thewritingprofessor55

Hello from my guest room in Humlebæk,

It seems this summer is both one to remember as well as on of remembering. It is about 4:00 a.m., and the birds have begun to sing, and the first rays of light have illuminated my comfortable room here on the Danish coast, a bit Northwest of København. A first trip back to the country initially visited in January 1981 has been quite phenomenal thus far, and my appreciation of the incredible ingenuity of Danish people, particularly in the area of health, grows exponentially. The primary reason to come back to Denmark has been to attend the translokation ceremony for Anton, my exchange student, which I promised to do. The Danish customs for graduation from Gymnasium are beyond any celebratory practices in the States for sure. And this year, his family also hosted a Sankt Hans celebration later that evening, so I experienced two profoundly significant Danish cultural traditions in my first 36 hours of returning to Denmark.

Certainly having a specific place to visit and be welcomed makes coming back to Denmark easier, particularly when the number of years since the last visit has created an appreciably older individual. And yet, I can see the thread connecting the first trip during the Interim class of 1981. Those initial seeds, the developing of an appreciation for and a desire to experience a world of cultural beauty that Dana College and the Humanities program instilled in me changed my life. Those lectures from amazing professors and mentors as well as the option to experience a world only witnessed through pictures in books changed my life. Dana’s intentional connection to its cultural roots and that experience was directly connected to my choosing a Danish exchange student. My travel with the Pope, and my recollections of Denmark that January, made the roulette-spin resulting in Anton coming to Bloomsburg real. There continues to be an ever-developing skein connecting thoughts, emotions, and experiences during this return trip, all while developing a deepening appreciation for both the present and the past. Certainly reconnecting in person with Anton, his remarkable sister, and their unparalleled parents is a gift beyond words; but also being able to share their space as they shared in mine last year, and adding commonly relatable moments provides an unbreakable and strongly-woven unique clothing that only we understand. However, even now, I feel deeply connected to that undergraduate experience on the bluffs of the Missouri River. During this trip, I have been blessed to meet grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, and friends, and their is a common thread, I have been welcomed in ways beyond compare. At the party celebrating the Midsummer Night, every person, without exception, took the time to speak with me at length, and because my Danish is virtually non-existent (unfortunately), they all graciously spoke in profoundly effective English. Never once did I feel left out of their celebration.

It is the beginning of the week, and I have been invited to speak at a breakfast this morning to a group of engineers and others who have an appreciation for my medical experiences. Who would have thought such a thing possible? And yet as I reflect, I believe even these issues perhaps began to really begin to come to the fore in that trip back during my sophomore year at Dana. My experience of loneliness would be compounded when I developed pneumonia, and I would spend time with another exchange student I had met even earlier in my life, an ironic parallel even now. Yesterday, a trip and days walking around Copenhagen brought back memories while simultaneously creating new ones. Forty years has changed the harbor area significantly, and the unseasonably warm day (and it has been beautiful) had people out in force. Street food, coffee, and experiencing the changing of the guard at the palace as well as the gardens at the National Library or the innumerable boats on the canals made for a lovely day. Riding the Metro and the trains reminded me of Dr. Nielsen trying to keep us all together as we ventured through Western Europe considering Hemingway and Mann all those years ago. Today, I will return to Kronborg, where I stood 42 years ago on a cold, rainy, and foggy January afternoon. I remember thinking at the time, no wonder Hamlet was so sad. I think we will still make it to Roskilde and perhaps the Dom, but time will tell.

It is a day since I began writing, but yesterday was a profound experience for me. I was provided an opportunity to speak with engineers and other individuals working at a company called Coloplast. This happened because of a chance conversation at the Friday night party, when I spoken with one of Hans Christian’s friends. That developed into being asked to tell my story about being an ostomate at a breakfast meeting of engineers who develop products used by those like me. After the first presentation, I was asked to do a second one, and in between I met with a chemical engineer who works in a user lab. It was beyond optimal for me, I seems to be so for them. I learned some incredibly insightful things about the miraculous things that go into the products I use for my daily life. The questions and the interchanges that occurred were quite amazing to me. Life has a way of meeting us where we need to be met, even when we do not know it. As noted, what appears to be a connecting thread between my two trips to Denmark (issues of health) are perhaps appropriately connected in this presentation. As I write this I am taking an hour train ride to Roskilde, visiting the Viking Museum, another return to January 1981. I have, additionally, tried to connect with one of the Danish students from that time at Dana, which had been successful and heart wrenching. They are critically ill, a reminder of the consequences of aging and fragility. This student was a wonderful addition to the Dana community, and a person for whom I had great appreciation. It was quite wonderful to reconnect not all that long ago. So the return to Denmark seems to parallel what it often a dual perception of time.

Does it seems to be forty-plus years since I rode these trains, walked the cobblestones, or gazed out at Sweden from Kronborg? Indeed, that and more, and yet, simultaneously, impossible. But the difference in my perception from 25 to 67 is exponential. And yet, some things are constant. The meticulousness, the industriousness, and the care for others and the world by this country of a mere 5.8 million people is inspirational. I also experienced these characteristics in Anton when he arrived in Bloomsburg on that late August evening 2019. Likewise, while it is already over three years since he left, he has changed quite significantly: his physical stature continue to increase in height. I believe he is 6’3” at least. The face has matured some, but the basics and infectious smile remain. He is personable and ready to engage, but he has continued to develop into an amazing young adult. His view of the world and what matters is still insightful, thoughtful, and balanced. He is headed on another adventure shortly, spending a year as a windsurfing instructor in the Canary Islands. Darn, for him and me. It offers an option for yet another trip. Time will reveal the possibilities.

