thewritingprofessor55

A Week to Remember

Hello from the diner,

The past week we have been told by numerous prognosticators that this was a historical week. Indeed, we have had two decisions that have revealed the change in our society and how publicly attitude about very significant issues can evolve. But what makes something historical? What makes someone evolve in their opinion? What creates a groundswell that causes something to paradigmatically shift? Usually it seems to take substantive time, and for those waiting, I am sure the passage of time seemed painstakingly slow. What does surprise me on one level, and yet again when thinking more carefully, causes no surprise, was the rapid change in position among politicians and others about the Confederate Battle Flag. Amazing that one event caused such a tremendous change in our collective response. This is merely my pondering, and I realize the following statement will be controversial, but could the focus on the symbol, which is complex, be a way to take away the focus on yet another act of violence that was committed using firearms? While I am certainly aware of the mixed use of events and the rhetorical strategy of misdirection (I wrote a dissertation on it), I too am amazed at how 50 years of what seems to be an inappropriate use of the “Stars and Bars” came to such a collective “oh my, what have we done.” in barely over a week. Maybe the fact that we live in a media-driven society (and I would include social-media-driven) and the fact that our current president is black and has spoken out more publically, in spite of the disdain on some, perhaps because collectively a large enough segment of people have said, “Wait! It is time to question more vehemently!” created this perfect storm of sorts. First, and probably to the shock of some of my more conservative friends, I am not saying that the flag of General Lee’s Army of Virginia should be stricken from our collective national consciousness. Second, I am not saying that we should not allow it to be flown in places like museums or on historical places where not having it there would be disingenuous. I also know these previous statements are open to debate, but the intent is to say there is still appropriateness when this is done as a historical issue and not as a way to further an agenda of white supremacy. I also know some will argue I am asking to have my proverbial cake and eat it too. What I am trying to say is there is complexity in this issue.

The killing of nine black persons merely having a Bible study by a 21 year old, who professes such hatred and bigotry, is certainly cause for us to question that history. It is cause for us to re-examine how it is that 150 years after a war to address equality we still have so much hatred and disrespect based on little more than a difference in melanin. As I have noted, more times than I wish I needed to, why is it that we fail to appreciate or even attempt to understand the other. Again, this past week, I have both read about, and experienced personally, what I would deem to be “an unethical use of power.” In the personal situation, a small group, whom I understand are appointed to oversee speciifc issues and a solicitor again whom I imagine is hired, decided something based on hypotheticals and a pretty blatant misreading of a criteria. This seems to have been done because of their disdain for a specific group of people and how they have taken it upon themselves to be gate keepers. It mattered not what I planned to do would not include this non-grata group of individuals.

Another big issue of last week was the Supreme Court and while considered to be a conservative court, especially with John Roberts as Chief Justice, they issued two rulings that affect the fabric of our national identity in a monumental manner. I was a little shocked that they ruled on behalf of the administration concerning the Affordable Care Act. I was stunned that the vote was 6-3. The language of opportunity and right is part of this discussion. The president has noted that this judgment of the. Kurt affirms that health insurance is the right of all Americans. I am, again to the shock of my conservative friends, not totally comfortable with the use of the term “right” in this instance. I need to do more thinking or hear a better argument to convince me this is a right. I understand that was not the issue at hand in the cases before the court, but the use of that term following the decision is troubling to me. I will continue to ponder. The decision about marriage,which would have been the decision I thought might have been more likely to be beyond the 5-4 vote wasn’t. Yet, it did pass. Amazing what the roles of church and state still cause in this country. It is also interesting what people say about church and state and separation, but there is nothing in the constitution that uses that phrase. I am always amazed by what people pull out of context and see as some kernel of truth upon which they base way too much of their philosophy. I am dismayed at what I believe is the shallow way that most people consider so many of the complex issues that are part of our societal fabric at this point. How did we become such a society that is willing to merely hear things and not listen, to accept things and not ponder, to fail to question things as the truth, regardless of however ludicrous it may seem? Perhaps it was because I was in the service as a 17 year old. Perhaps it is because I have always been the person to question most everything. The way in which things are decided and the power of the United States Supreme Court awes me. While politically the three branches of government were meant to be a checks and balances system, it seem that the power of the president to appoint that justice is probably the most important thing a president does. Certainly the Senate in its ability to approve or reject that nomination is also powerful. The fact that a particular justice might be on the court for decades and the tenor of the court is so influenced by the specific make up its members that it boggles my head. What an amazingly powerful position. I do not remember paying as close attention to the final decisions of the court in the way I have this year in my entire life.

It is now been sweet and I have not finished my blog posting. It was the first week of teaching and, therefore, even thought I have not been writing blogs, I have been reading them. My students have begun their own blogs and I thin they are working pretty diligently to get things accomplished. As is the case in my life, more often than not, something comes along and makes what I thought would be a reasonable project a bit more difficult. I have found out that the properties back in WI and the lot lines what were thought to be and what actually exists on the deeds does not match up quite as expected. In fact, there are some significant issues. More work to do this summer.

In the meanwhile we are upto the July 4th weekend. I am going to Gettysburg today with Rachael and tomorrow I am having a sort of holiday/birthday cookout with my Dominican family. I also want to catch up on the other things I need to get finished up. The end of the summer will be here before we know it. I am still waiting on the building project. Hopefully something’s will shake out in the coming week. I need to do some other shopping today and as it always seems to happen, I have misplaced one of my wallets again. I think I have an idea, but that search will have to happen today also. I am thinking about my friend, Peter, today also. As I noted in a previous blog, the 4th of July growing up was spent with the Goedes at the Ike’s Club. I have a college colleague who has lamented the loss of these sort of family events. I think they still occur, but as our families seem more fragmented and separated, the idea of family reunions and such might be more the exception than the rule. While I am inclined to agree that the lost of the family unit like we grew up with has a consequence, I am not sure it is the root of all the evils we are facing. I am willing to say its effect is far-reaching however.

If my students read all of this, they might wonder if I too am going to write something relevant to class. Yesterday I asked them to consider this phrase (more accurately, a sentence): “the machine is us/ing us.” This is the title of a short video that was created by the Kansas State cultural anthropologist, Michael Wesch. Technology permeates and controls our life, and I am not merely talking about our hand-held devices. I am talking about our daily basics that we take for granted.: water, electricity, heat, transportation, and those other utilities that we called necessities long before FB called itself a social utility. Yet, the predominance of hand-held, data-rich, and seemingly unlimited-access phones, pads, and tablets have changed how we access, view, and comprehend the world as well as how we understand ourselves. What made this week different, a week to remember? For me it was people, places, and things, but the majority of it was discovered on my iPad.

Thanks for reading,

Dr. Martin

Randomness (Sort of)

shoes and guns Hello from a rather interesting coffee shop in Jim Thorpe, PA,

For the second day of the weekend, I am back at work and trying to get a number of things off my plate and get myself a bit more organized. It is Father’s Day and I am realizing too things: first that it has been so many years so I have been able to greet my father with that familiar greeting (and I wish I might have done it more effectively than I had), and second, what allows someone to be a father? Is it merely a chromosome? If it is, then I am not a father nor a parent because I have never successfully given said chromosome. Yet, as those who have taken the time to read this blog with any consistency know that I have pondered the being a parent pretty extensively. As I have looked at pictures posted on Facebook today, I see so many #TBT pictures of friends from throughout my life posting pictures of that male person who holds the name “father” and the subsequent importance in their lives. What is important in this thought process for me today is what makes someone a good parent, for either gender? I never thought I would be a soon to be sexagenarian (rather ironic term considering the topic) and childless or single. Not that I probably had a very clear sense of where I would be at this point. I was not a child who had a very clear vision of who I was or where I would be. That might be the reason I am where I am. That sense of place or belonging comes back to the fore for me. What I do know is that I was afraid I would not be a very good parent, not because my adoptive father was a bad parent, but rather because I was not sure how I would manage the difficulties or the struggles and I was uncertain I was capable of being the person I should be. But who is that person? What do we expect of parents? Is it the same today as it was when I was growing up? I am not sure it is. There are a variety of reasons that I posit that opinion.

