thewritingprofessor55

Dzień dobry z UJ i Krakowie.

Yesterday I took two parts of a final exam at the end of an intensive Polish course. We crammed about 15 weeks into 17 days and I will be honest, my head is swimming. This morning, after a significant nap yesterday and a pretty substantive night of sleep I can see patterns for adjectives and nouns that yesterday were no where to be found in my head. I have realized a couple of things about my learning pattern as a 60+ person that I am not sure I realized or struggled with as a 29 year old the last time I did an intensive language program. I also better know what I believe is necessary to learn such a different language now. While I understand the grammar quite well, at least in terms of requirements and patterns, understanding the philology of Polish or Slavic languages is another issue. Yet I would not trade this past month for all the złoty I could fit in my pocket. This last month was the first focused part of a plan to come and teach in Poland in two years. There will be more pieces to that learning puzzle and it will take more concentrated work during the in-between period of time. The next two summers will require my residence here in Kraków for 6 weeks, but it is my hope to be through level B2 by the time I would be here. I will here this phrase “krok po kroku” in the voice of Dominika for the rest of my living days. That voice with her infatigable excitement and genuine passion for teaching Polish is something that will draw you in and make you want to learn. When you are tired or your brain wants to stop, she will pick you back up. Beata goes about it differently. She is steady, calm, and pushes you when you might not realize she is pushing. I told them yesterday that together they were the ideal pair for beginning learners. Their strengths compliment each other well and a month later I am genuinely grateful to both of them for all I leaned. I know that it has not even begin to really sink in how much I learned. Their integration of listening in class, speaking to us 95% of the time in Polish, our field trips through the park where we had to ask questions, our scavenger hunt of sorts from the university to Kazimierz, their beginning questions and the intermediate two exams created an impressive learning environment, but more importantly, an effective one. As an older learner, there were advantages and disadvantages. I realized I needed the listening and pronunciation sessions more than I anticipated. That is where not living in the dorm took it’s toll. I did add a pronunciation tutoring session, but I should have done it from the beginning. There were three students in particular who were phenomenally impressive. The one, a linguistics student from Wisconsin, blew everyone away with a 99% average for the summer, and he walked in with no Polish. His roommate, who I was fortunate enough to do my oral section of my final with, and I believe has a Polish parent, was also outstanding. The third student, a graduate student at Harvard, and who has an extensive Yiddish background, really mastered things. Her note taking and study habits were impeccable. What is most impressive is we did not lose a single student in either beginner section. That is a testament to how well the course is managed in spite of the intensity. I also learned that some of the sounds in Cantonese are closer to Polish than in our English language, so often the students from Hong Kong had less problems with pronunciation than the American students.

As I am finishing my month in Kraków, the memories from this summer will last a life time. While I have found Kraków beautiful around the holidays with the Christmas market and the snow-covered trees and roofs, it does not hold a Christmas candle to the beauty of the river, the flowers, and the atmosphere of the summer. It does get warm, at times quite humid, and an umbrella is a must, but nonetheless walking among the tourists and the multitude of languages is a cultural experience in and of itself. While I certainly have gotten some walking in when I was here with students, the number of Kilometers or miles walked in the last month is probably more than I walk the rest of the year. Something I plan to change when I return to Bloomsburg tomorrow. There is also something about having to walk to the grocery store every couple days and all the meat must be used in 24-36 hours (except for kielbasa or bacon). The fruit and vegetable markets are wonderful. As I walked an average of 6-7 miles a day I took the time to notice things I would have never noticed on the tram. In thirty days, I took my first Uber out to a nearby town to have lunch with Kasia and the other evening I did take the tram back to the city center because it was raining and I had my final documents from the class. Fortunately, when I got to Teatr Bagatela the rain had stopped and I was able to walk home.

. . . It is now Thursday and I am down to less than 24 hours before I am on the on the plane in Kraków z Warszawa z JFK. I packed some things this morning trying to figure out if I am overweight, and it is possible. I might decide to leave somethings with Kate and then I will have to pack less, or I might go to the post office and purchase a small box and send some things. I have a few hours to decide. I have learned that like in the United States most servers are college students trying to make money during the summer. Today I met a new student who has a great command of English with almost no accent. She wants to become a translator. Her name is Kamila. I am always intrigued by people’s stories. I guess the concept of storytelling has been something that I have found helpful, regardless of which side I am on, listening or telling. Stories identify and help us create identity. The longer we live the more complex, and hopefully, interesting the story becomes. It really is a fundamental part of who we are. I have realized through the years that whether it was a sermon when I was a pastor or when I am trying to make a concept clear in classes today, I resort to telling a story I hope will explain what I am trying to teach more effectively. Not long ago (within the last 6 weeks), I participated in a former colleague’s podcast, telling my story of living with Crohn’s Disease. As I return to America, I have new stories and the experiences of the last month has certainly done something significant in my understanding yet again who I am (smiling as I write this because I am in the airport in Kraków and listening to the Eagles and “Hotel California.” Seems ironic on more than one level. As I listen to the announcements here, I can now understand them in two languages. That was not the case four weeks ago.

Reading the news today, I realize that President Trump was in my neighborhood last night. I am afraid that I am content I was not around to witness the hub-bub that accompanies such visits. Nor did I have to listen to him support a U.S. Representative who has failed to meet even once in a town hall style meeting during the entire time he has “served” as our Representative. It had been an interesting morning in that I have noted things in Polish, texted a former Dana classmate who is currently living in Norway, and spoken to my winemaker friend from California, who is with his family in Italy for the coming year. Astounding what we can do.