I was amazed by the efficiency of the rail system that interim with Dr. Nielsen, and my appreciation remains. The Danish system is efficient and clean. It is also timely. As I ride, the amount of time spent reading and pondering events to the East has been staggering, both in amounts as well as in an attempt to understand. Conversation with my former student, who admits concern and fear, are guarded but helpful. Simply knowing they are okay is sufficient at the moment. I need to reach out to parents also. It is hard to believe tomorrow is my last full-day in Humlebæk, but a new adventure beckons me. My paternal roots hearkens back to Norway. I remember my Great Aunt Martha reciting her prayers in Norwegian. Indeed, Lutefisk was something we ate at Christmas. Lefse is something I appreciate to this day. What I remember most about the difference in Danish and Norwegian people is the profound pride (and this is not to say that Danes do not have this, but rather they are perhaps more thoughtful or subdued in their expressions of it) in their heritage. I have noted my high school history teacher, Mr. Larry Flom, who would stand up in the middle of class and puff out his chest, making himself as large as possible, and speaking out loudly, but not exactly hollering, and exclaiming, “Norway!” and then he would sit back down as if nothing happened. It was one of the many endearing things he would do. The smallness of our immense world was demonstrated again during the evening, when a Dana classmate reached out to tell me that one of her children and her husband are attending the music festival in Roskilde today, which is where we spend the entire day yesterday.

Indeed it is my last full-day in Denmark, and yesterday was a bit of a reprise of a Dana day all those years ago. There have been significant additions to the Viking Museum in Roskilde, and they had a flood there in the building in December of 2013. I do not remember being in the Domkirke where all the Danish royalty are buried, but it was awe inspiring to see such incredible history in one place. Additionally, I got a lot of steps in on our journeys. Last night, we went to the Louisiana Museum here in Humlebæk, and I viewed one of the most interesting and creative exhibitions I believe I have ever experienced. All I could think of was my former colleague who is an art professor and to hear what she might think of it. It is an exhibition of an Icelandic artist named Ragnar Kjartansson, who is a painter, a musician, and politically active individual. The exhibition is titled “Epic Waste of Love and Understanding.” He is worth looking up. We also had dinner there, and it is a place where Anton has worked since returning to Denmark post-YFU year. Today, Anton and I will spend some time together running errands and just hanging out. He has another graduation party tonight, so I will be in bed long before he is home. The trip to Denmark has exceeded expectations on a number of fronts, from meeting extended family to experiencing and engaging in situations unanticipated, from reacquainting to revisiting places from 2/3s of my life ago, it has been an incredible week. I am excited to fly to Norway tomorrow to explore a new country, and yet what my family would call the old country. I am thrilled to reacquaint with a person who preceded me at Dana, but was an important part of my first year there on the bluffs of the Missouri. Indeed, there will be a combination of remembering and creating. It is what we do as we meander throughout our lives. Somehow it seems appropriate to post a video of a hymn that is an important part of my memories from Dana, but also an significant part of our Lutheran and Scandinavian heritage, and a song I hope will be sung at my last service.

Thank you as always for reading.

The Perpetual Dana Student and now Professor,

Michael and Dr. Martin.

Hello from Kona, Hawaii,

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

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

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

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

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

Thank you as always for reading.

Dr. Martin

Hello from the mini-Acre on West Sterner Avenue,

I have to admit today that I am missing my house, and the fire pit area. And yet, I am very pleased with the new (now perhaps not new as it is almost two years ago that I left there) place and what has been accomplished. I need to thank so many people for where I am and how things are going. And yet, as some are aware, the last two months have been a bit of a rollercoaster. Yesterday, I was reminded in ways not anticipated how fragile life is. I am still reeling from the story I listened to, but more significantly to the emotions that came through on so many levels from this amazing woman is quite unlike anything I have experienced since perhaps my clergy times. It seems I’ve found more occasions than usual where I have been confronted with our temporal fragility. From lists of classmates no longer in our physical space to a belated watching of a memorial service of a former colleague (a generation younger), from phone notifications of others involved in accidents to unexpected stories of serious or terminal illnesses, it would be easy to develop a rather macabre perspective on daily existence, and yet, simultaneously and instantaneously, I am reminded of the miraculous ability of our medical ingenuity.

As noted previously, I’ve spent some significant time with my various medical team members attempting to figure out my miraculously altered, and still functioning anatomy. From the first day of physical presence to this morning, my body has managed to provide what is needed for daily existence, certainly not always in a typical or expected manner, but my very writing of this post in a cogent manner is proof of the miraculous ability of our bodies. If I seriously consider my premature arrival and the first approximate 18 months of life, both the singular birthing and subsequent likelihood of less-than-stellar care or nutrition are likely to show a direct cause/effect nature of how our gestation and earliest development have life-long repercussions. This was not clearly evident until the head of neurology at our local medical center spoke to me following a somewhat significant event shortly after my return to Pennsylvania to teach at Bloomsburg. After looking at my MRI as well as previous film from a decade earlier, he said, “The very fact you are functioning as a capable human is a miracle; you could have easily had CP, been grossly [mentally disabled] (he actually used a different term), or other maladies is astounding. And instead your present as an incredibly intelligent person with a PhD. I think what caused his assessment to sort of be overlooked was he found a spot of concern on my face under my eye. That would be biopsied and I would have a MOHS procedure done in the next hour or so. I looked liked I got into a fight and forgot to punch.

