a brave person before I went into a surgery at Mayo Clinic in Scottsdale, AZ many years ago. I faced that time with a determination that it was a hurdle to jump and I would. I realized that my life was in someone else’s hand. And so it is now. I can only do what is possible, and I believe facing whatever comes is the best way forward. Sometimes it is hard being just one person, but there is something good in it also. I remember a song from my high school days, and a band that was popular for many 45s at that time. Here is an appropriate song from the group Three Dog Night. I smile when I see the fashion and the hair . . . I resembled that more than I knew.

Thanks as always for reading.

Dr. Martin

Hello from the back deck of La Malbec,

I am the only one here at the moment, and it is a bit warm, but the fans are blowing, the music is playing quietly, and I have a moment to reflect on the first week of classes. It was an incredibly busy, but for the first time it feels like we are, to some extent, back to a normal excitement of a typical fall semester. Of course, managing 6 sections of writing will keep me hopping, but the students seem to be more engaged, and the COVID hangover that typified last year is nice to see. We’ll see where we are in Week Four.

During my August travels through Iowa, I stopped in Newton, IA, the city that created the Maytag Man from those childhood commercials. My initial experience with Newton occurred in early June of 1978. I was a member of a regional Lutheran Youth Encounter (LYE) Team named Daybreak. The five of us would travel almost 48,000 miles in the year we represented LYE, focusing our travel in the Midwest, but we spent two weeks in churches in Iowa before we moved on to Carol Joy Holling Bible Camp in the Omaha area. However, our first church in Newton provided my introduction to the most incredible host family I would experience that entire year. A couple, who were in their late thirties with two young children, became the most gracious hosts for my team leader, John, and me. Lee, a former high school math teacher, had moved into the business world, working for an engineering company, and Judy, a woman who would put Julia Childs to shame, made every meal or snack a creation. The interior ambiance of their home was like walking into a magazine, and the barn-board lower level we occupied with our own restroom and incredible down pillows and comforter were stunning. It was like being in a 4 Star accommodation. However, that was just the beginning. Their son and daughter, who are now am architect in Paris and a professor in North Carolina, were adorable, respectful, and as gracious as their parents. Each day we spent in Newton, we were treated as special guests in this little Iowa town by everyone we met, and it was evident should we ever return we would be welcomed with open arms. At the end of the week, because our transportation for the year was being used by another group, our host families met our next destination (which was slightly more than 100 miles) hosts to accommodate and simplify our travel needs.

What I did not know at the time was a conversation at breakfast one morning with Lee and Judy would refocus my life. We sat at the table, and Judy, as she can do so thoughtfully, so directly, and yet so kindly, asked, “Michael, what do you want to do after this year?” I answered quite assuredly, “I want to go to cosmetology school and learn to be a hair dresser.” I am sure most of you are just shaking your heads, but that is what I thought at the time. She looked at me wisely and compassionately across the table, and said something along the lines of, “That is not a bad thing to do, but you should think a bit more because I think you could do something more significant.” This is a paraphrase of her words, but the spirit is accurate. At the time, I merely took it as she wanted the best for me, but did not think much more about it. Now decades of life later, I know that this specific moment, along with a conversation with my sister-in-law, which probably prompted me to apply for the LYE team to begin with, are two moments, seemingly innocuous, which changed the trajectory of my life.

Before the Lutheran Youth Encounter year would end, Daybreak would be back in Newton two more times, and I would be there with the Swensons another time on my own when they loaned me a car to drive to Minneapolis, where I was presenting at a conference. At one point, I needed winter boots and as I was living on a dollar a day, they purchased boots for me. Lee and Judy became like hybrid parents/older siblings to me. They came to my graduation from college. Whenever, to this day, I find myself traveling across Interstate 80, up until this last time, I stopped at my home-away-from-home at 721 W 11th Street S. They cared for me after one of my surgeries, and I have spent a 4th of July and even other holidays each time graced by their unparalleled and never-ending generosity. Throughout the years, there are two constants: they welcome me at any moment, and as we have aged our conversations have turned to bigger things than my hope of becoming a tonsorialist. Judy continued to own her own business and manage it for decades, but her ability to host, cater, and create unmatched living experiences in the confines of their beautiful home was as constant as the proverbial Timex watch.