Seems I might have to leave my phone on as I am unable to save the work I have done on this blog because it noted an error while saving. Now it is in a loop. I have decided to plug in a bit until our flight departs, which is a bit longer than anticipated because of a short delay. Fortunately I do not have a quick turn around time in Warsaw. It is a beautiful day. I am still stunned by how early it is light here in the morning. It is before 5:00 a.m. and, in fact, when I first arrived it seemed closer to 4:00. Now it is certainly closer to 5:00, but that is so early compared to Pennsylvania. I was up before 5:00 this morning and had everything managed well before my 7:30 Uber time. Well it seems as I ready myself to board the plane, indeed, there might be a chapter closing, but I prefer to see it as the prelude to a much longer chapter just beginning. Thank you to Katarzyna (both of them) for meeting with me, as it was wonderful to see you again. To the second or newer one for being an impeccable host. I will see both of you in December. To Tomasz for being a wonderful flat-mate for a few days or David for 10 days. To Anna for taking time to have dinner with me and help me with my Polish and to spend an evening chatting. To the newest people I have been blessed to meet: Beata i Dominika, for your great instruction. To Andrzej, Nataly, Kamila, and Lublana (sp) all at Urban Garden. To Mariusz at Costa and Dr. Martyniuk and Dr. Prizel-Kania. I am grateful to you all for making the month something beyond my most hopeful imagination. What a wonderful reality it has been. It is time to fly. The picture is of two of the Urban Garden servers.

Thank you for reading.

Michał

Hello from Kraków, Poland,

I am sure you are now convinced by my salutation that I must surely be on a vacation to the EU, eating more than my share of pierogis and drinking Polish vodka. Well, one of the three is correct. I am doing my level best to consume as many kinds of pierogis as possible, but when I am not doing that, I am taking an intensive Polish language class by the immersion method: four hours a day in class and five days a week including a four hour class this past Saturday. Therefore, with the exception of a couple of glasses of wine in the first two weeks, pije nie wódkę (and my instructor would be proud that I remembered to use the accusative case that changes for feminine nouns).

Why? you might ask would I choose to take an immersion class in Polish when I have no Polish heritage? Why would I choose to spend 4 weeks cramming in a language that is probably harder to pronounce than any language I have taken (and I have taken five not counting this one). I am not a language and cultures professor; I am an English professor, who directs a Professional Writing and Digital Rhetoric program. While there is certainly a personal interest in all of this, it is a step in a long-term research project that I am intent on doing.

One of my research areas, which began in graduate school and continued when I taught in Wisconsin, is to understand how technology affects the writing process. I am indebted to Dr. Cindy Selfe and later to Dr. Daniel Riordan for sparking this interest for me. The past four years I have traveled with a number of students in a Study Abroad program to Jagiellonian University, where I have been fortunate to meet a number of scholars here. The Director of the School of Polish Language and Culture has graciously invited me to teach here for a semester, or possibly even a year. While I would teach my classes in English, being competent enough to speak with my students in Polish as well as make my way around the city in daily situations using the native language would certainly be appropriate.

What would I research and what might I teach? First, my research question is related to technology and the differences one finds between the United States and most other countries, but in this case, specifically Poland. Second, experience in my travels here have demonstrated there are differences in how technology is used in the classroom. It has raised questions: are the differences determined infra-structurally? If not, are there pedagogical choices or reasons, and again if so what are the consequences? Another question concerns how we prepare students who might be traveling either direction? These are questions that will require time and commitment in my Bloomsburg classrooms as well as preparation for my eventual residency in Kraków. The classes being proposed are things I also teach in Bloomsburg: Writing for the Internet and Writing for Multiple Media.

As noted, my classes will be taught in English. Yet I am not in front of students all day and I need to make my way through a daily life while living here. In addition, it would certainly behoove me to be able to converse with my students in their own language. Those are two reasons for beginning my Polish studies, studies that will need to be incorporated into my life on a regular basis for the next two years. This means I will hope to improve those skills even after returning in August and continue to increase my fluency before a second and perhaps third immersion class, all before I would begin. While I am here I see small evidence of progress daily, and yet I can say today was a kind of “hit-the-wall” day. By the end of today’s four hour class, I felt like my head was going to explode. Amazing what an afternoon nap did. I am going to spend a couple hours on Rosetta Stone this evening to help my struggling pronunciation. Tomorrow will me a day-long study session and Sunday will be a small break to visit a friend, who lives here outside Kraków. Then in the afternoon I will be back at it. I want to be completely prepared for Monday’s exam. Yes, I have to do exactly what I tell my students. I need to work at it regularly, intentionally, and seriously. So am I on vacation? I guess it depends on your definition of vacation. I am busy studying; I am thoroughly engaged in learning this new language. Yes, I am in an incredibly historical and beautiful city on the Wistula River. Walking two miles each way to and from class each day is an experience in and of itself. Today I heard five languages spoken in less than 50 meters. So I am vacationing. More importantly, I am involved in preparing for my classes, engaging in my scholarship, and expanding the reach of what we do as professors teaching at a PASSHE university. I am proud of what we do. I am proud to represent my department, my college, my university and our system.

Cześć,

Dr. Michael Martin

Hello from the corner chair,

I have a lovely chair in the corner of my room. I think I should probably spend more time here than I do. It is a comfortable place and it has wonderful lighting, especially in the morning when the sun comes streaming into the bedroom windows. It is a chair I can sit and rest and ponder in. My room, while the largest of the three upstairs rooms is not in anywhere really huge, but it is a decent size to not feel confined or cluttered. The walls are a sort of medium dark sage color and the color makes the space quite welcoming. The chair is a padded somewhat high back chair with just enough space to sort of lean back. There are times I believe a small footstool might make things more comfortable, but I am not sure if I want to add anymore pieces to the room. Perhaps you ask why I might focus such energy on a simple corner chair in my room, but it is about realizing what makes us feel comfortable or safe.