As I take on yet another battle in my continuing health journey, it is impossible to not be aware of how our changing abilities to respond offers opportunities to manage things before unmanageable, and yet at what cost? While some of the recording of what my body does is mind boggling, and the pharmaceutical options are astounding in their ability to bring my body into balance (and there is a literal sense to all of this). And yet the drugs, on one hand do have consequences know while the other drug is so new there are no long term studies though it seems to be a somewhat wonder drug. There is the actual cost without insurance, which I do not pay, but the cost per month is more than I could imagine trying to pay. While I am well aware of the stories of how people are forced into life- changing decisions regarding medication, it seems I too could, more likely than not, be such a person. In fact, I was encouraged to begin a couple of the drugs because trying to begin them on Medicare is much more arduous. The reality of such a statement is ludicrous, but that is the cost of maintaining one’s health in America. This is not a new understanding, but it is a new personal realization, and that is in spite of being significantly acquainted with the reality of hospitals, doctors, and a plethora of health care people for half of my life. It does not go unnoticed that with one rather memorable exception, I have been profoundly fortunate that the 100s of 1000s of dollars have been covered. My consideration of coverage and what happens with my life has most often been simply pay my deductibles. Again, I know that is not the experience of many.

This time, in spite of no hospitalizations, has been more eye-opening than probably 98% of my medical interactions. Perhaps my first major surgery in December of 1986 is more extreme in terms of a shock to my daily reality. There is also a reality for me in that surgery was the beginning of much of current difficulty. It was the first of numerous intestinal surgeries that would revise my GI track in some substantial manner. At the time, barely into my 30s, I realized the seriousness of such a substantive revision, but I am quite sure I had no inkling of what could follow. And now, more surgeries than I have fingers; more procedures than I have fingers and toes; and numerous complications of the complications (seriously), the teamwork and attention of so many doctors, specialists, or nurses as well as the care of friends and family has been tremendous, and they deserve so much credit and appreciation for the fact I am sitting on a plane writing this today. . . . So I am four days into a return visit to places I first experienced as an 18-19 year old. At that point I was amazed at the beauty and cultural differences of the 50th state. My exploration of the big island was always with my fellow Marines, and it was a different time in our world. This visit I am still stunned by the incredible beauty of the water, but I did not remember the black beaches. And while I visited both Kona and Hilo, but I do not remember anything as I have returned. Again, of course, it is a half century, and I am quite sure I was walking different parts of both cities as a young military person. What I know now is some medical things experienced even then were precursors of what would happen in the decades to come. As far as my return to Hawaii, it is nice to return, but I do not need to do it again anytime soon. Again, the beauty and experience has been quite eye-opening. I think I am content to be a mainlander.

Even today, I was working with local pharmacies to manage today’s medical requirements. I am fortunate we have the connections and capabilities today. I was able to get what I need to manage my daily monitoring. Even more helpful was my ability to get only one instead of all three. It will suffice in getting me home. I will need to plan more effectively going forward, but that is on me and not the fault of the medical establishment. Even as I have tried to work with various pharmacies, I was reminded of how fortunate I am to have the latest available options. Not every pharmacy had that available or in stock. Likewise to have the money for a single part of the larger typical 3-pack was fortunate because it is not inexpensive. The four prescriptions that are now required are beyond expensive, but at least currently I am still employed and have insurance. The reality of what is to come, however, is not unnoticed, and something that must be considered.

We are amazing and incredible resilient instruments. I have lived that resiliency and continue to do so. When I get home, I have more appointments to schedule, but the complexity of scheduling has become infinitely more difficult. Because of some requirements, I have to schedule other things, which will take significant time into 12 hour windows that only occur every 10 days. Because of some pills, I have to schedule food and such around all of that. More over, most importantly, this is not something to take lightly. What I am profoundly aware of is this: in spite of the unparalleled manner by body has adapted over the last three decades, it now needs additional help. And yet medical advances made the possible management once again within reach. Yet again, it seems that adage is still needing to grade papers is still true. For whatever reason, I have been given the continuing option of living life with a great degree of normalcy. Once again, I have been provided the profound gift of continuing a life of purpose and promise. To all of my medical attendants, pharmacists, physicians, and caregivers, both personal and professional: thank you seems tremendously inadequate. And yet, it is what a offer. With gratitude and humility, I say thank you and bless each of you for giving me so many chances to stay alive and productive, to live a life of promise and hope. It is a wonderful world.

Thank you for reading.

