thewritingprofessor55

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)

Hello from the kitchen counter,

It is nice to experience new things, visit new places, imagine different possibilities, and then again, it is nice to be back in my own place, in the quiet of my home. As I return to Bloomsburg, my little town of 12,000 residents, it seems so removed from the world I have just traveled. It is like any place, people go about their lives, managing their daily tasks, but how often do they (or even do I) ponder the larger world around them. The demands of daily living consume our immediate attention, pushing aside the issues that should, perhaps, demand a much greater level of concern. During the past week some of those areas might include a continuing frequency of catastrophic weather events, the debating of individuals and powers at the NATO meetings in Vilnius, or daily shootings throughout the United States, regardless size or city, location within the city, or seeming irrational reason to shoot-first-ask-questions-later mentality that has become the country norm.

And yet, in spite of my raising these concerns, I too feel helpless in believing I can make much difference. And yet, I contemplate these things because of relationships, because of actual experiences in those places, and because I do have more of a gestalt understanding (thanks Thomas) of our world than I perhaps realize. For me there is both a clarity and a complexity that dialectically pulls me, like stretching my arms in two opposite directions, all the time trying to figure out which side will win. Or more likely will my body simply ache from the duress? While I was in Scandinavia, it was impossible to not feel the sort of contentment that permeates daily life. Denmark was just again voted as the happiest place on the planet. The commitment of the Norwegians to EV was stunning; I observed that many of the same brands of vehicles on the American roads are in Norway as EVs. I do realize that you are not comparing apples to apples when you are speaking about 375 million people to 6 million, but I learned about how the Norwegian government created the Government Pension Fund in 1990. Take the time to look it up on Wikipedia and see what it has done. Think if we might do such a thing here. Again, I am speaking conceptually, but might it turn our debt around, giving our children a stronger footing for their futures? The point of this is to consider the long-term viability of our world, of our country, and yes, of our individual existence.

There is an irony that the investment in or use of a petroleum asset could be something to help us out of the very thing that petroleum has created: climate change, and I can appreciate some much get disagree, but if you speak to many of my students they raise two significant concerns more readily than other. Climate change is one and our polarization as a country being a second. As someone who studies argumentation, I believe in diverse opinions; I welcome spirited debate; and I yearn for consensus. There is common ground, always, but finding it requires listening as well as speaking. Consensus is never about one side winning; it is about both sides making some progress, thereby believing and feeling some sense of accomplishment. Polarization, acrimony, and stubbornness, simply because one can has little to do with progress or working for the people. Somewhere in the midst of our current disharmonious atmosphere, it is possible we could find one clear voice, a John, the Baptist, crying in the wilderness of our broken country? What might that voice sound like or how might it effectively call out so people of all persuasions might listen? These are things I ruminate on, lay awake at night considering. I do not believe this is some simple idealism, but rather it is a matter of necessity, particularly if we are to create a more sustainable world for those who follow us.,

I do believe in progress, in the human spirit of ingenuity, but if all progress or creativity is first about the money, we have little change of sustaining an inhabitable planet. And before you think I am simply naive or foolish, let me offer an example. When I was in graduate school, I took an incredibly insightful class titled “Business and the Environment” from a brilliant professor named Dr. Christa Walck. I researched the recycling processes and costs incurred by that recycling in the Keweenaw Peninsula of Michigan. I traced collection, the transfer, and the monetary remuneration of various recyclables. What I learned was at the point of monies received, some recycling actually lost money. To be sure, that was not the case across the board, but much like various stocks on one’s portfolio, not everything ends up in the black. What I was forced to consider from my research was simple: is money the only factor to consider when deciding what to do? Too often this is what we focus upon, the free enterprise philosophy that looks to be profitable at every turn. If profit is always the first consideration, or more likely the only consideration, it seems the clear voice that shines through, in spite of our disregard, in spite of our avoidance, is greed. How much can we make versus what are the consequences of our actions. As I have pondered this post over the past week, the war in Ukraine continues to rage, and Russia has pulled out of the UN negotiated grain deal. Politics is about power; war is about power; and certainly, economics is about power; as noted in the lyrics of the Linkin Park song, “Hands Held High,” – “when the rich wage war, it’s the poor who die.” This has always been the case. Even now, in spite of our National (and for the most part global) position, many of those dying on either side of this Eastern European conflict are ordinary people. The platitudes of patriotism, and assertion of those who talk about sacrifice for the cause, or the idea of giving all – each has their rationale and their apropos place, but behind that there is a wife, a husband, a parent, a sister, a brother who mourns that loss of life. There are the questions of did it have to happen? Did that death make a difference to the cause? There is no clear singular voice able to answer those wails or cries asking for an answer. Patriotism has its place, but seldom is the pain of loss easily replaced by some belief that the end of life, the absence of one loved is validated by a sense of a meaningful death. And I say all of this as a veteran.

In the clutter of our current world it is difficult to find a quiet space where we can listen to that singular voice, the clear and simple declaration of direction. As I consider my life, there are many times I wished for that time when somehow clarity would ring forth, telling me what path to choose. Seldom, if ever, has that happened, and yet I must ask why? It is because I could not hear it or is it because I did not take the time to listen? I am not sure I have an answer, and it seems too simple to believe it is some of both. As social media permeates every nook and cranny of our lives, and as the daily concerns of AI push us to question if anything is real, where might we turn for that voice? I believe we all have that inner voice; it is the voice of self-preservation. I remember my cousin, Jim, looking at me earnestly and lovingly, admonishing me, “Take care of Michael.” He would say this to me daily. I was separated at the time, eventually to divorce, but I struggled at every turn because I still loved my wife. In spite of my failures, my missteps, I wanted to make things work. I did not blame her in spite of anything she did or said. Regardless her responses, I tried to make excuses he said. At that point, he was the voice I needed to hear. Most of my life the voice I heard were words that easily blamed myself. Indeed, I deserved some blame, but I was willing to shoulder more than was mine to carry. It seems that it often takes me a quarter of a century to figure some things out. It takes a persistence from both my world and beyond to realize how most of my life is connected by a couple of significant events. Those events have created a person who is resilient, primarily optimistic, and yet tempered by a degree of melancholy. Sometimes those voices combat each other, but it is that battle that has created the person I am. Perhaps I simply need to slow down and listen as the voices work through their ideas, their concerns, or their hopes. Can I find that one clear voice? It seems that somehow I generally do. Perhaps Peter Cetera has it figured out better than I imagined.

Thanks for reading,

Michael

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