One of the things I have spent a lot of time trying to do with my spaces is make them comfortable, inviting, or safe. I think there are many reasons for that, but most of all it was because I struggled for a sense of safety as I grew up. I have spoken (or more accurately written) about that in various posts, but even in my office at school students, colleagues, and others have commented that walking into my office is like walking into someone’s living room. As I look at some of the various artifacts, coffee cups from various countries, books from various times in my life, art pieces from places I have lived or collected, each thing tells a story. From travels to places lived, every item has meaning and significance. Each time I look at a particular item adorning my office space or my home I am taken back to that page. Sometimes the memory is about a brief moment or merely a day. Other times it is about a year or more, a significant time of growth and change in who I was and would become.

I think perhaps the most interesting think I now realize is I am not sure I have ever had a sense of who I would become. It has more often been about who I am in the moment, and how might I become something more, something better, someone more helpful, more able to make a difference. I am trying to imagine what the past four or five years have accomplished. I know I have seemed to finally catch up with what I imagine life is for someone my age and where I have imagined (for whatever that is worth) should be. The where here is not about location as much as it is about a sort of proverbial having my ducks-in-a-row. One may ask, and rightly so I might add, why it took me so long. I tease on one level that I am a slow learner. I have also noted, and my good friends, Lee and Judy, can attest to this, that I am not one to go about things in the generally regular manner. Those two things have made my life interesting to say the least. In addition, there are two other things that created a somewhat different trajectory for my getting from point A to B. I think having no children of my own certainly keep me from needing to assume that mindset or responsibility that someone else’s life took priority over mine. There are both the evident and not so evident consequences of that for me. The second is managing the health concerns that seem now to have been part of my entire life. I certainly had symptoms as a child, but did not know that my seemingly ever present canker sores in elementary school or before were the harbinger of something much more serious. Along with being profoundly premature, underweight, I imagine bordering on being a probable victim of malnutrition my first two years of life all played a significant part in my underdeveloped immune system and being a poster child for developing an IBD, or in my case Crohn’s.

While I have attempted in the past to measure my life and experience by decade, I think there is a different way, a sort of episodic division. Yet, that requires a sort of recollection that tries to make sense of a life that often seems nonsensical. Yet, here is my attempt. The nonsensical part of my life begins at birth. How and why am I still here? Weighing a mere 17 ounces at birth is extraordinary even now in a world of NICs and of advanced medicine. When I was born there were incubators. There was little understanding of things like prenatal vitamins, fetal alcohol syndrome, or the consequence of smoking during pregnancy. In fact, I was born when thalidomide was used for morning sickness, so I am fortunate to have avoided that possibility. A mother who was 15 at conception had little understanding of what she was in for, and probably little understanding of the consequence of multiple pregnancies before she was 19. This was following by cross-country treks and an eventual removal from the birth home for my sister and me before I was 2. The next three years included the death of my paternal grandfather, who served as my surrogate father, shortly before I was three and the alcoholism of my grandmother who now had two small children, a business, and facing all of it as a widow in her mid 40s. That would lead to another home before I was 5, albeit to a distant relative, and that new home would have even more consequence for the person I would become.

I believe my life with the Martin household has had more profound denouement and import than I am capable of understanding even today. While that might sound a bit ominous, and there are certainly elements of that ominicity, not all the results of growing up in the two houses in Riverside were negative. In fact, let me begin with the positive. I know that Harry and Bernice, the Martins wanted my sister and I to feel safe. They wanted us to have an expectation, some guarantee, of a place that would be there daily, monthly, yearly. This was important because up to that point we did not have that experience, and whether we could articulate such a need as a four and three year old, I am sure there was more apparent in our actions and responses than we realized. As noted in other blogs, receiving private music lessons, singing in various choirs and other options like attending summer and winter children’s theatre workshops offered me both socialization, but an appreciation for the arts that continues to this day. While some of my struggles with my upbringing have been written about at length, I would like to focus on the positive things that have come out of my being adopted. While I also do want to disparage my younger half siblings, I know my adoption offered me opportunities they did not have, from everyday schooling to going beyond. Certainly my parents did not understand what it meant to prepare me for going to college, at least they understood and encouraged its relevance for a contributing to a better or more opportunity-filled life. I am quite sure I have not always pictured my growing years in this way.

The next episode is probably a relatively short one in the picture of a three score plus soon to be three years, but it was a time of gut-wrenching reality checks. It was the period that includes my time in the service and my floundering around afterwards until I ended up on a Lutheran Youth Encounter team and then enrolled as a student at Dana College. During that time I was a poster boy for impressive success and astounding failure. There was little in between. I listened to very few and ignored the wise counsel of most. I drank too much; I smoked an unbelievable amount of pot; and I ignored people who had been my foundation for all my life, most importantly my grandmother. I went to and dropped out (got kicked out) of college. I should have or could have ended up dead more than once, and most importantly, I was forced to face the loss of people I loved, and for which I was totally unprepared. I did well in the military, but came to understand that military life was too regimented, not because of the routine, but because I saw too many Staff NCOs who could not seem to think for themselves. I wanted to use my brain more than what I deemed possible as an enlisted Marine. Do not get me wrong; I do not regret being in the service and it still serves me well to this day. Yet, I needed more. Yet out of the service, I had no structure and seemed to discard most of the discipline I had learned. I must give credit to a few people for seeing me through that time. First, it was my sister-in-law, Carolyn, who had her own struggles of trying to parent three small children as a 25 year old widow. To this day I am grateful to her. Second is a family, and each of them played a significant role in my survival, though they did not realize it at the time. The Peters family had come to Riverside from Germany, though there were NW Iowa roots. Fred was called to be the pastor of my home congregation. He ended up being called upon in more ways than one to be my surrogate father, and he did that task marvelously. Ruth, his wife, was a force to be reckoned within her own right, and she probably did me more good than I ever realized. She had more of my respect than perhaps anyone I ever met. David become an important friend and even though I was older, his ability and intelligence inspired me. His friendship sustained me then and his presence remains in my life until this day. Barb is the one I was the closest to in terms of personality and demeanor. I am not sure I always realized that. She was smart, funny, talented, and simply gorgeous. She was the first person I ever loved, but I had no idea how to be a boyfriend. Much happened, though not as much as some might have believed, but I know that to this very day she will always be that first-love person. I have been richly blessed that we are Facebook friends after all of these years. The third person is actually a second cousin, Diane, who had a profound effect on my making a choice to clean up my life. They were in Sioux City and a Sunday meal which turned into an amazing friendship and spending time with all of the Wiggs that would change my life in many ways. If it were not for Carolyn and the Peters family and Diane, only God knows what might have happened.