Dr.Martin

Hello from my office at home,

In the next week, students will finish another semester of classes, finals will be completed and for some, the 13th of May will be a significant date as they receive their diplomas, some the night before, the 12th, when they will receive their Masters or for some a Doctoral degree in Audiology. In the last post, I included a picture of me with my first diploma from kindergarten. I do not know that date, but it was probably June of 1961. When I examine the diplomas, which adorn the wall in my study, it was forty years ago that I graduated from Dana College; it was 35 years ago that I graduated from Luther Northwestern seminary; and it was 50 years ago I graduated from high school. All in the month of May. As I have registered for that 50th reunion, planning to return to my hometown in August, I am both excited and curious what will happen. My class was the first graduating class from West High School in our reconfigured school district. When I graduated from Dana, I knew I would be moving to St. Paul for an intensive summer Greek program, and upon graduation, call, and ordination, I would be moving to a town that is, ironically, only barely over an hour of my present home.

This afternoon, I had the opportunity to speak with someone I deeply admire and appreciate, and we chatted about the time I was in Menomonie, and how that is almost 15 years ago that I left there. We chatted about plans, goals, and how those things come to be, how they are accomplished, and why having both plans and flexibility are important to our world (and ourselves). When I think about how it is I got to where I am, I am continually amazed, both by the curcuitious route I have traveled as well as how many times I have been blessed by people, events, and circumstances. That does not seem to change. When I am unsure of where my meandering path might happen to go, something or someone crosses my path and makes a difference. In my piety, it is a firm conviction of mine that somehow through the Holy Spirit, God continues to change what I imagine, or more likely make me aware of possibilities I could not imagine. People, many who are such incredible individuals, influence me in ways I could never anticipate. As I told my beautiful friend this afternoon, there have been moments in my life, generally because of my own actions at some point, that precipitated a choice, a significant decision, which would create a drastically different path than I anticipated. Some of those included leaving the Marine Corps, traveling on a Lutheran Youth Encounter team, returning to Dana from the University of Iowa, moving to Pennsyvania (both times), pursuing a PhD, finding a path after resigning my ordination, and there are more, but I think you get the idea.

What we do in those decisive moments is not as profound as what we do after the choice is made. What I do hope my life will show is that I made the choice somewhat wisely, but as importantly, once the choice was made, I did whatever I could to make the path chosen as successful as I possibly could. Choices are an integral part of our humanity. Facing that choice with the best possible information, and then deciding are necessary if we are to make progress of any sort. Without the willingness to choose, we are paralyzed . . . we are either unwilling or incapable of facing the unknown. And undoutedly, the unknown can be frightening. That is the nature of the unknown, but it does not have to result in paralysis. Earlier today I was engaged in a conversation with someone who is struggling, believing that having any limitations means they have failed. Nothing could be farther from the truth. What they have accomplished from the beginning until now is unparalleled. There are situations that are not within their wheelhouse. They are not particularly adept in certain things, and while those isssues can prove important, there are so many other things in which they are profoundly outstanding. I know it because I have witnessed it first-hand. Indeed, there have been bumps, but so much has been accomplished. I am trying to step back and figure out what is possible to assure them all is not lost or doomed.

We are such fragile animals. We are so remarkable, so marvelous at moments, but those moments of extreme satisfaction are fleeting. Perhaps it is because we would not appreciate them as much as we should or could if they became commonplace. It is like that Prayer of St. Francis notes, it is often in doing the opposite that we get what we really hope to receive. I think it was a combination of fragility and the struggle to see one’s life as many others saw, which led to the passing of my younger sister, Kristina (Kris). It is 15 years ago today I was driving back to Sioux City after learning she had paassed away early on that April morning. I remember the phone call as if it were yesterday. Certainly, there were the physical maladies that contributed to her death, but I think all the things that created those maladies were due to something much more insidious. Kris struggled with a sense of self-worth, though she was beyond proud of becoming a mother. The verbal, emotional, and physical abuse we received affected us very differently. I somehow found the courage to fight it. She, on the other hand, believed the damning message it carried. It created immeasurable damage and much of it was unmanaged because it temained unspoken. In fact, the only time it came close to being dealt with openly was squashed when our mother refused to continue family counseling.

To this day, I believe Kris might have been the most intelligent and capable of the three Martin children. She had a creativity both in language and in her artistic ability, which with the proper support and venue could have made her a well-known and successful individual. I believe that with all my heart. Her daughter exhibits some of those same skills. While I do not underestimate what I have achieved, I believe it is because I have been put into places where I received the support and encouragement to prosper. I have been provided opportunities to grow, expand the possibilities, and finally to be allowed to explore and learn from experiences, be they positive or negative. Certainly, I have not always been perfect in that growth, at times living the proverb of one-step-forward, and two-steps-back. And yet, here I am. I wonder what Kris would think of the last decade. I have no doubt she would have opinions. As a lesbian, environmentalist, as a creative and yet brooding genius, I am sure she would be chomping at the proverbial bit to use her place to speak out against injustices, against the disregard of so many concerning climate change. While I think my younger sister and I probably had more in common than most would believe at a glance, what was probably most different is she would be at the front of the crowd protesting, and I would be sitting in the comfort of my office writing about it. She would not fear the comments or the actions of those who would rail against her. Simply, I think she was more courageous than I was or am.