I am continually amazed (perhaps because I am serving in this capacity, albeit at the other end) how we have seemed to vilify education and educators, but too often I hear about things that are supposedly the “teacher’s” or “educator’s” fault. Things that have to do with behavior or basic decorum. That word is an old word, but it is a word that it seems we need to resurrect. Since when did it become the public (or private) school’s job to teach a young person manners, or appropriate behavior, or respect, or (fill in the blank). This past semester, in a first year writing course, on the first day when I laid out my requirements for the students and worked my way through the syllabus and my expectations, when I told a student he only had three absences . . . and I did not differentiate between excused or unexcused, he informed me that “[I was] a dick.” He said this in the classroom in front of the entire class. Heaven forbid that I would tell him how to invest his money or require something in “my” classroom. At a conference not long ago, a faculty person for whom I have great respect noted the following thing. In what other venue, do you “purchase a ticket to attend” . . . (see this another word for tuition for a moment)and then choose not to go? I am pretty sure if most of my students had purchased a ticket to the Electric Daisy Concert (EDC) or to Lady Gaga or to this summer’s Stones concerts, they would cancel life to get there and yet when we “require” attendance in our classes, I become a dick. As an aside, the student dropped the course, even though it was a required first year course. I was not displeased that he decided not to take my course. One of the places I have actually learned to be somewhat of a father figure is in those first year courses when many students are struggling to find their footing. I do not make things easier in terms of requirements, but I help them understand and meet the requirements. I love seeing the growth that occurs for most from the time they are a wide-eyed freshman until they become a bit of a wide-eyed college graduate, but one with a bit more maturity and respect. That word seems to have lost some things. And it is not always young people.

I am so glad I am in Pennsylvania and no longer in Wisconsin, where the state legislature and the governor continue to attack education at all levels. Recently, the governor proposed yet another 250,000,000.00 (yes, that much) to higher education, but is willing to give that same astounding amount to an NBA franchise. So somehow supporting 15 people (and I understand there are workers at the facility) is more important than educating 182,000 students and employing 32,000 faculty (2011 figures). This logic or lack thereof is stunning beyond comprehension . . . and this bozo believes he should run for president (I know he has not declared yet). If he would somehow get elected, much like the COs of the Vietnam era, I think I would merely go to Canada. I do understand the cost of education has gotten out of hand and I know that we all share that burden, but since when did become an educator seem to be more of a problem than a help. It seems to me that is where we are. My local paper finds it appropriate to run a spreadsheet of all of our salaries every year, but does not provide much as far as background and what sort of sacrifices we made to get to the doctoral level or how we continue to work to be the best or most expert we can be at what we do. Again, it seems we have little respect for those to whom we entrust the education of our future leaders and those who will eventually be called on to care for us. Instead we blame those same educators when their sons or daughters do not perform or follow through on what they are called to do. I remember getting a failing grade in chemistry when I was a junior in high school. My father called the teacher, but not to give that teacher a hard time, but to get to the truth of the matter than his number 2 son did not provide. The consequence of my failure was being grounded to my room for nine weeks. My father did not castigate the teacher for my failure. The one time in my entire tenure in public school that I ended up in front of the principal for a fist fight, I was petrified. I had not only gotten my ass kicked in the fight, I was pretty sure it was going to get beat, both in the principal’s office and later that night at home. How far we have come when it is the teacher’s fault or it is the system’s fault or we needed armed guards at school because of violence. How far we have come when it seems apropos to call a professor a dick or it is reasonable to have weapons on a college campus. It seems rather than progress, we have fallen back into a time when the idea of survival of the fittest is about who can bully the best, shoot the fastest, or influence with the most money. This is not to say there are not positive things in our society today, but when one looks at the news, somehow we have lost more than we have perhaps gained.

This brings me to the next point . . . fill in the blank again . . . . Columbine, Tucson, Sandy Hook, Aurora, Charleston . . . when is enough actually enough? Even on my own campus (or just off campus) students were shot last year. Since 1982, there have been 61 mass shooting in the country (Washington Post), and the great majority of those shootings occurred with legally purchased weapons. Another study counted 78 mass killings in about the same period (this study was done by Congress) and almost 550 people lost their lives. From 2000 to 2013 the incidences of these types of violence has more than doubled and six of the deadliest shootings in the US have occurred since 2007 (Washington Post). Again, note no where have I said get rid of guns. I began a conversation on FB today and responses from some of my more conservative friends, for whom I have a lot of respect because we came from the same college and learned many of the same things, have seemed to think I am anti-Second Amendment. I am not. In fact, I have noted this before in this blog. If you go back to that posting, I asserted that the question of gun ownership has to do with the issue of needing or wanting a weapon. The 2nd Amendment, again as previously noted is what allows us to even have a discussion about guns on any level. I think the entire question about availability and ownership is complex. What constitutes common sense questions and a common sense conversation? I think it is the same problem that becomes apparent when I ask my students what the goal of an argument is. They (and the majority of people) will respond that the goal is to win. The actual goal of an argument is to get more information out and a better possibility of an appropriate decision made. However, we have such an adversarial precedent in how we manage so many things, it has become the way we seem to manage most everything. Hence, our loss of civility . . . And that loss creates a lack of respect and by extension, at least for me, a lack of care for life in general. I know those are some leaps, but I could break it down more, but tou would have the longest blog posting in history.

As someone with a PhD in rhetoric, I am personally offended whenever someone says, “It is just rhetoric.” They have little idea how wrong they are. The use of rhetoric is fundamental to whom we are. It was once on the the basic elements of education. Perhaps if we returned to teaching rhetoric we might communicate more effectively and we might be more civil with each other. I learned more about that when I listened to a group of characters with power this evening who failed to be honest about their intent even though I told them they had already “revealed what they were going to do.” Within 5 minutes they did exactly what they had revealed. I know that at least one part of the quartet present is happy the variance was not allowed. Rhetorical strategies abound. I will manage things as it seems best to do. Amazing that things are decided the way and in the manner they are. Well, I am sure I will figure it all out. They are worried about 10 or 15 years down the road and if I am still alive when the majority of them are probably significantly older than I am. Go figure.

Thanks for reading.

Michael

Imagining what if?

Buenos días de Bloomsburg,,

Mientras yo estaba esperando que las cosas podrían calmarse un poco cuando el semestre terminado, el primer mes del verano se ha hecho nada, pero asentarse. De hecho, de alguna manera las cosas se han acelerado. La semana pasada ha sido una pesadilla tecnológica y esto ha tomado una semana entera para regresar a normal. Perdí tanto computadora como el acceso telefónico, entonces fui más o menos pegado. Asombroso como dependiente estamos en nuestra tecnología. Esta mañana desperté hasta un agujero de gas en la casa entonces yo tenía UGI para manejar esto antes de que yo pudiera hacer algo. Tengo mucho quiero hacer este fin de semana, pero soy literalmente una semana detrás en una clase de una 5 semana, entonces espero a ver lo que ellos harán y si ellos permitirán que yo siga. También quiero hacer un poco de trabajo alrededor de la casa principalmente en la limpieza del exterior y haciendo tan pequeño repintar después del invierno largo. Ha sido un poco loco y hay tanto también en el horizonte. Okay, this took some time and I think I will return to English. but this was good work. The following is a translation of what is above. While I was hoping things would calm down a bit when the semester ended, the first month of summer has been anything but settled. In fact, in some ways things have accelerated. The past week has been a technological nightmare and it has taken an entire week to get back to normal. I lost both computer and phone access, so I was pretty much stuck. Amazing how dependent we are on our technology. This morning I woke up to a gas leak at the house so I had UGI out to manage that before I could do anything. I have a lot I want to do this weekend, but I am literally a week behind in a 5 week class, so I am waiting to see what they will do and whether they will allow me to continue. I also want to do some work around the house primarily in cleaning the outside and doing so small repainting after the long winter. It has been a bit crazy and there is so much also on the horizon.

As I am finishing up the things in Wisconsin, I am forced to see how much my life has been changed because of a little character. She was a force and she told me from time to time that she would make sure I was okay. I told her the last days I saw her how blessed I was and how much she had changed my life. I do not think I can put into words how much she has changed what I expected in my life. As I have been working on the last pieces of what she set up, I am realizing the reality of what she has done. It is really amazing what she and many in her generation did. I wonder what a different world, a better world, in my opinion. They planned (and I know she is extraordinary in some ways); they saved and they invested and thought about later. It is because of that she and George accomplished what they did. I think even my parents did the same, but somehow, they did not instill in me the focus to do the same. I think there were times in my life where I worked to do so, but I was not consistent. That is probably one of my worst maladies. I need to be disciplined all of the time not just in fits and starts. It is not the easiest to be honest with your own failings, but it is essential if you are going to change them. It is always amazing to me that in spite of my successes, and there have been some important ones, I have a tendency to focus on the things I have not accomplished or the things that have somehow been outside the realm of what I would call successful. I have had one of those weeks. When I look around, I am not feeling unfortunate, nor am I even feeling unblessed, but I am feeling like I could have done so much more. More likely that I should have done so much more. What is the more? you might ask . . . perhaps it is because I feel I failed as a husband, twice. Perhaps it is because as we approach Father’s Day, it is because I never had a child of my own . . . and I know there are other ways to be a father and I feel I have done some of that. Perhaps it is because I am trying to figure out my purpose or I am trying to understand why some of the things that have happened in my three score years of life do not make that much sense to me. I understand that it is not always about making sense, but those of you know me, know I have to always figure out the “why” of something. I know that I began life with the deck stacked against me in terms of my health, and even because of those who brought me into the world, but, as I have also noted, I have been given many opportunities and helped by many people; not because I deserved help, but rather because of the graciousness of so many people.