A year of travel and the meeting of four others and the staying with amazing host families still influences me today (the mention of Lee and Judy above).

I think the next episode would have to be my formal post-secondary education that has gone beyond what I ever expected, but it has both changed and become my life. I think I will save that. As I write this I am in Kraków, Poland taking an intensive four-week Polish course and I need to study for the remainder of the day. So I will sign off and pick up again soon. There is so much it seems as I reflect on even the significant things.

As always, thank you for reading.

Michael

Sent from my iPad

Hello on a Father’s Day morning,

Yesterday I was out on the Harley riding to a college graduation party of one of my traveling students. She was on the Poland trip 2 1/2 years ago. I took the scenic route, or what the GPS on the Harley calls the twisty route.

Somehow the last 24 hours have been a walk down memory lane of sorts. As I followed a spotless white 70 Gran Torino, with chrome dual-exhaust, glass packs, and raised-white-letter tires, my on ride yesterday I also passed a functioning drive-in. What a throwback in time. My thoughts moved both to Clint Eastwood’s classic movie from a decade ago and memories of my 71 Chevelle that my father once lamented that we was not sure what was worse, the mufflers or the music. My memories of the drive in included those Friday or Saturday nights as a small child where we went to the screenings with our jammies on so when we fell asleep before leaving, my parents could tuck us in with much less hassle. I remember my going to the drive in when I could drive myself and having a much different experience than when I was a child. Somehow, I did not want to be in the front row or by the snack bar, contrary to the sketch by Cheech and Chong (how many of your remember that piece?).

It is often noted that life was simpler then? Was it? What constitutes a simpler life? That is a phrase I hear often: things were simpler then. I am not so sure there is truth in a comprehensive sort of way, but I do think we might have imagined a simpler possibility because we were more focused on our own personal, parochial, localized vision of our world. Going to the drive-in was great entertainment and it did not cost you that much. You could bring your own snacks and pay no more than the price of an entrance fee, which was determined by car and not the number of people, at least, I think that is how it was. The price of a gallon of gas in 1970 was .36 cents a gallon (before you flip, if you adjust for inflation, it is about 2.19 per gallon, so it was not that much cheaper and mileage of less than l0/gallon might get you to rethink that. I am always a bit shocked by the incessant need of many people to return to their youth, or even their younger days, and I do believe those are separate wishes. I would not want to be 13 or 14 for any amount of money offered. Those who knew me then know I was one of the smallest, if not thee smallest, for my age. That certainly had some drawbacks. What I would say is I was probably bullied, but I did not really feel that way at the time. I certainly received my share of teasing and being sort of physically tossed around because of my size. People did not really hurt me, though I ended up in more than one embarrassing situation from time to time. The second option noted would merely allow me to experience some of the nostalgic things, but not be that difficult age. That is why I have included the list that is the title of this post.

Cars were a significant part of most 16 year old’s world, certainly that was the case in Northwest Iowa in the late 1960s and early 1970s. It amazes me how different the attitude toward getting a license or owning a car is today. I was stunned when a few years ago three of my graduating seniors (from college, mind you) did not have their drivers licenses. They spoke to me about job internships and how to manage transportation. I encouraged them to get a license as soon as possible. My first car was a 1964 Impala. While it was not a super sport, it did have a 327 c.i. engine and would move right along. Well enough that I receiving two speeding tickets in less than two hours. My mother was not pleased. My second car, out of the service, was a 1971 Chevelle SS with a 454 c.i. engine that could pass anything but a gas station. My pastor’s wife once asked, why I found it necessary to noise pollute the neighborhood? I do not think she liked the Chevelle that much, and she was even less pleased that I took a serious interest in her 16 year old daughter. I think it is most assuredly true that she might hold at least some small remnant of a grudge even today 40+ years later. I think what made things seemingly less convoluted is we had two ways to communicate: phone or interpersonal communication of the face-2-face variety. I think it made things much less likely to be overlapping or misinterpreted. The last on my list above was the Schwinn Stingray Apple Crate. That bike was my pride and joy. I rode it everywhere, around most of the town of 100,000. It had a back sissy bar that was higher than my head. With reflectors and other trappings, I felt pretty rachett (yes, I actually used that term). The point of most of this is simple, pun intended. To paraphrase a movie that considered this same time for me, though I would have been an elementary student, “Simple is as simple does.” It is us who choose to make our lives complicated. We take on more than we should. We create dilemmas because we find it impossible to say “no.” We clutter our existence with stuff, literally and figuratively. In each case, rather than simplifying, we confound even our best attempts at relaxation or leisure.

So are things really more difficult? We have more options to communicate and stay in touch with people who matter, but we seem more isolated and lonely than ever before. We have access to more knowledge than any generation in history, but we seem to have no idea what we know or need to know. We have, at least in the States, managed to so fragment our society that difference is believed to be wrong, and the different is observed with suspicion and disdain. Disagreement create enemies rather than debate and an increase in understanding. It is no wonder things seem more difficult. We cannot or will not attempt the most rudimentary of human attributes: to listen, to think, and to care.

For those reasons, maybe going back to when I was a senior in high school, 45 years ago might need renewed consideration. Here is a video to ask something about other things we might ponder. It seems this is becoming a very apropos song in these times.