I would like to believe I have taken some of her and instilled it . . . I am not as shy or worried as I once was, and how did such a metamorphosis occur? I think it was because I finally got beyond the very abuse referred to earlier. It is because I have learned (to a great degree) to be comfortable by myself. It is because finally I have learned to believe that I am okay. This is not to say I do not still fall short of things. It is not to believe that I have it all figured out. Everyday, my students remind me there is so much yet to learn to be effective. As another person I spoke with today noted, it is (I am) a process. As someone who has come to realize their appreciation for process, that is freedom producing; it is life giving. Each day has the possibility of becoming a significant date, a day that matters in a consequential manner. Again, this weekend, and yesterday, the 29th of April, mark 15 years since I received the phone call that my younger sister, my only total blood relative had passed from this world. It is an occasion to feel some degree of sadness because I wish she were here to see her grandchildren and her daughter as an adult. I wish she were here to chat with and listen to her thoughts about so many things. It is a moment to take specific time and remember her brilliance and creativity, to celebrate the gifts she had, in spite of the difficulties she endured. It is simply for me a date that matters because she mattered, and she still does. I wish you were here to listen to this song and we might chat about it. I do love you.

Thanks as always for reading.

Michael (the older brother)

Hello from Panera,

It is early evening on the first day of another week of school. The close of the semester is rapidly approaching, and just as I thought I had planned well external events moved things around, changing my trajectory significantly. For the first time in 50 years, I had an auto accident that I am at fault in. What is interesting is in the 3 weeks since, my fear of another is through the roof (so to speak since the new Beetle is a convertible). Seriously, though, I am incredibly more reactive to anything that happens around me. If someone stops and I am even close, I find myself hitting the brake pedal. . . .

My intentions to turn this blog around quickly have dissipated (or failed miserably). It is now three weeks later and every time I have been hoping to write, either something called me away, or more significantly, I felt I had nowhere to go in terms of what I wanted to do. And yet the title of the blog is still relevant. Yesterday, I attended the Annual Scholarship Luncheon, hosted by the Bloomsburg University Foundation. It is an opportunity for donors who give to the university to support students the possibility of meeting some of the very students who is benefiting from that gift. While my student was not in attendance because they are in Germany (I tried to get them to fly me to Germany to meet them, but it was not in the budget), the stories, the gathering, and the presentations from both a donor and a student were outstanding. Attending the university is a much different financial undertaking then when I first attended Iowa State University some 45 or so years ago. The cost for room, board, and tuition for an in-state student living on campus was $226.00/quarter (that did not include books). I actually made money attending college. And I squandered that opportunity failing out. I think back to that, and my retirement age persona still asks. “what was I thinking?!!” Even with a tuition freeze for the past four years, and the possibility of the fifth, going to Commonwealth University of Pennsylvania – Bloomsburg Campus, and receiving a Bachelors degree will cost approximately $100,000. And that is considered affordable! Amazing.

What is stunning to me is the how differently we view that degree today from when I graduated from high school, which in barely over a month will be 50 years. That too is stunning to me. One of the assignments I have in almost all of my classes is the creation of a Google Map/Memoir. In it, students are asked to create a Google map that explains to their future children who they are, what the world is presently like, and to offer some sense of what sort of world they believe their future children might live in 25 years from now. Through people, places, and events they deem significant in their lives, they have to explain all the things we perhaps wished we might have asked our parents. What was the world like for me 50 years ago. I am think about the country song, “1980 Something,” but I would need a decade earlier. Words like Vietnam, Nixon, Watergate, Détente, SALT, OPEC, and soon things like Resignation, Withdrawal (from a geographic place) were nightly news vocabulary. The thought of technology or even the personal computer was still a decade away. Attending college for this lower middle-class kid was a dream, and something I hoped enlisting in the Marine Corps might make possible. That time in the Marines affects me to this day. I had no idea what I had done, but I was determined to do it. It is that determination that has perhaps served me most profoundly.

Throughout my life, I have been told I was not capable enough; I was not tall enough, weighed enough, looked old enough; and too often I allowed those evaluations or comments to restrict me. Yet, when things were really pushed and things seemed to matter, I found the fortitude to stand up and believe enough in myself to attempt whatever it was, in spite of the admonishment to do otherwise. In fact, the more one told me no, the more likely I was to prove the opposite. So that determination, that stubbornness, that unwillingness to believe that negative answer has served me well (and least sometimes.). Just this morning, I have spoken with two different students encouraging them to not give up, and I think there will be a couple more before day is out. I’ve spent significant time considering why it is we often lead with the negative of something rather than the positive. Why is it we find the shortcomings so much more easy to point out rather than the positive things? Why is it we believe that focusing on what we do not have is more helpful than appreciating what we have. Maybe, for me, it is that I was so fearful of being around that all the time that I made both a subconscious, and somewhat conscious, decision to do it differently. That is perhaps the most fortunate happening which has occurred in my life. I am not some unfettered idealist, that is long gone, but I hold on to the optimism that provides a continual glimmer of hope, of light, that there can always be something better.