So what is it that I am lamenting? What is it that I wished I had that I did not? Is it merely my humanness coming out and wishing that I had the things I do not? I wish it were that easy to pinpoint. I think it is something deeper. It is that sort of melancholy that seems to invade me from time to time and causes me to wish for more. It is not more stuff or more money or more success. I have too much stuff; I am blessed with certainly enough money; and as noted, I have been successful at some pretty amazing things. I am respected (generally); I enjoy what I do every day; and I have more than what I might have ever imagined. Still there is this longing for something else. There is this wish I think that I wish I had something else or someone else. I am really not sure which it is. I am often content to be in my house by myself and I have grown more introverted as I have aged. I have this sort of vagabond nature that makes it hard for me to be involved with people beyond a certain level or degree. While I am terrifically open on some fronts, I am tremendously cautious on others. It is sort of a oxymoronic way to manage things. In someways it is a sort of rhetoric of misdirection, which is the basis of my dissertation. I do not think I ever put that together until just this instance. I used to be much more comfortable in a crowd and with others than I am now. I used to be more self assured (perhaps then it was foolish to be so), but now it seems I am always wondering the “what if?” While I know quite well what caused my marriages to fail, and I know my part in those failures, there is a part of me that wishes I had not failed. That is a rather ridiculous wish, but it is there nonetheless. Then on the other hand, I have little reason that I would want to return to either person, and this is not to impugn their character because both persons have a number of very positive things and I was certainly part of the problem (they might argue the main part). It is interesting what I have learned in the time I have been single again. I am pretty sure that my first wife and I should not have gotten married. We were good friends and I think we knew each other pretty well. What I realize now is that we did not have the foundation that was needed to create a strong marriage. We had some of the things, but perhaps not the most important thing, or more accurately, I did not. I should not speak for her, but I am not sure now that I really loved her. I loved the thought of being married I think more than the person. That is my mistake, and it was a big one. In the case of my second marriage, I did love her, and, in fact, probably always will to some degree or in some way. There were other issues, on both sides.

In the fifteen years since, I have met a couple of people that I have appreciated and admired, cared for and wondered again, “what if?” Yet, I have not been as close as I probably needed to be though I did once think there was a possibility. I am still reminded of my former counselor’s admonishment at one point. He said, “Michael, if you are interested in someone, you should probably run as fast as you can in the opposite direction.” Not a stellar recommendation for any sort of future relationship. There are things I have learned or been forced to realize about myself. While I think I have moderated some of those tendencies, there is always the fear of falling into that particular pattern. There is so much that can be said about how relationships are managed (and I know that term itself will raise eyebrows), but when we are older, any person we are willing to spend any length of time with is a potential mate, if you will. There is the first question of whether or not I want to even go down that road again. It will take someone extraordinary. And then, lately, I have worried that I am going to end up like my Uncle Clare. I will be the person that people invite over for the holidays because they do not want you to be alone. I will be the Norman Thayer of On Golden Pond that I have always threatened to be. What will I be is not something that I question as much as what or who am I now? Who have I become? I think I am a good professor; I think I am a loyal friend; I think I am a caring and giving person. I am reminded that way back when I was doing my Clinical Pastoral Education (CPE), I was told for the first time that I needed to develop a sense of humor and take things less seriously. At that time, I was working through a lot of things with my adoptive family and some of the many things that I have noted in my earlier blogs (especially last summer). I am not sure I was in the best place. Now in many ways, I am in a much better place, albeit a place that I could have never imagined or predicted. I have so many positive things. Maybe I just need to relax and be content. I wish I knew what that meant. I wish I could let things go and not worry about the next thing I still have to do. Somehow, I need to learn to let go.

What if I did? What might it be like? What I know is that overall, I cannot complain, and I should not. What I know overall is that I have been blessed and gifted in so many ways. For those reasons again, I cannot complain and I should not. What I know is that I have amazing friends, colleagues, and family, although most are far away. For those reasons I cannot complain and should not. Can I talk myself out of my lament? Perhaps . . . perhaps it is merely my own personal propensity for melancholy. Perhaps I am more a Dane than a Norwegian. Perhaps I need to read Soren Kirkegaard once again. We’ll see.

Thanks for reading.

Michael

“Life is a Blank Canvas”

Hello from my front porch,

It is a spectacular day and I have been working around the yard this morning. It is getting warm enough that I am sweating a bit, so I decided to sit in the shade of the porch and spend a bit of time reminiscing on the idea of Mother’s Day and the idea of honoring those around us. As I have noted in a couple of my latter postings, we do have a penchant for taking both time and people for granted. I am guilty as charged of the omission of telling another that they have an important place in my life. While my biological mother is still alive, I have not reached out to her in 12 years or so, and our last interaction was far from ideal. My adopted mother, about whom I have written on a number of occasions has been gone for over 25 years, and the person who became a mother, a partner of sorts, a friend, and one who probably affected me more than any other mother-figure has been gone for four months. Lydia was similar in age to my adopted mother, but they were both very different and ironically similar in some ways. It is something upon which I have reflected quite often and that was even before Lydia passed away. I continue to wonder about this different, unparalleled, and incredible person with whom I was blessed to spend almost 10 years. It has certainly been a time of adjustment. I am still trying to get everything managed and just got more paperwork in the mail this week.

I have reached out to some people today for this holiday, and there are a few more I should send a message or call before the day is completed. . . . It is hard to believe that life has continued to scoot by and I did not get this either composed or posed. Now I am sitting in Caribou Coffee in Menomonie and I am back to manage more of the things that I have been asked to care for. Yesterday I went to the cemetery and put flowers on Lydia’s and George’s grave. Today I will go to Chippewa and finish up the ordering of and paying for the headstone that will mark their final resting place. I meet with her attorney this morning to see how to finally complete things. In the mean while I am trying to pack my belongings that are still here, finish the paper that I need to present on Saturday and manage the online course I am taking to become QM certified as an online instructor. All in all, it is busy, but it has been productive. When I get back to PA, I have another conference to help participate and manage.

This trip to Menomonie is certainly a reality check of sorts. The stark difference that Lydia is gone and I am here to manage that estate and move my things has hit me hard at moments. As I began this posting some almost three weeks ago, (and it seems like a year versus three weeks)the feeling that one has lost a parent (again) is one of those life-changing moments. I have again reflected on the life that Lydia had (90 years) in a time that saw so many changes in the world, and particularly for her. From WWII and the unbelievable consequences of that war, both personally and even as a civilization, from her life in Europe to coming to the United States, her becoming an academic and living a commuter marriage long before most people considered such a thing. In many ways she was far ahead of her time and more of a feminist that many would consider. I am not sure she would have referred to herself as a feminist . . . and while she was fiercely independent, she had a propensity for appreciating males much more than she did females. When I think about some of her mannerisms and idiosyncrasies, I still believe she had a sense of autism to her, but she was brilliant. Yet, I am reminded that if you moved something on a cupboard or in some place in her garage she would notice it and move it back. Her meticulous nature about so many things was unequalled. Her keen attention to detail was something about which I often marveled (and still do). What I realize now as I ponder things is her struggle with dementia began much sooner than I think any of us realized. I think of how she would repeat certain phrases or things. Initially I thought it was a quirk, but as I think back, in the latter stages of her illness, she did the same things, but to a much greater extent. So were those things a harbinger of what was to come?

During this week, there has been a sort of bittersweet sense of my visit for a number of reasons. Later this summer (toward the end of August), I will have lived in Bloomsburg longer than I lived in Menomonie. That is the longest I have lived in a place since I graduated from high school 42 years ago. I think about the changes I have witnessed in my own life and I think the two most profound changes I see are how I have been able to travel and see things. I grew up in a blue-collar family and vacations were not something we could afford very well, or at least that is how it seemed. We went on two family vacations my entire life. The one to the Black Hills of South Dakota is still memorable to me. However, the point is, I did not travel a great deal. In my adult life, I guess I have seldom sat still (at least geographically). The second change for me is the use of technology and how it has affected both our communication and our learning processes. I think that has been a very profound thing on me and it continues to be so. I am at a Computers and Writing Conference as I write this and, indeed, the fact that it is at Stout makes it really convenient and accessible. I am busy working on that paper as well as working on my own online course that I am taking. That online course has been terrifically time consuming, but I am learning a great deal.