Imagine

Thanks for reading as always,

Dr. Martin

Hello from the acre,

Today I spent some significant time at Starbucks in a neighboring town working on a couple of important things. It was a bit of a long weekend as my wonderful fragment of a GI track seemed to demand more attention than I was prepared to provide, but it won out as it usually does. It is shortly after 9:00 p.m. and I am already in bed for the night. I am quite the exciting person, let me tell you. It seems after finally getting grades turned in, and letting up a little, my body noted a reprieve and went into shutdown mode. This was a common occurrence, especially when I was an undergraduate. I remember how my mother would be so angry that I was ill most every time I came home for break. She could not comprehend that I had actually worked that hard at college, or that college could be so stressful and exhausting. She had no idea what cramming 164 credits into four years did or managing to double-major and double-minor with a 3.7 grade point required. This past year it was not the GPA or majoring or minoring, it was chairing committees and revising a complete program. It was serving on statewide committees and union events that took time. It was reimagining courses and just basic life that made things more exhausting. It is the reality that all those things first mentioned happened in my twenties and I am no longer in that decade.

That is the first part of the title coming to roost. When did those decades from 20-something to 60-something happen? Where did that time go? It is hard to believe it will be 30 years ago in a month or two that I flew to Allentown, PA to be driven to a little borough called Lehighton, Pennsylvania to interview to become one of their two pastors. I remember being told by a stately woman on the call committee I did not look my age. I remember clearly going back to graduate school at 40 to begin another Masters and eventually roll into a doctoral program. I remember being in Wisconsin and having a 50th birthday where I celebrated both a decade and a dissertation. How did it happen that I am an age where retirement is a reasonable conversation? Well, I guess it is all the things above. Certainly some of that aging is because of the Crohn’s and the substantial and frequent complications that have necessitated more surgeries and other care I would rather forget than remember.

Along the way there have been people come in and out of my life, much as anyone else’s life, some by choice (both mine and theirs), some by change of location, and some because circumstances change and the reasons for holding on seemed too much of an effort to exert. There is another group who have taught me a difficult but important, lesson in trust, and that consequence has made my life somewhat difficult, but I am hoping to overcome that difficulty as quickly as possible. It has taught me an unequalled understanding of too many people’s commitment to their word. The lesson has been painful on a number of levels, but I will figure it out. Some of that will require sacrifice on my part, but again, it’s manageable. As I move into a sort of new phase of my life, I am reminded daily of how blessed I am.

Over the past almost 20 years, I have found that being single has had a number of benefits. Being single and never having my own children has also had benefits, and some sense of loss from time to time also. As I move into this new phase of imagining something new on a number of levels, there is both excitement and fear. I think that is always how it goes. I have spent a good part of my life, and long before these last two decades, trying to control the variables. I have been successful at times and failed miserably at perhaps as many moments. I am reminded of the words of a counselor I had all through graduate school at MTU. I owe my life to him. He was probably the one single person who did more to keep me going than any other person in my entire life. He and I spoke often about the seeming unending tension between my personal and professional lives. I use the plural intentionally. It is hard to believe I left Houghton 15 years ago and how much has happened in that time.

What stuns me even more at this point is how a happen-chance meeting on a sidewalk has so profoundly affected my life now. That is the third part of my question in the title? What just happened, or more accurately, what is happening? While I have mentioned being married (and it is twice for those counting), and I have at times noted some interactions with them as a sort of tangential topic from time to time, I say very little about them. While there are a myriad of reasons for that, suffice it to say, I learned a lot from those times in my life. In addition, I must surely shoulder some blame for the failure in each relationship. I think what I have learned most profoundly is what I could or should have done differently as well as taking accountability for my part in those failures. What I also know is I have tried my best, for a great deal of this 18 year period, to take as few chances as possible. The one chance taken was not a mistake and I learned some valuable lessons yet again. I think the past 18 years have provided an opportunity for me to learn a great deal as I have watched others. It has provided me an opportunity to reflect and analyze both who I am and what I value in a significant other, if you will. I think I would be a much better pastoral counselor today than I was 30 years ago. I think I would be a much better spouse than I could have hoped to be earlier in my life . . . and it is not rocket science . . . in fact far from it. Communicate with the other, trust the other, and never ever lie, even little white lies, to the other. I know I failed at all three of these things in my previous marriages. That is nothing of which I am proud, but I need to be honest. I have always struggled to admit my failures and my mistakes because they so devastated me. I was both embarrassed and felt unworthy, regardless the degree or level of failure. I was too afraid to lay it all out there, which is so foolish. During the last 6 months or so, I have been blessed to be able to change that. During the fall, I made a decision to let a number of situations that caused me a lot of stress to go by the wayside. There is certainly a consequence in making that decision, but my heart feels better by doing so. I have to thank another perchance meeting of a colleague on a Friday afternoon for helping me achieve that. While her conversation was about one specific mutual former student, I did it for all who had the same situation. It will prompt some other changes this coming week, but again, it is all good.

What has been most amazing is how helping another has created a gift in my life that I never anticipated. Through texts, conversations, phone calls, and some driving, it seems I have stumbled upon both an academic and personality soulmate. Through sharing thoughts about assignments, readings, classes, and even food (all things that geek me out) I find myself more joyful, more content, and more capable than I have felt for many years. I am not sure what has happened, or even what is happening, but I am more able to merely take each day for what it is than I have been in anytime of my life. I have learned more about myself through the daily pondering of topics and conversations than I ever remember doing. What just happened? has been a question crossing the internal screen in my head more times than I have fingers. And , uncharacteristically, I do not need an answer. I do not need to know where or why. I am not concerned or afraid that I do not have it all figured out. The most important thing that seems to be happening is I am content with my life on a grander scale than I have been for years. Are there still issues or irritations with things I wish I could control? Yes, but they have to do with other circumstances, specifically ones alluded to in the earlier portion of this post. Most of them will be managed if I can sell the Harley. Those of you who know me, know that is a difficult pill to swallow, but that is the consequence of my deciding to let some other things go. I will survive that and it will save me both significant money each month and I will be a little safer. Almost 900 pounds cruising down the road it a lot of weight. There are some health things that make this decision more palatable also.