Working to make something better is laborious; it can be tedious and overwhelming. It can seem like we never get there, but that presupposes we know where there is or what there is. We do not. Too often we achieve something only to jump to the next thing, thereby never really celebrating the accomplishments completed. There is no real hope if the only destination has no stopping places along the way. I have known, and presently know, incredible people who have attained unparalleled success on numerous fronts, but they are not content. Contentment and complacency are not the same thing. Complacency is not something to which I subscribe, but contentment is. Contentment is taking time to believe in yourself in a manner that allows you to feel positive about what you have done and see the difference you have made. I think of Lydia. She would be 99 years old this coming August. After she retired, she began a bit reclusive, and yet she had an incredibly giving heart. I am reminded of the time she paid the outstanding taxes of a neighbor who was on the verge of losing their house. And yet she did not want people to know what she did. She and her husband came to the United States with two suitcases and $100.00. When she passed, she had accomplished becoming ABD in international economics. She and George owned about 1/3 of the entire circle she lived on. She had one of the most amazing houses in the entire town, and she was well respected both in the classroom and in town for her understanding of economics. And yet, she was content to be in her house. She once told me, if people wanted to see her amazing home, they would not be allowed to do so, but if someone was not all that amazed, she would offer them access. For those reading who knew her, I am sure you are not surprised. And yet, there was a sadness because I am not sure she ever felt it appropriate to be proud of herself. Again there is a difference between pride and arrogance. Again, why is it the things we should feel positive about we are afraid to do so?

I think there are many reasons, but I would like to say unequivocally that most of them are garbage. Take the time to realize the good things and be happy about them. Never become complacent, but realize the fortunate happenings in your life and celebrate them. Too often we allow those around us to sap our ability to celebrate. Sometimes those are the people closest to us, and that makes it even more difficult, but we have choices. We can allow those around us to undermine us; we can allow them to create a sense of doubt or incapability, but do not let that happen. I have been there and I lived a sad and frightened life, a life that seemed destined for simply existing, going through the motions of life without living. There is nothing positive in that. I find myself realizing that some of the difficulties I have faced helped me look for the goodness that I believe is always there. The picture above is my kindergarten graduation picture, the first of what would be many graduations, though I did not know it. I was happy in that moment. It is difficult in our present world, with all the acrimonious sounds and actions to find that glimmer of hope, but I pray you can find it. The positive in life is worthy of focusing on. It is worth celebrating. Certainly, do not sit and wait for life to come to you, but take time to believe in yourself and the possibilities the world offers. Good luck as you finish the semester or whatever task you are attempting. While the video below might seem seasonal, I believe the message fits for everyday.

Thank you for reading,

Michael

Hello from my corner of the Little Bakery,

It is Wednesday, but it seems like it should be Friday. I have spent more time working: prepping, grading, Zooming, interpreting, studying and believing in myself, yes believing I want to do the best work I have ever done with my classes, be a class I have taught before, whether it be a class that has one student or many, a class that I was assigned or I inherited. There is so much to do, but there is more I wish I knew how to do. I am never content with the work I have done. Is that a good thing? I am honestly not sure. What I know is I want to improve each and every day at what I do.

Teaching, professing, is such an amazing thing to be blessed to do. Every day I am offered possibilities to make some small difference in the life of someone who has bought into the idea that a college degrees a reasonable thing to pursue. Even that reality has changed so much since I graduated in the first class of West High School in Sioux City, IA. I grew up in a seriously blue-collar area of my town of 100,000 people. Most of the people in my section of town did not attend college for two reasons: it was expensive, and they did not have the money, and second, college was not considered essential or required. If my figures are still accurate, 40% of my students are first-gen students. They come to college both excited and fearful. They hope with all their strength that they will one day walk across that stage to receive a diploma, serving up a dream they one day only imagined. They fear and tremble with much more trepidation then they perhaps even realize, wondering if they are prepared, but not wanting to go home saying they did not make it. And yet, the world of academy is changing rapidly. That change is necessary, but it too is alarming.

I have noted for my students the consequence of technology, and what my mentor, Dr. Daniel Riordan, called the rhetoric of technology. He was an incredible mentor to me, helping me navigate a difficult time in my own career as well as supporting me after I left Wisconsin. What I realize is he became another academic advisor of sorts, and I have embarrassed his curiosity and zeal for trying new things. His philosophy was simple: “Be curious! What you learn is yours forever” (Olson Funeral Home). Technology offers opportunities to learn in ways we seldom fathom. When I relate my experience of buying my first computer (A Tandy whose memory topped out at 640K) and what it would cost in today’s dollars (between 5 and 6K) and that it was on 1987, they are stunned by what little I received as well as how much it would cost. And the reason I asked to borrow money from a Great Aunt and Uncle was also surprising to them. I already felt like I could not compete with my classmates who were technologically ahead of me. That poor Riverside boy did not have extra money, and even though he was married, we barely had enough money to live. I think Susan made 5-6 dollars an hour. That computer made my senior year in seminary much more manageable. And more importantly, it pushed me into the technological world that was barely beginning, and it changed how I understood my abilities as a student. It changed my identity.

From graduate school, as I moved into parish ministry, our church was trying to understand how to create a computer-based office, and how would we get information from one terminal to the other. Networking?? Oh my . . . by the time I would return to do a second masters and soon a PhD, the computer lab in the Walker Building on the MTU campus had a Mac side and a PC side. It was called CCLI. I learned so much about technology in that lab. A summer of Computers in Writing Intensive Classrooms (CIWIC) with Drs. Cyndi Selfe and Gail Hawisher would change my relationship and understanding of technology in a way that was mind and life altering. Those changes would be fundamental and be important in my obtaining a tenure track position with my first application. Nothing I expected to happen. Technology has created more than a profound change in daily life; it has created an identity for its users. However, one must ask about the accuracy of the identity created, and at what cost? While my late 20th and early 21st century technology usage was role changing perhaps, I am not sure I allowed to to change who I understood myself to be. Social media would establish another layer of usage, but again, I am pretty sure I did not wish or attempt to change the image or the person I believed myself to be.