The title of my posting is off the side of a Caribou Coffee cup, where I am sitting and writing this. It is ironic that I post from here because it was 12 years ago this coming fall that I first started to come to this Caribou. It is where I wrote a large part of my dissertation. It is one of the places in Menomonie that I most feel at home. The feelings of wanting to hold on, but realizing the need to let go have caused me to struggle with sleeping. The need to pack my things and the struggle of actually doing it has been my constant companion these last days. There are pieces that have fallen into place and then moments of best laid plans gone awry. So the week has been a Tale of Two Cities personified. . . . It is now Tuesday morning and the truck is packed. I need to load the Harley, stop at the house insurance people and go to the bank. Then things in Menomonie are completed. I got in touch with a couple people yesterday who have been important to me professionally and personally during my time at Stout (thank you, Lexi and Sasha). It will be an interesting drive back across the country and for the first time, with the exception of some details, I will not have a significant focus still here in Wisconsin. I still remember driving here from Houghton in August of 2003. I remember feeling that I had moved to the epitome of small town Americana with its summer bandshell concerts and pie sales, it’s farmers market and county fair. Those were my first week experiences. It seems the blank canvas was filled way beyond what I could have ever imagined. I have been blessed in so many ways by this Duodecim años period. I have been forever changed by the experiences, the people, and by the joys and less than joyful moments. But overall, as I will pull away from 307/311 Park Circle with a closing of responsibilities, I know that I will always love you, Lydia. From that first day I met you, you changed my life and you changed me. Vielen Dankt, meinen Mütter. Mit meinem ganzen Herzen, ich liebe dich.

Thanks for reading,
Michael

El acabamiento, el Principio o el Vagabundeo

Good morning from my kitchen table,

It has been quite the week and my brain seems to be on overdrive. I have journeyed again to the Midwest and back. I used to like to fly, much like I used to like to road trip, but I think those days are in the past. For the seventh straight time I have flown #United, they have managed to rearrange my travel plans or itinary, and with no compensation, sometimes no apology, and general without my getting mileage because I did not book through them. I am reminded of my colleagues favorite acronym “AMF” and that is not the former owner of Harley Davidson. I continue to get Pieces of Lydia’s estate completed and I think I am in the home stretch. . . . Where does the time go? It is now Thursday of the last week of classes t and I have for me classes are completed for the semester. It has been a busy week with something going on every night and that will be the case until Sunday evening. I have a list of items that I need to attend to, but for the next few days, it will be a serious grading initiative. As much as students might believe there is no one more looking toward summer than they are, they might be mistaken. It is always a relief to finish a year and look toward some sort of respite regardless of how short it might be. I am actually taking a class to receive a online teaching certification beginning the 14th of May and it will continue until the 21st of June. My summer teaching commences 8 days later. There is my summer. I do hope to get one article out for review by the end of June. Ideally two, but I am trying to be realistic in my expectations.

As I have reflected on the past 4 months it is hard for me to fathom that two of the people I have cared for the most are no longer here. I spoke with Carissa the other day and we were chatting about Lydia and the changes of not having her as part of our lives at this point. It is still something that seems more surreal than real to me. There are times that I replay some of our moments in my mind. I think what I miss the most is the accent she so desperately tried to overcome. I think the second thing I miss is her beautiful eyes and amazing smile. When she loved you and was happy it just radiated . . . and she was always on a mission. There was something she hoped to get accomplished and she knew what she wanted and why. I think the other thing that always stunned me, especially when I first met her, was how on top of things in the world she remained and her understanding of international economics and why things worked (or didn’t work). She spent so much time looking at the WSJ everyday and she read it from cover to cover, even long after she was at COH. As I have gone back to the house in Wisconsin, I cannot go into the “big house” without a certain degree of sadness. I think about all she accomplished and the house is certainly a testament to that, but all that is there are still just things. They represent George and Lydia, but she was so much more than merely things. When I was back in Menomonie (and Eagan) for Peter’s funeral, I was so blessed to spend some time with some of those who cared for her. It was more important for me to hear their stories and share Lydia memories with them than they realize. While I am in the last part of finishing up the estate part of Lydia’s life, she lives on in so many ways. I think that is the part that really matters.

As I am into the week of finals and grading, the cliches of the word commencement will be part of the coming week once again, and while I know there is truth in all of that, it is so much more complicated than that. I was reminded of that difference at Peter’s funeral. I think there were people there I had not seen since I probably graduated from high school or before. When I was finishing high school, college was the exception rather than the rule. It was a sense of many people from my part of town had little idea of how they would begin to pay for four years of college. It was generally out of the question for many like me. That was one of the main reasons I enlisted in the Marine Corps. I had not even an inkling of what I would do in college or why I would go; what I might study or what I would do with it if I knew. So between the cost, the indecision and a less than ideal relationship with my mother, I was off to the Marines at the age of 17 and less than 115 pounds. It was traumatic as I spent those first 96 hours at MCRD in San Diego. It was a beginning of sorts. It was the beginning of my trying to figure out who I was and where I was headed. It has been quite the journey. When I told someone at Peter’s funeral I was a college professor, his response was, “NO SHIT?” and I responded matter a factly, “Yeah, no shit.” I have reflected more than once on the life I had as a young person. What I know when considering all the facts, or at least the facts I seem to remember, I was fortunate to be a baby boomer person. I think it was the end of a time where, as a country, we believed, for the most part, that the world was a good place and we were lucky to be where we were. I was not rich by any means, but I had a lot of stability, even in a family that struggled with a number of issues. None of those struggles was so terrible that I lost a lot. I was speaking with someone the other evening and we were discussing families. I think reflecting on both the positive and the less than ideal of our upbringing is an important thing. We need to understand from where we come and why we might respond to others as we do. I believe being a parent must be one of the harder jobs in the world, especially if you are going to try to do it well. There are positives I have that are the consequence of both of my parents. There are some qualities that probably cause others some consternation (and me too) that I have also inherited from them. I think it is always fascinating to see how genetically same siblings are so different in their personalities and their interactions with other people. Life is always a beginning. It is a continuous learning process. It is a string of successes or failures, but it is a string. It keeps coming.

As I often tell others, it is not that difficult to figure out. We have two options: we can keep going or we can stop. It might seem easier to stay down when we fail or fall down, but that is not a good plan, at least for me. I cannot stop. I have made some serious mistakes in my life and some of those mistakes have had serious consequences, but I have recovered, for the most part. Some of those processes took longer and were more painful than others. In reflection, I think losing my ordination after a difficult and poor relationship with a bishop was one of my more difficult times. I still find things that cause pain from that and it has been over 15 years ago. I know that the first years following my divorce from Theresa, which was also part of the ordination issue were a dark time in my life, even though I was back in graduate school and trying to move forward, I think it was a time where I took a step forward and two steps back on a regular basis. I am fortunate to have gotten beyond that. That struggle actually followed me to Wisconsin more than I might like to admit and it probably while I was not as successful their as I might have hoped. Again, it was a series of steps that seemed to move in more than one direction. This is another reason I am grateful to, and for, Lydia. Lydia gave me something or someone on which to focus that actually put my life in a much better place.

As students graduate this week, I think they might find what is confronting them (a very different world than the world of 1977, the year I would have graduated from college had I gone straight through) a bit more frightening than my world was. It is not that they are less prepared or less aware. In fact, I believe they are better in both categories, but I do believe the world is a much more difficult place than my world was. The globalization, the consequences of a different imperialism, an unprecedented attack on both the environment and on equality and justice (in many ways), and the reality that most people have lost a sense of hope (in my opinion) makes this world much more sinister, much more frightening. It is a world that seem much more intent on hurting rather than helping; on tearing down rather than building up; on blaming the other rather than working with the other. It does not matter if it is locally, nationally, or globally. It would be easy to give up and become part of those who see nothing better, and while I am certainly not idealistic about our prospects, I do believe if I do my small part to make it a better place, there is someone that will benefit and something that can happen that is positive and maybe as a ripple effect, there can be a more significant consequence.

I could write a great deal more about all of this, but I need to get back to my grading initiative. So to all of those with whom I have been blessed to work, and are graduating, I wish you much success and a life that brings you a sense of meaning and happiness. Thank you for your work, for your growth as a student and a person and for making my days better. It is in the meeting of the wide variety of students that I do see a reason for hope. I think there are some amazingly good millennials that will certainly have a positive impact on the world. Take the chance to wander; it is a good thing. For now, it is back to grading. I am hoping to wander (and wonder) again soon.

Thanks for reading.