So as always, there is a lot happening. I will be beginning my 10th year in Bloomsburg later this summer, and so much has happened. The picture that is at the beginning of the post is a testament to some of that time. Two former students, who were once in my freshman writing classes graduated with advanced degrees over the past couple weeks. One stayed with me last fall during her pharmacy rotations, and she received her PharmD from Shenandoah University. The second, who also lived with me for a summer, received her MS in Instructional Technology. I was honored to be invited to the hooding of one and to actually hood the other. This summer I am not teaching for only the second time since arriving at the university. I plan to spend the summer working on writing articles (hopefully three), learning Polish (in an intensive language program) and spending significant time seeing where my life might go next. I am excited about all three things. I am richly blessed and I know that I can only do it all one day at a time.

As always, thanks for reading.

Michael

I need to take a walk before I get caught up in this little writing project. It is gorgeous outside and a perfect day of sun, little wind, and a moderate temperature that makes you want to lie in a hammock and do your best Rip Van Winkle impersonation. The past few days have been a veritable smorgasbord of experiences with weather from exceedingly gorgeous, a monsoon for COLA graduation, to sufferingly humid to London type fog and drizzle. I am currently sitting at a table waiting for an Amtrak to take me to Philadelphia, where I will catch a ride and get back to Bloom about 11:00 this evening. I plan to do work on the train. This is a somewhat first experience for me because I have not been on a train since 1994, and that was from LA to San Diego. I have some grading to do, but I am hopeful I can complete it today. . .  Not as much done on a blog as I would have liked, mostly because I was trying to manage some other technological issues and that was not as successful as I might have hoped. Today, which is now Tuesday, feels like Monday and I am trying to manage my grading completion, a workshop at noon and other handy things that are on my plate. Seems I have more irons in the fire than fire, but it will get done.

Over the last few days, like many of my colleagues across the nation, we have been grading, commenting, and trying to finish up a semester and another academic year. I am sure I am not speaking only for myself when I say that I am continually amazed by an increasing number of students who believe that merely coming to class and sitting in their seat most of the time constitutes participating in class and that they are engaged in the class. I am pretty sure I am not speaking only for myself when I say that many students read only a minimal percentage of the reading, the course content in the course delivery tool, or even the syllabus, but they want you to respond to them as if they are an engaged, critically thinking, or thoroughly analyzing student in your class. Finally, I am pretty sure that I am not the only person who wonders why are these basically good people willing to spend someone’s hard earned money as they sit lackadaisically hour after hour both in class and in their room more interested in their phone, the latest story additions on Snap, or posting something of great importance on Instagram. That is a really profound way to invest the 100,000.00 they will send for their Bachelor’s degree. And then, of course, as grades will be released today, I will get emails or phone calls, texts or tweets asking why they did not get the grade they need. Somehow they need an A. This past week I met with a student who is an advisee. He has managed to accumulate 89 credits (which is one credit short of being a senior), but is not really close to where he needs to be to be able to enroll in the specific program he had decided to pursue. Doing some thoughtful and careful analysis of a transcript and after a few questions, I asked the student, honestly and carefully, “Why are you in college? What do you want to do?” To his credit, he responded, ” I am not really sure what I want to do or why I am here.” This is after about 3+ years of course work. He noted that his father wanted him to have opportunities and not be like him in terms of having to break his back and knuckles at what he did everyday. First, I understand the father’s desire to have his son go beyond what the father was able to do. That is what parents do. Yet, I believe the son would have been better served, after speaking and listening, by going to a technical college and doing something with his hands and mind.

More significantly, at this point, for the son to graduate with what he hoped to do, it would take a year of classes at least, and achieving all As to get his GPA where it needed to be before he could even get into the program. In addition, if he got in, it would take two-two and a half more years to finish a degree that has very little wiggle room in terms of getting things finished. That would be three to three and a half more years another 50K minimum for an undergraduate degree that would not pay him nearly enough for the loan debt he would incur. I asked him to go home for the weekend and think about options and come back on Monday. He did and we are pursuing a different track and some different options. There are more than enough articles about the value of a college diploma, but there is certainly not enough being said about what happens when students come to college undeclared and then seem to find it so much easier to merely sleep-walk their way through that degree, hoping it all falls into place somehow. He noted that his parents were asking questions, but he did not even have anything to tell them yet. That raises an entirely different issue. What makes college worth the investment of time and money? Who decides? I believe there are some people who are not ready to come to college. Simple as that. They have no focus; they have not real plan; and they have little sense of discipline as to why they will move toward some degree in something. While some undeclared students are much more savvy about what they are doing, and, therefore, can move toward something even when they are not sure what it is, most are wasting a lot of time and money. I was such a person, and, as some know, both if you have known me throughout my life or have read my blog for some time, I flunked out of college the first time I tried to be a student. I was not ready, either mentally or emotionally, and it requires both. To get this student into a path that both he, I, and my department chair thinks will both serve him as well as allow him to graduate, it took phones calls, visits, reconsideration, a moving around of a number of pieces and more phone calls and pondering, but it appears to be a possibility. And even yet, that guarantees nothing. It will take specific hard work and focus on the part of the student and something he will have to do in every class for the remainder of his time at Bloomsburg. There are no promises of As or of even graduating. It takes discipline and hard work. To do less than that means you might end up here longer; you might (will) spend more money than you care to do; and finally, you will learn hard lessons about what happens when you merely think needing the A will result in the aforementioned A.