Over the years, I watched as they added on, remodeled, and updated their home. They never ceased to amaze me with the ability to envision and establish yet a new level of inviting character. Every detail from floorplan to wall covering, from furniture to the minutest of accoutrements were considered, but never in an ostentatious manner. You were simply welcomed. And then there were Lee’s vehicles or the other things he loved to manage. To this day he has a convertible, and over the years there have been a string of classic vehicles hid away, brought out for special occasions. He seemed to always find the just perfect auto that offered a glimpse into this somewhat understated personality that hides behind his twinkling eyes and ever-present smile. He is as gracious as Judy is, but they compliment so well. Over the years, regardless my situation, where I was living, if they were home, their open door policy was a welcome respite from whatever was happening in my life. I knew I would get insightful conversation, incredible food, amazing hospitality, and an attitude adjustment that put me in a better place than when I arrived at the Swenson residence. They are both the products of Iowa farms and that work ethic that underpins all they do is there, but it never seems to be obligatory. It is just done without fuss, and with perfection.

What I realized over the years is they became a trusted, admired, and adopted-by-me, but perhaps to their chagrin, older siblings. There is so much I admire about them, from their parenting, their business acumen, their philosophical perspectives, and yet, that is the only beginning. As I have watched their children grow into adults, the parenting that occurred only cemented my belief in how wonderful they were both professionally and personally. Their children have gone off on their own, choosing and managing very different paths, though both with an international flair. I remember visiting once while attending a 4th of July celebration in town. Their daughter, who was a beginning teen ager at the time, asked me how old I was and when I told her thirty, she exclaimed loud enough to drown up the music, “30!!!” Oh my goodness, I remember being a bit mortified. I remember Lee and Judy coming to visit me here in Pennsylvania, and we made a snowy trip to Jim Thorpe. While I did not completely white-knuckle that trip, it was a memorable journey over the 93 mountain. While that is not all that long ago, there is the reality of time. If I am almost three times as old as when I met them, they too have aged, though generally quite gracefully. As I visited them in Newton during my summer travels, they have moved from the home I have considered a haven for all these decades. However, not surprisingly, even their new space, with many of the same accoutrements I knew at 721, one is welcomed into their new space with the same wonderful charm I have always known. And yet, there are differences . . . age will do that, and even though I was 23 when I first arrived in Newton, there is a sort of immortality (there is that word again) to my elder adopted-siblings. They have been there to guide me more than they will ever realize. Their exemplar as two incredible humans has offered a steady and thoughtful beacon that has shown throughout life since my first visit. One of the things more apparent to me as I have grown older is how we continually encounter people or situations, ones which have significant consequence on our life. Lee and Judy have been two such people, and to say they have blessed my life, enriched my life, and helped me become a better person is a profound understatement. I hope I might bless someone someday they way they have blessed me.

Thanks for reading.

Dr. Martin

Hello from the Acorn Cabin,

As I complete another visit to Decorah, I have been blessed by the gentleness, the depth of caring, and the genuine love that characterizes the amazing Pilgrim ladies and the incredible families which have been created from their parent’s beginnings at 313 Ohio Street. The humility and goodness that characterized Don and Virginia is evident from every angle in their girls. There is a simplicity and elegance melded together in a manner that leaves you in a sense of awe from the experience of being in their actual presence. And yet, in their sense of merely being who they are, such praise would seem unwarranted, and perhaps even embarrassing. They go about their lives living out the very goodness they received. I am sure their eldest sister lives through each of them as she was both the kindest, and perhaps the toughest of all of them. I remember Suzanne’s voice as a sort of true-to-life angel, and as I was always in awe of my barely younger cousin. She was stunning in every way.

This trip I was fortunate to experience a simple family bonfire and s’more-making event. On a warm summer evening, extended members of three of the original six’s gathered at the now eldest’s farm. The number of children, grand- and now great-grand children are more than two people’s fingers and toes. And that is only three of the six girls. In spite of such a number, I did not witness a single moment of discontent or an acrimonious emotion from anyone. That is stunning, but speaks to something more profound. The love and care that epitomizes the cousins and their spouses continues through, and to, their generational prodigies. Last evening I had the opportunity to speak more with two spouses, and while I am sure their are moments, as with any couple married for decades, the goodness on the opposite side of their unions is also evident. Furthermore, I have experienced the same loving kindness with the third of the remaining sisters and her spouse, both who treat me with such love and care. The only reason I cannot affirm the expected similarities with the another is because I have not been fortunate enough to be in their physical presence, but I have spoken with them on a number of occasions. What I see in each of the daughters of Don and Virginia is a sort of blending of their parental personas. Each of the girls brings an beauty to everything around them, which was their mother, and yet they have the attention to little things that I suspect came from their mathematician father. Certainly there is some conjecture in that assessment, but I will go with it.