Dr. Martin

Farewell my Friend

Good Sunday morning,

It is very early and I am awake. I left town yesterday because of the yearly block party (I refuse to use it as a proper noun – pun intended). It was a wonderful day in Jim Thorpe and a beautiful day to be walking around. Early yesterday morning, I got a call from Stephanie informing me that Peter, the life-long friend whom I have noted as of late, had passed away earlier Saturday morning, ending his battle with ALS. It is a bitter-sweet thing to say I am both relieved that he no longer needs to suffer, but I am so profoundly at a loss because someone who has been my friend since the beginning of my life, and someone even younger (albeit only a year, almost exactly), has left this earth. As I noted a few posts ago, this is a very different feeling than the feeling I had with Lydia. While losing Lydia is still part of my daily thoughts, she was 90 and had lived an amazing life. Peter was 58 years old. At one point I might have considered that old. That is undoubtably not my reality now.

When I went to see Peter three weeks ago, he noted that he never really expected to grow old. That statement caught me off guard, but I noted that he probably did not expect to have to battle such a vicious and uncaring disease as ALS. I want to talk about the memories of this most amazing, yet profoundly human, friend of mine. Our mothers were best friends all of our lives and our families did most everything together. Peter, James, and John (Biblical sounding) were the three Goede boys and Robert, Michael, and Kris (I am the Michael, not trying to state the obvious) were the Martin children. Peter’s mother was our church organist and our two father’s, Jake and Harry, pretty much ran Riverside Lutheran Church when we were small. To walk into my house and see Marge, Peter’s mother, at the kitchen table having iced tea with my mother was as common as breathing. To see our fathers working on something at church was a common as listening to Pastor Anderson or Ofstedal, our two pastors from childhood through high school preach every Sunday. If it was the 4th of July, we were at McCook Lake and the Ike’s Club to celebrate with fireworks and picnics. When I was 17 years old, Peter saved my life when I almost drown in that lake. If he had not swum across that lake, I am am quite sure I would not be writing this post and he would be joining me rather than I being one of the many who has lost him. His older brother, John, was instrumental in really creating a strong church youth group and that youth group was a significant part of my growing up. I remember when the famous Beatles song, “Let it Be” was the theme of our homecoming growing up. It was that song and Pete’s singing of it that got his voice noticed and began a life-long gig with the garage band, The Establishment, who were eventual inductees into the Iowa Rock -n-Roll Hall of Fame, that would in someways identify Peter for the rest of his life. Whether it was their gigs or his grandmother meticulously braiding his almost waist-length hair; whether it was traveling to another high school homecoming dance or a weekend in Spencer, Iowa, where we spent hours listening to the latest 45 trying to figure out the lyrics to “Rocky Mountain Way”, his voice was in the process of becoming legendary. Growing up I walked beans on their farm; I spent moments driving around in our cars; hanging out wherever we might decide like the Runza Drive-in on Riverside Blvd. When I left for the Marine Corps after graduation, our actual time together was significantly less than our childhood years, but eventually, I was best man in his wedding and he was the same in mine. When I ended up in seminary, Whitney, their daughter was born and I sang at her baptism. He would sing at my ordination and he sang at my sister’s funeral. Our fathers passed away within two months of each other.

Even though our lives when through a myriad of changes, there was never the need to figure out who the other one was or who they had become. I remember going to Whitney’s high school graduation reception and what he told me that day was a bit shocking, but he was even then taking a sort of inventory of his life and what had happened. Peter was an unequalled when it came to working hard and not giving up on things. In the early days of he band he would buy their PA equipment, taking out loans in his own name to make sure they had what was needed and he and Flood Music became sort of business partners. He was one of the first to get into the hardware/software/networking area and he did very well. Even when it required changing companies and learning a new gig or thing, he was up to the challenge. Yet, he was a human and sometimes the habits we learn early never leave us. There were things he battled and as with many of us, he could be his own worst enemy. I understand this malady all too well. A couple of years ago, I sent him a letter. It was a letter that I had written as I was recovering from complications of yet another surgery and a letter than reflected much as I am now. As I battled yet another serious health crisis, I called and read him the letter before I even sent it. I cried that evening as I cry now. I am now more than grateful that I took the time to write to him and to Stephanie at that time. I am glad that I took the time to visit him three weeks ago. I am grateful for the conversations we had that day and the opportunity I had to speak with Stephanie a few weeks before that. We take so much for granted.

Later today, I will spend time watching a student be inducted into the national honor society. Quite a change from the beginning of their college tenure, but what it demonstrates is someone not taking anything for granted, but realizing it takes work and that no one owes us anything. That is such a difficult lesson. There is no promise of a long life; there is no promise of success, even with hard work. Each day is a gift and coming to terms with that is something that takes most of us a long time to realize, if we ever actually come to that realization. Each time I am shocked or jolted into this reality, there is little that can be said. It is yet another forced realization. To use the word “forced” demonstrates that we are so easily lulled into complacency or a sense of expectation. We have our plans (and heaven knows we need to plan), but we have little comprehension, nor do we want it, that the line between life and death is much more tenuous than we care to consider in any regular manner or given moment. I think some of our occupations require us to do so (medical or health care workers), but generally we make our long-term plans merely believing that those things will happen. I am quite sure that neither Peter nor I expected to incur some of the things that we have in the 40 years since high school. I do think he expected to have Stephanie in his life, and I am grateful to her for being the amazing person she is. I know the last time he and I spoke he talked about how important his children were and how proud he was of them. His daughter and son, while I do not know them as well as I might wish, are certainly incredible people. They are successful, but more importantly, they are also good people. What I know my friend is that as I think about our lives, I would not be the person I am without some of the things we shared and all the ways our lives were intertwined growing up. You have taught me what true friendship is. We remained friends during your entire life. When I told you three weeks ago that I loved you, I meant that from the bottom of my heart. In spite of your fragile condition, you were as gracious as you could be and we had a nice day together. We laughed and we cried. The tears streaming down my face now are tears of relief. They are tears of sadness and also tears of graciousness, for gratefulness, that we had the opportunity for some sense of closure. I promised I would come see you as soon as school was finished for the semester, but that was not to be. Instead, I am honored and humbled for the opportunity I have had to share together with you our lives, sometimes on a daily basis, sometimes at a distance, sometime with a passage of time, but regardless it was a friendship that abided change of time, distance, jobs, and anything else that might have happened.

I am not sure what the schedule will be this coming week, but I know that I am headed back to see you again, sooner than I imagined. This time to be there for your children and for Stephanie and to share with all the people who loved you. As I write this, ironically, I am listening to iTunes and “Dream On” came on. Your voice and your ability to be the show person you were will always amaze me. I hope you have a wonderful stage on which you can share. I know your parents and grandmother are there to welcome you. I am glad you are no longer suffering, but I will miss knowing that you are there in Eagan. I love you, Stephanie, and I love you my friend.

Bless you.

Thanks for reading.

Michael (Peter’s friend)

P.S. I have to add that I have now heard “Let it Be,” “Stairway to Heaven,” and “Free Bird”. Thanks for the messages, my friend.

Feliz Pascua

Buenos días del restaurant de Bloomsburg Diner.

Me levanté un poco más tarde de lo habitual porque me quedé despierto y vi el baloncesto Wisconsin-Kentucky juego. Anoche Jerry y Julye acercó a cenar y tuvimos un tiempo maravilloso. Pronto iré a conducir a Nueva Jersey, a las afueras de la ciudad a ver a mi cuñada y a la familia y cenar con ellos. Será la primera vez que realmente he ido por ahí, así que creo que estará bien. Me recuerda a los domingos de Pascua en el pasado cuando era pastor de una parroquia. Al final de la semana Santa, con todos los servicios, siempre estaba agotado. A finales de los servicios el domingo de Pascua normalmente estaba completamente incapaz de pensar o procesar nada. . . .

It is hard to believe that another four days have gone by and I am trying to manage finishing this post again. The week is totally out of hand. I had a pretty tough night and then had tests run again this morning. I am honestly not sure what to expect for the CT scan and the other blood work this time around. If I am honest with myself, I know that I am managing things pretty well, but I do not feel that I am making as much progress as I would like. I am in my office until wee hours and back early, but it seems that is what the end of every semester and even more so every Spring demands. Yesterday I think I probably ripped into a student worse than I have every done before. He is such a capable and fundamentally good person, but he is, by his own admission, incredibly lazy. It has shown up in so many ways. What is so different for students now is what it cost them to fail their courses or merely choose to be average when there are 15 million undergraduates out there. It is sort of mind boggling. I did follow up with someone else on that situation, so hopefully together we can get something accomplished. It is actually a Monday and a week and a day after I began this posting and again I am languishing trying to complete it. It has been the story of my life over the last weeks and couple of months.