In conversations with my colleagues, I believe we have some similar ideas about how students fit into being a collegiate trying to finish a degree. Some are simply not ready to be in college. The age of 18 does not guarantee success; neither does the legal age of 21 guarantee that someone can drink responsibly. They should stay home and work for a year or two and realize how much better off having a degree might be. There is a second set of students who are just smart enough to be here, but they come from an underprivileged situation and an underprepared background, but they understand the opportunity, and while they will have to work hard to maintain, they are willing to put in the necessary effort to continue to improve. I love these students because they are passionate. They are academically often underprepared, but that is not their fault. This is a difficult group because they walk such a fine line between hanging in there and being overwhelmed. Yet, they are aware of the tremendous opportunity that is there for them should they succeed. These are the students who are the most gratifying in some way. Depending on the mission of the system and the support of the university, these students can make a significant difference in both their own life and the life of others. There were a number of these students who walked in graduation this past Saturday with a sash that said “First Generation.” These are some of those students. Most students I meet are capable students, but they still need discipline and they need to be willing to work hard. This is the majority of students, but the difficulty is they have never had to be that disciplined or work that hard. There are a lot of reasons for that, but that is for another time. The problem with many of these students is they are just lazy. My colleagues and I find them the most frustrating. They want something (everything) for nothing. These are the students to come to class unprepared. These are the students who wait until the last minute to attempt to write an assignment or a paper. These are the students who are unwilling to look beyond the obvious to understand or think about something. They are, to use my one of my closest colleague’s terms, phoning it in. They made an appearance, showed up, stared at me in class, and left without as much as a single um during the entire class. If that only happened in one class, I could chalk it up to a bad day. However, it seems they have a bad week or a bad semester, or a bad college career. Two years ago a student missed class for 6 weeks. No note, no email, no contact, but he managed to show up the last week. He noted that he had been sick for those six weeks, but he did not go to the doctor. When I told him he could not pass class and did not need to come back, he looked shocked. When I told him he could retake the course, I doubted he would, and he hasn’t

The point of this paragraph is to question the rationality of going to college. I know that might sound a bit stunning being as I teach college, but I do not believe everyone needs to go to college. I do not believe we can serve everyone well simply because they come into our classroom. There is another group of students I did not mention that I have. They are the smarter than average students who have a clear sense of why they are here and what it means to work toward a degree. These students have taken the values and the discipline they have from home and are willing to put it to work. I have met some of these students in class and I have met some of these students on the travels to Poland and the other Central and Eastern European countries I have been fortunate to travel to over the last four years. This past week, a student, who had worked very hard and was set to graduate, was involved in a tragic auto accident. It left her with a TBI and she has been rehabbing ever since. She was at graduation to receive her diploma. While there is not guarantee how things will go for her, it was a testament to her, her family, and her caregivers, that she was there. If only we could all realize how fragile we all are and how every opportunity we have – yes, even college – is a gift that should not be taken for granted. It is something to take on and work toward with every fiber of our being. For us on the other side of that blank stare, we realize more than you might know how important what we do is. Too often you think we are picking on you, being unfair to you, asking too much of you when we are not content with you turning in work that demonstrates less than you are capable of doing. We are not trying to be anything, but honest and fair. Too often, and even more so at private colleges, at State Universities, students and their parents are treated as customers. I apologize, but I do not see you as such. You come to college to be educated. That means you are learning how to think more critically than you have before. It means you are learning to analyze a situation more thoroughly than you have before, and it means you must be able to synthesize education and experience to be the best possible citizen and employee you can hope to be. Your money buys you the opportunity to of that, and that is all. What you do with that opportunity is entirely up to you. I will provide the best I can. I am human and so some days I will not be perfect, but I will admit when I need to improve and I will be honest when I have failed. I ask the same of you.

Sincerely,

Dr. Martin

Good early morning,

This might be a no sleep night if the way things are going now does not change . . . and the consequences of hydration, diuretics, and vasodilators might make the attempt to sleep a moot issue. I am seriously debating getting dressed and going back to my office. “Being of some use,” in a Homer Wellsian sort of manner makes more sense to me than lying in bed and staring at the ceiling, not to say there are not times that such a practice might be reasonable. It is just that I do not generally do so. In fact, most often when my head hits the pillow, soon afterwards, I am on another plane. There have been times in my life that I struggled to rest, like my last year of graduate school, or when I went through the divorce from Susan. I believed that I was managing things well, but I know now that was pure fiction. During both times of my life, I turned to music to calm me down and make sleeping possible. To this day, the sounds of Peter Kater and R. Carlos Nakai, in their work, Through Windows and Walls, is my go-to listening. I used it more times than I might realize in the past 17 years as my sleep aide . . . It is still the same day and I did take an hour nap or so around 5:00 this evening. The day was busy and continuous from about 7:30 this morning until I left campus around 4:15. I got quite a lot done and wrapped my head around a couple of issues, meaning I have a plan to move forward. There are still some things to ponder moving toward that hoped for end result, but time will tell.

It is hard to believe I have known for 9 years today that I would be coming to Pennsylvania for a second time. It is 30 years ago this fall I first made my trek to the Northeastern Pennsylvania Synod of the ELCA as a newly ordained pastor. Ironically, that is not that far from where I live now, but I was quite sure when I moved to Michigan to begin my life as a campus pastor and beginning academic in August of 1992, I believed there was little chance I would ever call myself a Pennsylvanian again. Now it is the state in which I have spent the longest continuous period since I graduated from high school almost 45 years ago. I remember being simultaneously excited and frightened each time I found myself packing to move to the upper middle Atlantic. The first time I knew little about what NEPA, as the acronym was offered, had in store for a 30-something year old pastor, who had not been married all that long. I learned about Pennsylvania Dutch, scrapple, and how the cold here, while much less frigid, was much more penetrating and uncomfortable. I learned and incorporated words into my own vernacular like tissues or sneakers, phrases that might include something like “did you outten the candles?” Or “are you goin’ with?” Then there was the ability with a little different voice inflection to make every statement an interrogative. In fact, there were moments in the 21 year hiatus that people would sort of both inquire and state, ” you used to live in Pennsylvania (you can insert either a period or question mark and be correct.). So certainly something in my speaking tipped them off to that fact.