Coming back to Iowa, I notice a beauty I did not always realize as a child, or even into my 20s. The geometric rows of soybeans or corn, the hues and different greens that color the hills and valleys, particularly here in Northeastern Iowa (and yet across the state) are quite a sight. As I drove over on Sunday, the practice of strip farming was particularly apparent in one farm as there was a patchwork of beans and corn terracing the hillsides, which is simply thoughtful farming, both to manage erosion, but also to provide different nutrients for the rich Iowa farmland. I am returning for a 50th high school reunion, as noted in other places, but during those high school years, I worked on my best friend’s farm, where we walked beans, chopping weeds in the morning dew. I did not really appreciate what was happening as it was a summer job to put some spending money in my somewhat bare pockets. Looking at those same fields now (or at least the same type of crops), it is amazing how differently I view what the hard working people of these fly-over states do for the entire world. There is still nothing like Iowa sweet corn to me, and I have learned that soybeans have so many more uses than what I believed as a teenager. As the last couple days pass before I see people I have not seen for half-a-century, I am trying to imagine what will happen. I did have the opportunity to speak with one of my classmates by phone this week, and I will meet with him on Friday afternoon. I am glad to be doing that because as I look at the people coming, there are not all that many I remember. Additionally, there is the reality that I have not really spent much time in my hometown since I graduated as the first class of Sioux City West High School. In fact, the two schools are having a joint reunion because the larger of the two eventual West/North student bodies had come from the enormous school in our town of 100,000, Central High School. In fact, that is the school from where my mother graduated. I have reached out to one classmate who was from my smaller school, which was the second combined body to create West, but I have not heard back. She dated a friend in high school, and I appreciated both of them a great deal. Of the people I most associated with in high school, some have actually passed, some seem to be unaccounted for, and some seem to not be able to attend. So, there is some nervous anticipation on my part. And yet, I am glad I have taken the time to make this trek. Sioux City was a wonderful place to grow up in. It had everything we needed to be content, but it was not so large that you felt swallowed up by its enormity. I see it now as the ideal. And considering I am coming back for my 50th, I realize all these years later that I had profoundly strong, capable teachers. From Ms. Barker for English to Mr. Flom for history; from Mr. Erickson for economics to Mr. Littlejohn for science, there was no where I was not tutored and taught by incredibly talented and committed instructors.

There was no inkling that as I might return to this event a half of century later, I would return as a professor in both a liberal arts college and a medical school. I was a capable and smart student I now realize, but I was an uninspired student. I was an undisciplined student. As such, when I chose to do well, that was certainly within my grasp, but I was inconsistent at best, graduating with a 2.8 or so. Nothing that would turn other’s heads to notice, particularly when it came to going to college. I was a confused 16/17 year old high school senior with no sense of what I wanted to do or where I might do it. I had a group of friends, mostly in band or in my church youth group, and they were important to me. They helped me manage the struggles of my daily life that were more profound than I ever let on. And being in a new school my senior year allowed me to disappear even a bit more, which was probably both good and problematic. Physically, I was smaller than most; I think I was more immature than most; and I was certainly more unsure than most. I often say it took me until the age of 25 to grow into my ears. And now as I return, I look little like I did as that seventeen year old. My growth spurt occurred after high school in Marine Corps boot camp, and now I am probably in as good of shape as I have been most of my life. I doubt most will either recognize or remember this little squirt from Riverside. It will be an interesting weekend.

And yet, there are other reasons to return to my roots as a Northwest Iowa boy. All of my relatives are laid to rest there, and I want to see those resting places. While there were certainly those who had preceded my life, so many of them have passed in these past 50 years. So it is a lifetime ago for some of them. As I was surrounded by family from the Olsen side of the family this week, last night’s conversation returned to the 10 children that my mother, the youngest, was part of. I cannot imagine having 9 sibling, but yet, in my own biological extended family, I do. It is just I have never really been around them. When I go to Graceland Park Cemetery, both my biological and adopted family (which are distantly related to a point) are there, and within yards of each other. When I gaze out at the various markers, the stone edifices that commemorate their lives, they seem to say so little because there is so much more to what they did. I am reminded of the line from Phantom of the Opera, when Christine Daáe is walking through the cemetery singing to her father. “You were once my warm companion . . . wishing I could hear your voice again . . . passing veils and sculpted angels, cold and monumental; seem for you the wrong companions, you were warm and gentle . . .” Certainly there are those laying there who fit these words perfectly. My father and my grandmother are the two individuals for whom I still believe I have the most affinity if I might understand the person I am. When I go home this time, I will work to find two new graves that are in yet a third cemetery. Jim and Joanne Wiggs are also cousins, but more like parents to me. They were beyond kind and gracious to me, and they were my home in Sioux City when I returned during the 2000s. They both passed in the last 5-6 years, and I have not visited their burial place. Joanne was an elegant, beautiful, and living June Cleaver. Jim did more to support me when I was struggling with a second marriage than anyone, providing both perspective and a moral comfort that allowed me to continue on, eventually receiving my PhD. Furthermore, I know the the town I refer to as home has changed profoundly since I grew up here.