Perhaps that is because I did not have to navigate my world online as the prepubescent, undersized, and frightened junior high school (now middle school) person I was. We managed things face-2-face with those around us. I did not have to worry that what happened in school would be broadcast far and wide. I was rocked to my core as I read about and watched the video of a 14-year-old girl pummeled in her school halls, and subsequently committed suicide. Certainly, there are many pieces unknown; undoubtedly, the number of levels this story is tragic or wrong are legion. I have since listened to the clips of a school board meeting where parents and students seem to indicate this sort of behavior is commonplace at this New Jersey district. I think there is more of a connection between our technology-laden existence and this tragedy than we are willing to consider. Let me offer a couple of observations. When you text someone in the house rather than call out to them or even walk up the stairs to speak with them: stop it. When you are in the same hall, the same house, the same building (within a bit of reason), go to the person rather than text, snap, or TikTok them. The importance of communicating face-2-face seems to continually lose its value, but that is an incredible mistake. As I tell my students, we are more connected now than ever before and simultaneously more isolated, and the past three years have only complicated that reality. From quarantines and isolation, from closed schools and businesses, my students admit they do not know how to interact with each other, even in class. They lament the fear they feel when required to be in a class or a social situation. Even as I write this, my brain is filled with ideas and concerns.

Those who know me well know that I am not against technology, and for the most part, I embrace it; but what have we created and what are the consequences? It is not by accident that two of my blogs lately have posted on technology. I am wise enough to know that it is not going backwards. As I write this a few days later after its inception, banks have failed, questions about how we manage our lives, things like AI and Chat GPT are on the minds of students and professors alike. Daily I read something about the consequences and concerns of this newest technology that will affect the masses. For those unaware, Chat GPT is an open source AI software (more than software I believe) that creates “a language model [and is] developed by OpenAI, [which is capable of] . . . respond[ing] to text-based queries and generat[ing] natural language . . . ” (chatgpt.org, 13March23). The concern about this ability is palpable. And yet, we should be afraid of it . . . fear generates anger, and anger generates rejection. We cannot merely reject technology because we are not sure what it will do. We cannot unplug from the world we have created. That is the verity of where we are, but is there a way we can manage it more thoughtfully? Too often it seems we have shiny object syndrome (and that is an SOS), chasing after whatever comes believe it is some panacea. I do believe what we have accomplished in the area of education has been primarily positive; however, I am willing to admit there have been unexpected consequences that have created pain, often straining the ability to achieve the outcomes that serve both student and professor most efficiently. For the most part, that efficiency, that effectiveness, is hampered by our willingness to no longer communicate effectively. When I ask students to come and see me during office hours, too often that invitation is interpreted as merely that, an invitation, something they can RSVP to or ignore. I do not believe they are impertinent; and, conversely, I believe most of them are good people, but they do not know how to be a student. That is an incredible statement, particularly in this country where being a student is what they do for 14 of the first 18 years of their lives. In my conversations with colleagues, it is apparent that my view is not unique to me. There is a great deal that makes us social animals, and the importance of our ability to socialize has been severely hampered by the limitations placed on us by COVID.

Before you think I am against all of those restrictions, I am not. On the other hand, it is possible we made mistakes individually, as a country, or as a globe . . . there is no doubt that is the case, but we did not know what to do. As I think about our world three years ago, we were stunned by what occurred in a very short period of time. We were stunned by the idea of being isolated, masked, locked-down, afraid to go anywhere. And yet, our government did what they believed best. The number of articles I have read in the last two weeks about consequence all have something in common. We perhaps went too far . . . we perhaps still needed to do much of what we did, but perhaps for not as long . . . we still do not have it all figured out. The world is different as a result. Technology and its effect on our life is much more profound than we might have anticipated. There is so much more we will continue to realize as we analyze what the global response to COVID was. It is my hope that we learn for the next time. There will be a next time; I believe this with all my heart and head.

In the meantime, I wonder what we will be as a society. I wonder how we will continue to integrate technology or it will begin to integrate us, perhaps. I wonder who we will understand the world to be as we are affected by the technology we use and develop. Perhaps the Styx song from 1983, Mr. Roboto. The song caused significant controversy when it was released, and its intention was the topic of a great deal of conversation. Perhaps it was more prophetic than we want to realize.

Thank you for reading, and I hope all is well.

Dr. Martin

Hello from Starbucks at the Library,

As I sit in my corner, when I look up all I see is students waiting for their morning caffeine. Certainly, I am not one to argue one’s intake and their need for caffeine, particularly earlier in my life (I remember too many late nights in Perkins during my seminary years). I have limited my intake of coffee or other caffeinated beverages for some time, and my sleep process has been much more consistent over the last two years, mostly since I moved into the Mini-Acre. I do still hold office hours in Starbucks one morning a week, and I think my students generally appreciate that opportunity to meet on the Quad versus my office, though I get compliments about my office also.

Since returning from Central and South America during the holidays, I have been rethinking my retirement process, project, and the idea of what I want pretty extensively. What is reasonable? That is an unanswerable question at some level. The idea of reasonable is a moving target, even when who you are considering is constant. If you are looking at multiple entities, understanding reasonable is nigh impossible. Perhaps my hesitancy is parallel to one’s cold feet prenuptial. Perhaps it is as much about never feeling prepared, feeling stable enough; believing I can manage anything that might occur, landing on my feet regardless the circumstance.