As noted a couple of weeks ago I went to see my friend, Peter. I got a text on Friday and I spoke with Stephanie on Saturday and the battle with ALS seems to be in the last days. This is both sad and frightening to me. It restates to me with such ferocity, “You are mortal; you are fragile; there are no promises!” It screams with a roaring definitude, “Pay attention; be gracious; make a difference!” I reminds me again of the profound mortality we face daily, with little or no recognition. As I ponder his imminent passing, my eyes once again fill with tears because I am staring headlong into the passing of a person who has been a friend and a significant part of my entire life. We have grown up like most; foolishness and a sense of immortality characterized some of our earlier shenanigans. When we were together a couple of weeks ago, we laughed and cried as we reminisced about some of those events. We spoke about what he hoped to accomplish before he passed, but I am not sure that either of us believed it might be within the next weeks. Now I feel like I am waiting for the call or the text to inform me that a childhood friend, a life-long friend, a father, an amazing musician, is no longer part of this world. It make my entire body feel like it is experiencing something outside my body.

This is one of the things that matters to me as I write this. I want to from a distance provide as much support as I can because I have a job here to accomplish. Today I think I am heading into another all-nighter. It is not my preference, but it is a necessity of my life at this point. It is what I need to do to provide my students with the feedback and information they need to manage the end of the semester as successfully as possible. It was interesting to me that today on Facebook, I was pondering the passing of another and had flown back to Wisconsin to manage that time. It was a rather cute moment because Melissa was staying at the house and keeping an eye on things and could not figure out how to unlock a door to get her pizza. I wish I could have been in the corner to see that. I am sure she is quite glad that was not the case. It was a crazy weekend because I was across the country in only three days and back. It reminds me of how life changes in so many ways, and sometime so amazingly quickly. It is only four months into the new year and already there are significant changes in my life. Most of that has been in the loss of people. I will write more about that again, but now I am thinking about the end of the year. I again have students that I have known since they were summer freshman and are now graduating. It is quite stunning if you consider the differences they have made and the growth they have gone through in this past four years. It is also a bit gratifying to see those changes.

We are now at that point where no one can procrastinate; it matters not which side of the blank stare you are on. I need to merely focus and plug away. I both dread and love this time of year. It is the time when my office is full of students and the requests for more time seem unending. This past week I had a couple of student situations that both surprised and dismayed me. I wonder how it is that some students are so recalcitrant about doing their work in a reasonable manner. I had a student this week tell me that going to the writing center (paraphrased) a ridiculous waste of his time. I was almost dumbfounded. Not so much that he thought such a think, but that he had the audacity to say such a thing in class. It is not often that I am left speechless. I was speaking with my niece at Easter time and she is a second grade teacher and she noted that even the change of respect levels at that age is noticeably different. What is it that has caused us as people who were raised to be polite have allowed our sons and daughters to be less than polite. How did it happen that we have abdicated our responsibilities as parents and put it on the back of the teachers or school system. The other day at the diner one of the regulars told me it was my job to teach my students to be better behaved. I told him I had no such obligation. He then noted that the president of the university should do more about controlling things like Block Party, which is coming soon. Again, while there might have been some jest in what he was saying there was enough of reality in those comments that I have been pondering them ever since. Since when did it become a need for me to put something about decorum and behavior in my syllabus. Really?? I could write an entire posting on that.

This past two weeks I have begun to play trivia on my phone. It is a way to relax for me and it is still something that stimulates my mind. I have learned that not having a television for the most part of 15 years has certainly had a consequence on my entertainment category. Otherwise I do quite well. I think it is because I have so many interests, but that has always been a blessing and a curse. I always say that having an interest has never been a problem, but focusing it has been. Well, I am going to run. I do hope those who see where this post began had a great holiday and I hope your spring is going well.

Until next time.

Dr. Martin

Understanding One’s Heritage

Hello from somewhere close to Charlotte, NC,

As seems to be normal, I am writing this as I am moving at 500 mph and sitting 30,000+ feet above the earth in the 6th row. We got out of Wilkes Barre shortly before the Vice President was arriving. I know we are close to Charlotte because we just did that “hit the brakes” in midair, so you know they are starting to slow down before hitting the runway at warp speed. I am continually amazed each time we land and they apply the brakes in such a way that it seems if we were sans seatbelt there would be no option but to be propelled forward so that we will all be in the first class section of the plane. I am on my way to the Conference on College Composition and Communication in Tampa, Florida. I am delivering a presentation on incorporating experiential learning into my upper level professional writing classes. It is interesting to me that I have been working with this concept and practicums or internships for 12 years (and before that if I include graduate school) and in the past 5 years it has really become a serious buzz word.

I am now on my second flight and got a couple of people contacted and some emails and messages as well as an important telephone call managed during the 45 minute layover. As I got on the second plane, the number of academics on this plane is outrageous. In the row in front of me, behind me, and with me are probably 90% filled by people headed to Cs. It is actually my first time at Cs; I had submitted things back in graduate school, but I was never accepted. I am quite enamored with the opportunity to present there, and somehow going to Tampa after the winter we have had is simple a bonus at this point. It will be a bit of a whirlwind of a trip, but I do plan to get some work done in my room. I will have a lot of things I want to work on yet tonight after arriving, but I am reminded of one of my MTU mentors? She would present two or three conference papers at a conference and be writing them while she was there, and she could write circles around me anyday, anytime.

Yesterday I ordered another version (language) of Rosetta Stone. I ordered the software in Irish. I spoke with one of my colleagues and he noted there is a Strong movement to revive the language,so I might have jumped aboard the train at the best time possible. I have noted issues of my heritage at other times as I have blogged and I must offer some appreciation for the Galans as they have really influenced my focus on issues of culture and heritage. It is interesting how their family considers that heritage differently, mostly generationally, but I do not think they are unique in that generational response. It was interesting to me that questions of opportunity showed up on Facebook again from some of the other non-Caucasian students in the past day. It brings to the fore another significant question. What do the terms equality, justice, or opportunity mean? Who decides? What do these terms imply? Again, to whom? And how are those terms defined, by concept or action? Those questions are all for another blog post I think.

Where and when did the idea of becoming an American mean that someone was required to give up or discard their national ethnic heritage? I know that each generation has struggled at times to fulfill the dream of coming to this country and find acceptance. I have enough historical study in my background to know that even my own heritage, one of primarily Irish and Norwegian, struggled to find acceptance in this country. I actually want to do a bit of study on this before I write more here, so I think I will take a break from this post. The break has gotten longer than I anticipated. It is a week or more later, but managing all the pieces seems to be bit crazy. I am actually back in the Midwest at the moment, but it is for not much longer than that. I have come back to visit my life-long friend, Peter. It will be an emotional, but important day. Visiting him, a person who knows my background as well as anyone, is another example my heritage. What is our identity? Who are we and how do we become that person? It is somewhat ironic that this is something I asked my students all the time. Understanding exactly who we are and what that means requires critical thought. It requires us to be honest with ourselves and sometimes that is difficult. It forces us to look into the mirror and in the manner of speaking to leave herself naked and vulnerable. In our nakedness we are unprotected, but I believe we can be cleansed. It is in our vulnerability that we can finally be honest and rid ourselves of our flaws. Cleansed and remade we can move forward with hope and confidence. To some, this sounds perhaps a bit maudlin or idealistic. It is anything but that. To be honest with ourselves and take stock of who we are is tremendously difficult. It requires that we meet our flaws, our failings, our foibles. To know that I’m going to see my friend, my lifelong friend, for probably the last time is shocking to me at this moment. Once again I’m forced to face my mortality. . . . I got to spend 5 hours with Peter yesterday and, out of fairness to him, I will not say much about the progression of his struggle with ALS. I will say while I was not surprised by what I experienced, the reality of seeing him in person was terrifically painful. I am grateful for every minute we spent together. It is shocking to see someone I have known my entire memorable existence in the throes of losing his life. Again, the stories we were able to share go back to our elementary years and throughout most of our growing up. The time into our early 20s was a transforming time for both of us and we went our separate ways because of geography, but somehow we always managed to reconnect and appreciate that history.