It is now Saturday evening and I am back in my motel room, after attending events over the last two days. How amazing to connect with some people I have not seen face-to-face for 50 years. Two of the women in my class in attendance have been delightful to speak with and listen to. The one I knew better than the other, but the quieter one of the pair was always quiet; however, she seemed incredibly intelligent and extraordinarily kind. Sharing with her the last two days has been a wonderful treat of reconnection. The second was the daughter of my piano teacher. She was a bit more outspoken then, and I am grateful to her for the way she shared so much about her memories, working as a catalyst for some of the rest of us. Four other classmates who spent time last evening were all significant in my formative years, but each for different reasons. One continues to be in a band that was an important element of the Riverside band scene. Their eventual lead singer was my best friend. One was in choir with me and an important part of my group of friends in that space. He was outgoing and remains to be so. The third is sort of the glue who holds us all together, and continues to be such a wonderful connection; he married another classmate and she was (and I believe remains) to be one of the most gentle souls I knew. The fourth, being one half of childhood sweethearts who are a significant part of my high school experience. He continues to be as kind and amazing as I remember. Each of them brought a different piece to the tapestry that is the foundation of who I am. Most simply put, it would have been wonderful to have some more Cavaliers there, but I am blessed beyond measure for the last 36 hours or so. I will see a couple more before I leave my town once again. There is a comfort to driving the roads where I learned to drive. There is a comfort to sharing names of people that we all remember. Tonight at the more formal event, there was a slide show in memoriam, and the number of people who have passed number almost 100. That is a sobering reality of a 50th reunion. Names that were surprising, names of some of the more seemingly-significant members of that class of 1973. And yet, a stern and forceful reminder that death is an incredible equalizer. I was also blessed to have some people set at our table tonight who would have been Central students had there not been a new set of schools, but they were gracious and kind, which was more important to us Riverside people than they might have realized. I believe Leeds students probably felt the same. Riverside and Leeds were the small high schools in our town, and I am not sure if Leeds has the same dedication to their former school as I believe is evident in those who walked the quadrangle of Riverside Jr/Sr High School. There is a strong school spirit in the Cavaliers of RHS, of that I am certain.

Tomorrow and Monday, I will meet up again with some classmates, and some life-long friends. All of these things remind me that the people I have spent time with the last two days have been friends or in my life since kindergarten. That is over 60 years. That is, for all practical purpose, my life time. So indeed, the title of the blog is apropos. Riverview as a building does not exist anymore and the school where I spent most of my childhood living across the street from is no longer a school in the same way. So much has changed, but returning for the reunion is a poignant reminder that some things persist. Last night, listening to the stories about classmates was both enlightening and surprising. As one of our classmates noted at the banquet this evening, take time to reach out to those who matter. I have spent the evening looking up the passing notifications of those whose names and pictures were shared in memoriam. A number of them passed in their 50s, but some even earlier. Life continues and when we are not in their immediate circle, their passing goes unnoticed, but shocking when it comes to those still walking a journey. In 1973, we were wide-eyed, as most are at 18. We had little idea what the world would hold, but now I find myself realizing I grew up in an opportune time and in an amazing city. I had little idea how fortunate I was. I am pretty sure I do not want to wait 5 or 10 years to reach out to some of the people who were not in attendance this weekend. There are a number of people I realize had more consequence for me than I comprehended. Indeed, it has been a lifetime, but I am still counting. Praise God for that opportunity. The video is a 50th anniversary video of a song that came out when I was that high school student in the senior year of 1972-73. Indeed, we were Northwest Iowa kids, but American kids who loved American Bands!!

Thank you as always for reading!!!

Michael (Dr. Martin)