If I step back and look at the reality of being able to imagine the variables of a decade plus, that is a tall order, even in the best circumstances. I would not have expected it of my younger self, but perhaps therein lies the problem. I did not plan well enough. I did not imagine the possibilities. And yet am I merely speaking about a revision or it is something more? As I ponder this idea my thoughts go back to my teaching, and one element of my teaching, which is being a compositionist. One of the most difficult concepts for most writers (and student writers) to practice is revision. Revision is a global process that requires a writer to step back and reimagine their paper. It means one needs to restructure and literally re-vision their paper, reconsidering purpose, audience, and adding or throwing things away. When my students hear they might need to throw something away, they are stunned. I work carefully to help them realize that revision is about improvement.

I also work diligently to help them realize they revise their lives more than they know. When they decide to transfer from one university to another; when they decide to change their major or area of study (and sometimes quite drastically); even when they breakup with someone, they have chosen to revise their life. I could carry this metaphor even farther when arguing perhaps those paper revisions are not as clearly thought through as carefully as they should be, and, in fact, many times student do not know how to approach revision. The same is true when it comes to revising life. We sometimes fail; we fall down unexpectedly, and we are not sure how to get up. I think of two particularly painful moments in my life. The first is sort of a two-part event. I did not manage a situation well with a former spouse, and the consequences of our inability to work through a death, the reality of my own health situation, and the actions of my own family would result in my losing my ordination. The snowball effect of all of that almost crushed me. There were some dark days. While I had something to hold on to in that moment, even that was uncertain. The second incident was when I had to move from Wisconsin back to Pennsylvania. Leaving Lydia, whom I had promised to care for, and knowing that change would be incredibly stressful for us both, caused tremendous guilt and fear.

While there is significantly more one could write about in each situation, the point is each event would cause significant revision, profound reimagining, and unexpected reconsideration of both my life and my ability. I am not aware of anyone who has not be had something unforeseen occur, some perhaps mind boggling event that flew out of left field, knocking the sense of what was planned into oblivion. Sometimes it’s not that plans fall apart; it’s more there was no plan from the outset. That reality characterizes my life more often than not, and yet, as important as the truth in that statement, is asking the question why? I believe it returns me to that foundational, underlying, aspect of my childhood, the feeling of never knowing who I was, of where I belonged. I believe now to reimagine something is always possible, but to believe the revision, the reconstruction of one’s actuality requires some sense of knowing what the revision will do. This is not to say some new path will not unfold, will not occur, but rather there is no clear vision or goal. The goal is often change for the sake of change. Additionally, this view is not necessarily some pejorative sense of said process, but rather it cannot be cast in some pollyannaish alls-well-that-ends-well. In fact, it is precisely that in-between place of neither positive or negative, and as such flys in the face of our Western dualism.

One of my graduate school mentors tells me regularly that they’re astounded by both my resilience and my optimism. I wonder about this assessment because I am not always sure about this supposed idealism or elation; is it something feigned or is it some perceived positivity? Even as I compose this at 4:20 in the morning, I am unsure. What I am sure of is my determination to continue on, hoping to do something to make life fuller, happier, and more meaningful. It is perhaps that resolve, that certain implicity (is that a word? Am I allowed to coin it if it isn’t?) that pushes me forward, even in the midst of uncertainty. That would be my supposed optimism (the very thing my mentor believes about me) working its magic. I would like to simply leave it at that, but that would be too easy. So, remembering the inquisitional aspect of one of my counselors, who asked in a very first meeting, “[d]o you do anything the easy way?” I find myself wondering if my optimism is simply cosmetic (returning to a recent post’s thematic concern). I can see one particular person reading and relating to this more than I wish they might. Perhaps it is something different; just possibly it is still continuing attempt to figure out where I belong, where I will find contentment, or in a more profoundly, existential way, where I can accept God’s grace. What’s a much more significant question then I expected to come out of this missive. Once again, I am standing in Parnassus, 2/3s of my life ago, listening to and standing before the all-knowing gaze of “The Pope.” Much like my own father, he continued to remind me of what seem to be important truths, “as immutable as gravity,” to use a line from a recent movie.

So perhaps my penchant for revision is merely my way of trying to find my individual path, my infamous destiny, if you will. I have often compared my life to the cartoon, Family Circus. I am so much the little boy trying to get from Point A to Point B. And along the way I’ve been distracted. Some of those distractions, as significant as they were (and perhaps still are) filled in a significant number of squares to my personal quilt, my own technicolored dreamcoat. I am certainly not Joseph, though I might have some aspects of him. Some of those iterations in my path were ill-advised, but to use the words of John Ylvisaker’s amazing hymn, “I rushed off to find where demons dwell.” And praise to God for omnipresent protection, I survived. Perhaps my reality is life is revision; it is reimagining. Perhaps the lack of a foundation provided my openness to possibilities. As I have written in my own Google map/memoir, “life has been unpredictable and never boring.” Falling down is inevitable, but getting up is not. Resilience is the power that allows me to get up. Hope is my revision.

Thank you as always for reading.

Dr. Martin