As I came to Bloomsburg, there was a different fear the second time. I had somewhat failed in my previous tenure-track position. I had failed in not only the marriage that was part of my first Pennsylvania experience, but had gone through a second marriage also. The health issues that had manifested themselves completely the first time I was in Lehighton had wreaked havoc on my body in numerous ways over the ensuing two decades and I returned with a permanency that had been a temporary during my time in Lehighton twenty years before. In fact, when I had left Pennsylvania in August of 1992, what I believed to be my situation with UC was only beginning and what I really was fighting was a much more difficult and serious issue of Crohn’s. I still had much to learn and a great deal more I would have to experience. I have learned so much in the 1/2 my life where surgery has left me with a modified digestive system. I have learned about the struggle between the public and private. I have learned about how my image of myself so affects what I imagine others might think of me. I have learned some about the complexity that affects those who suffer from IBDs and how too many, even those afflicted, believe it is either a positive consequence or a negative consequence. It is so much more and exceedingly tougher.

I can honestly say that it has been both the questions and conscious support I have received in the last months that I can imagine life differently than I have imagined it for the last 18 years. While there have been some moments and one or two people who have made me feel accepted in the time period, nothing like I have felt in the more recent past. I do not believe I have ever taken a picture of myself with my ostomy, and while I have not shared it on any small or grand scale, the fact I could even consider a picture was to move beyond something that has frightened me since I first had that as a temporary companion. To actually take the picture is like move from looking at a ledge from across the room to walking up to the ledge. I know there are additional things one might consider, but both of these steps are beyond anything I had ever imagined a few short months ago. The power of image when it comes to our bodies is not a male, female, trans issue. It is a human issue. It is not a while, black, brown, or Asian issue; it is a human issue. It is not a rich, poor, educated, less-educated, extrovert, or introvert issue. It is something we struggle with from the time we can imagine other people’s response to us to when we are beyond our youthful wonderful eat-what-you-want, I-won’t-gain-an-ounce, to the middle age gravitational-reality faze (which is not gender specific) to being told I remind someone of their grandfather now period of my life. Regardless the point at which we find ourselves, we hope that we can somehow make a person take a second look. Part of that is physicality, but I believe much more of it has to do with simple desirability. We want to believe that somehow we matter in a personal, in possibly an intimate way (and there was many types of intimacy); we want to know that we can be remembered in a way that someone will value us when we are in a different place. Even after we are gone, be it metaphorically or in reality. I think every human fears being forgotten or trivialized to the place there seems to be little that can or needs be said.

I have noted this in previous blogs, and because I live a very different life than my Uncle Clare did, I do not see us in the exact same position or the same light. However, I have said on more than one occasion that I feel at times I am turning into him. I am that somewhat elderly single person, who can be curmudgeonly, who people are inviting because they do not want me to be alone. Ironically, to specifically not be like him, I have turned down some invitations at times and spent a holiday alone. Treating it much like any other day. I do not confess this to illicit sympathy, but more in the spirit of disclosure. Disclosure is always frightening. I have confronted more fears of late than almost anyone knows. Surprisingly, it has not been nearly as difficult as one might imagine, and certainly more freeing than I could have ever anticipated. Yet fear never really disappears. And fear is powerful; it is also paralyzing. Henry Ford once wrote, “One of the greatest discoveries a [human] makes, one of [the] great surprises, is to find [they] can do what [they] were afraid [they] couldn’t do.” Fear can cause us to pity ourselves and it can breed a sort of complacent comfortability creating a banal reality that robs us of a more fulfilling and meaningful life. The longer we make our excuses, the harder the change to something else becomes.

I know that I am great in justifying why I did not get around to something, complete a bit more of something, or why I merely passed up an opportunity. Somehow I find myself considering possibilities or imagining what ifs with more optimism or hope than I have in some time. While that too is a bit out of my comfort zone, and it causes me some fear, I believe imagining for once in way beyond a proverbial blue moon or even a super blue moon, seems to be better than not imagining. For the first time, it is not imagining or trying to control or steer something, but is is merely managing the moment, and it is not so much managing as it is living in it. This is not how I usually do things, so I am learning as I go along. Is there a fear of the “what if?”. You can bet the bank on it. Yet, I am not afraid. I am content. I am enjoying the hypothetical, the theoretical. Sometimes it is more enjoyable than I could have ever fathomed; in fact, it is incredibly stimulating. I am pretty simple in some ways. I was even told I was a bit innocent in a recent conversation. Not a word I would generally use, but as usual, they were (and seem often to be) correct. I actually appreciate that. There is a certain comfort in when something is offered it can be believed. Especially when in the world we watch and listen to on a daily basis is more “fake” than the faker would ever understand. Having a place of truth and honesty, while always important, seems to have even more value in our post-2016 world.

So as I finish my thoughts for the moment, I am staring down 10 days of classes left. As I do not have finals in my classes, that is it. Actually I have 9 days of actual class. I have more meetings than I can shake a stick at. I have a boatload of work in these two weeks and other things to complete and manage, but a bit of focus and I should be okay. Tonight the new and old mentors for the COB LC came to the acre for a cookout. Some are graduating, some are continuing, and some are just getting started. There is so much to learn and realize from their amazing abilities and the important and honest work they do. I am so grateful for what they teach me. They are honest in their fears and address their what ifs with a sense of purpose. Some are headed into internship summers. Some are considering more school. Some are working as they always do. Yet they move forward. It is all anyone can do. For me, these past weeks and months of moving forward has been both a bit fearful, but much more exhilarating.

Good luck with the end of the academic year, and as always, thank you for reading,

Dr. Martin