Heritage is history; it helps create an identity and offers an opportunity for us to reflect on who we have become, but also how we have become that person. One of the things I have often wondered is how much DNA has a part in our history. We hear stories of those who have been adopted or removed from a family and yet there are uncanny similarities between the removed and their biological roots. I have found some ironic similarities between my biological father, with whom I have spent less than probably a total of 72 hours with my entire life after the age of two. He was in the Marine Corps (as was I), but I never knew that. I know that he went to college at one point and did extremely well. He studied English and Spanish and it is eerily similar that I have become an English professor and have such an interest in languages in general (and I am working on Spanish pretty diligently as I write this). I know he was married twice as was I. I know he traveled a bit as have I. Those are the things I know and while I have never really tried to find out much else, I think it is a bit komisch or raro for us to have such an overlap. One of the most important things for me in my heritage is to understand what I value and from where those values have come. Some of it is certainly the consequence of an upbringing and the geographical places that have influenced me. It is a bit strange that I have seemed to gravitate toward a particular element or nationality of my rather mixed ethnicity. I know that I have Norwegian, Welsh, English, German, some Native American, and finally Irish. It is the Irish upon which I want to focus. I am not entirely sure I can place a finger upon why that is, I merely know it is. I think it has to do with some of my melancholy nature. I think it is perhaps because it is the particular trait or background that has been traced furthest from the present. Perhaps it is because I have a sense that what I might find there might help me understand myself. I am not sure I have yet figured it all out. Some might question why I think I need to do so, but others will not find that need surprising in the least. I think perhaps some of it is because I have often felt like I had to fight and work tremendously hard for whatever I have achieved, and I would not I am not upset by that because those lessons have served me well. I think it is perhaps because I feel it is that particularly part of my background that has caused me to always see that one needs to pick one’s self up and refuse to quit regardless the situation.

Over the past weeks I have thought about the past year and how much has changed. At this point last year, I was in the last part of trying to write my tenure application for its first review and I was terrifically stressed. It was a difficult time and there seemed to be more than I could handle, but it got accomplished. There was a trip for Lydia and somehow she managed to pull through. There was finishing up a amazing year and learning much about another culture and family. There was the change in diet and health that has had significant consequences in how I have managed my life for almost a year. Today, a major part of the reason I came to Bloomsburg was approved at the university curriculum committee and hopefully a second piece will be ready for approval in the next week or so. That is the revision of the minor, the addition of two classes and the hope that a certificate will be approved before the end of the semester. It has taken 5 1/2 years of work, but it is accomplished. I am grateful to Dr. Dan Riordan, my former colleague and mentor. He continues to serve as a mentor and friend to me and I could not me more fortunate. I am grateful to my colleague, now assistant department chair, and amazing friend, Dr. Mark Decker for his insight and support before I even got to Bloomsburg and the vision he had. Finally, I am grateful to my colleagues in the English Department here at Bloomsburg University for their insistence that we create an interdisciplinary program and a program that would support the department as well as add to it. Both my former chair, Dr. S. Michael McCully, and my present chair, Dr. Tina Entminger, have been supportive beyond measure. There is still more on the horizon, but the cooperation of many people at a number of levels have made this growth possible. I think all of this is part of my heritage also. It is always interesting to reflect on how things occur and all the components necessary to make something happen. Two years ago when I thought I had some things figured out, I found out that was not the case. It took more time, more conversations, and more thought and investment to get to this point. It simply took patience and time. That might be the most important lesson I learned in all of this. What I also learned is that I have the skills to get something accomplished and bring to reality something that was a concept at best when I arrived.

Lydia, I hope you can see this is why I had to leave Menomonie the summer of 2009. I know that was a traumatic change for you (it was for me too). When I think of people back there I need to thank for this, what I know is there are numerous for a variety of reasons. I need to thank Erica Mathieson who was willing to live in the little house and try to manage Lydia and the things Lydia did that were difficult both generally and sometime very personally. I need to thank Tom and Elaine Lacksonen, who are still dear to me for all they have done over these years. I need to thank Nathan and Theresa Langton and Caddie and Maggie for all the time and effort they have put into helping care for Lydia and the house during the last 6 years. I am grateful to Amy Fichter and Charles Vandermuelen for their friendship and the gift they are in my life and how they are always there to support me whenever I find my way to Menomonie. I am feeling relieved and even a bit exhausted as it is now 10:30 and I am still in my office. I think I might go home for a bit of a nap and then be back bright and early. There is still grading and there is Spanish to work on. It has been a bit since I have posted, but it might actually make it to press tonight. Next week I will be back for some tests, but I am hoping that I have turned a corner in a positive direction. I think there are things that need to be considered here also, but I am headed to Jim Thorpe over the weekend to ask some questions. In the meanwhile, it is back to work or maybe to sleep for a nap and then back to work. It took two weeks to get this done, but thanks for waiting.

Thanks for reading.

Michael, Dr. Martin, adopted person, colleague, friend, surrogate parent, and any other subjectivity I can imagine (Thanks to Dr. Patty Sotirin for that reading I had to do on Anthony Giddens).

Creating Closure

Good Morning from Pennsylvania, from the Upper Sanctum, from an airport, from Fog and Flame,

I have been working on this blog for more than three weeks, but there have been so many things on my plate that it got pushed off the stove. As I write this part, I am here in Menomonie, having been here since last Wednesday evening. My life is been a whirlwind of emotions since arriving. The burial of George and Lydia, the memorial gathering for Lydia this past Saturday, and actually realizing that my time in Menomonie, and the actual need to be here, has come to a close, forces me to admit that the significant chapter in my life will soon be closed in some ways. My time here in Wisconsin was the longest time that I had spent in any one place since graduating from high school over 40 years ago. I will actually surpass that later this year in Bloomsburg. In spite of that, Menomonie and Wisconsin will always, in some aspect, be my home. It was the home of my predecessors, my ancestors. The memories and the time both professionally and personally shaped many of the things that I now hold valuable. Lydia taught me what it meant to give, at least in giving as far as resources. While I have always been a giving person as far as time and energy, it was in the giving of resources that she changed my life and I have worked to change the lives of others. That is my lasting legacy to you Lydia, to give as you did. I also need to listen to you more carefully as you used to admonish me to be careful in my giving.

The cascading emotions that I’ve gone through in the past week as I walked the places we had walked together, be the hallways of COH or Lammers grocery store, while they memories were joyful the emotions were sad and I cried. Anyone who would’ve seen me in the grocery store the other day would have come to the conclusion that I probably had significant problems. I’m staying away from fast food, but I had to go to Burger King last night because it’s the first place you and I had ever eaten together. I could see you clear as day wrapping up the remaining fries for “the little ones”. If you were watching us, as I’m sure you are, I’m pretty sure you know we are overwhelmed trying to imagine the best way to manage your estate. I know that Nate and I have very different concerns and different needs. I’m glad that you chose to give the house to him. I’ve been fortunate to have people in the little house. As I walked around the property in your yard I could see you with your broom. I was pleased when people told me that I have kept the property up in a way that you would’ve been proud. I’m not totally convinced of that as far as the yard, but then again it is winter.

Last evening I said my goodbyes to a variety of people they all asked if I would be coming back. There’s still stuff to do and I have to pack some things to move to Pennsylvania now, so the last part of May I will be in the house. However I know that will be the last time. Thank you for sharing such a magnificent place with me. Thank you for sharing such an astounding life with me; thank you for allowing me to share my life with you. When I have spoken with people these last days, the thing I heard repeatedly was how we took care of each other. I don’t know that I saw it as taking care of you, but rather we cared about each other and we grew to love each other. I know that you became a parent, a mother, to me as I told you that last night. When you whispered to me ” I know.”, the last words you spoke to me, I knew that hearing as your last words as such an affirmation was an unequaled gift to me. After the trip in May and the completion of gathering my belongings, a chapter of my life, a paramount portion of my life, will be completed. There will no longer be either a responsibility or requirement for me to return; yet, I cannot imagine never visiting there again. There are fond memories of people and events. What I have realized this past week is it is not about the things, in spite of some of their stunning beauty, it is about people and the memories created.

It is almost the end of spring break when I realized I’ve pretty much gone through the motions for the last three months. I’ve gotten done what is absolutely necessary and yet not even that’s true. What I’m realizing is that losing Lydia has affected me more than I knew. Even though I’ve been 1000 miles away for the past six years, part of my heart was still Menomonie. That too has had consequences. I have realized that from time to time.The other day someone wrote a post of the following meme: “you know how deeply you loved by how deeply you grieve.” Last night I went to see Celtic Woman for the third time. While I greatly enjoyed each concert I have attended, last night was special. First, I was able to go with Grace, who was kind enough to step in and use my second ticket. We had a wonderful time. Second, the concert itself was phenomenal. There was more Irish and Gaelic than previous concerts; there was more dancing. Two of the three main primaries, I had seen or heard before. The newest member, Mairead Carlin, at least to me, was sensational. The two men dancing astounded me. Somehow it’s apropos that I went to see them only a few days before St. Patrick’s Day. It is still one of my deep desires to travel to Ireland and if I could make it happen when they were there performing and see them in concert there, that might just complete my bucket list. A year ago I was writing about culture and ethnic background. I wrote that blog sitting in the Fog and Flame, and ironically I plan to spend a good part of the day there today. It is time for me to get more disciplined more focused and to make some tough decisions. Yesterday I had the opportunity to speak with a former colleague and she pushed me to think about things in ways I’m generally unwilling to do so. She was insightful, honest, and helpful. What is it that allows us to feel fulfilled, to feel accomplished, or as I noted before, to be content. You might note that the first two of the previous list were to feel, the last one was to be.I do not want to feel content, I want to be content. I believe it is so much more than just checking things off or completing a bucket list. I believed to be truly content would allow someone to be truly happy. Through my conversation yesterday, I’ve been awakened or realized once again that maybe giving does not automatically create or equal happiness. There is more to understand. I am in the Fog and Flame now and I am editing and proofreading before posting. There is a concept; it is something I preach, but need to practice.

It is now three weeks since I have posted and what I realize is that life is unpredictable regardless how much we might plan. I’m quite sure that she did not plan her life to end quite as it did. I can actually imagine that she would’ve been content to go to the garage and turn on the car as she had threatened to do and she fallen off the roof. Again, I feel compelled to consider the letter someone sent arguing that she should’ve been allowed to live in her house until her last days. How do I allow that to happen when the consequence was likely would’ve been more tragic than being in a place where the caregivers actually cared for her and loved her? I know with all my heart that I did the best for her I could because I promised to do so. It’s only three weeks from now that Lydia would’ve been at COH for four years. So much as happened in that time; and there were a myriad of things to attend to both around the property and in her immediate care. Again, in both cases, I worked to do the best I could to keep the promise made almost 8 years ago sitting at Perkins one morning eating breakfast. There are still things I must do to complete all that’s been asked, all that was promised. Some of those who have known her for years told me that I had done really well and II had done an outstanding job of providing care for her. While their words are meaningful, and I am certainly grateful, ultimately, what matters is what she thought. I think they are summed up in the last night I saw her living. As I cried on her shoulder and I told her she had become my mother all of the sudden she began to rub the back of my head, and as I looked into amazing blue eyes one last time she whispered softly, “I know.” Those two words are perhaps the most amazing gifts I’ve ever been given.

Last night during the concert they sang the song I most appreciate about immigrants and those people coming to this country to make a life for themselves. It is actually one of my favorite Celtic Woman songs, “Isle of Tears,” and as the music began before the lyrics (and I am not quite sure of the name of the instrument which creates a sort of a mournful oboe tone – it is called Uilleann Pipes) I told Grace that I dedicated this song to Lydia. I’m hoping I might find a YouTube video of it and I will post it at the end of this blog. While I’ve had to start over my life from time to time, it was not when I was 15 or 17 or to come to a new country and learn a new language. When I generally take time to ponder and think about what Lydia accomplished, I am more and more astounded by this amazing little woman (4’10” and 90 pounds). From time to time I complain about such minor things in comparison. It is interesting to me that the persons who become closest of my life are those persons who understand their heritage, live and celebrate that heritage, and understand the complexity of our diversity. What I’ve realized again is how little I know how much there is yet to learn. And learn is what I want to do. I want to learn languages; I want to learn the culture; I want to learn what’s important to them and to me. To understand the differences and appreciate those differences. I want to help people realize through my own actions that reaching out to those we meet bridges gaps, provides understanding and opportunity, and makes our lives better. While there is much more I could write I need to focus on some work and I should get something posted as it is been too long. Lydia I will continue to work diligently to complete the things I promised. Grace thank you for going to the concert with me last night. To all of you who continue to read this blog and follow me I’m grateful for each of you.

I will actually share two videos with you. This YouTube video I created of the University of Wisconsin-Stout remembering Lydia, an amazing educator, a phenomenal intellect, and a woman who changed by life. I miss you, Lydia. The second video is the video of the song I dedicated to you last night as I listened to the concert.

Michael (Dr. Martin)

Tartar de Entender

Bueno temprano en mañana,

I am going to attempt with both what I know and some translator- assistance to write this first part in Spanish. I am back working on my language acquisition skills diligently, so this is good work for me to do. At the end of my poly-lingual writing I will provide a synoptic translation. Clasifiqué papeles y blogs ayer por la tarde y luego trabajé en el español durante casi siete horas anoche. Volví a casa anoche y me quedé el bastante mucho tiempo para fijar algo para comer. Entonces cepillé mis dientes y me í a la cama. Ahora, cuando parece ser típico, estoy despierto en 3:30 por la mañana. Hablé con mi mejor amigo y su esposa anoche en el teléfono. Era maravilloso alcanzarlos, pero esto era también una palmada áspera de la realidad. Como usted sabe, si usted ha estado leyendo mi blog, Lydia, las mujeres asombrosas que se hicieron mi madre, han fallecido en los pocos meses pasados. También he experimentado el paso de otros en mi vida cuando esto pareció el camino muy temprano para tales cosas de pasar, un hermano, una hermana, hasta una abuela, y una madre adoptada. En tres de aquellos casos yo era en los mis años 20 o años 30. El paso de mi hermana era también demasiado temprano, pero había cosas que contribuyeron a su paso en los sus años 50 que hacen su muerte más comprensible. Ella era el primer contemporáneo faces. Quizás es debido a mi propia batalla y bocacalle 60 este año que la mirada, aunque de una distancia, mi mejor amigo comience a perder su batalla contra ALS más rápidamente es tan difícil para mí. Quizás es porque me encuentro todavía llorar por Lydia en momentos. Quizás es porque la realidad dura de ningunas promesas en la vida mira fijamente mí en la cara. fallecer cuando mi propio paso o mortalidad parecen más probables.

It took me about 45 minutes to write that paragraph, but it was good exercise. For those of you who cannot read or understand Spanish, I spoke about my last day and the opportunity I had to speak with my best friend and his wife (I have noted in other posts on Facebook or elsewhere, perhaps in blogs that he is losing his battle to ALS). I noted that I have lost people to early before their time, often relatives. While some of that was in my 20s and 30s, losing my life-long friend now seems to be a very tough reality check. I realize that we all have a limited time, but this one is so unfair to me in so many ways. I noted that perhaps it is because I’m turning 60 that watching Peter losing his battle to this terrible disease it’s been so hard. Perhaps, in part, it’s because Lydia just passed away and that still causes me to cry at times. Regardless it forces me to face my mortality, which is something that I’ve been doing on a regular basis this past year. That is a somewhat close paraphrase of my Spanish entry.

Perhaps it’s because my latest tests with the doctor were less than ideal. What I know is we have very little sense of what or when our life is completed, or do we? I think there must always be a sense of “but wait, I have more I want to accomplish.” Stephanie wrote to me that I needed to be prepared for a significant difference even speaking on the phone. I know when I go to see him in a couple weeks it will be terrifically difficult. Not because Peter will make it so, but because I will need to literally face the reality that the time my best friend has left on this earth is extremely limited. I’m forced to stare at the harshness of a disease that suffocates the host body. All the ice bucket challenges in the world cannot help him, and while I was asked to do the challenge, I chose to give the money instead. As I got off the phone last night once again I am finding myself in tears. I have spoke at times of justice; where’s the justice in this? Is there even a small measurable way that one can find justice or fairness, when it is likely that Peter will not see his daughter married at the end of the summer? While I struggled to let Lydia go, she was 90. She had lived in amazing life. Is there a reasonable time for one to die? The very question is fraught with absurdity, but I’m forced to admit that even in this case with Peter, at some point as his body leaves him helpless, his death will be compassionate. Mostly for him because of the dreadful consequences of ALS. In a bittersweet way I might even see some measure of compassion or relief for Stephanie, Whitney, and Dane. But search as I hard as I am able, I can find nothing fair or just and the reality that a 58-year-old man is having his very life taken away from him breath by breath, labored movement by movement is brutal beyond words. I think of my former colleague, David Tank, and I still vividly see the picture of him crying as he pushed his wife’s casket down the aisle of the church after she lost her battle with the same horrendous disease. That image in my mind is still one of the most touching things I have ever witnessed. Peter was my best man and I was his. He sang at my ordination. I sang at his daughter’s baptism. Those are some of our intertwining moments. There is an entire tapestry of events that we have shared.

I know the clichés of life and our feeble attempts to make sense of the nonsensical. As I struggled to find the right words and make some sense of my own feelings, it is perhaps now that the words of Sr. Galán provide some comfort. For they are the words that I said to Peter and Stephanie last night. I know there’s not much I can do from 1000 miles away. In fact there’s little more I could do if I were next-door. I could visit more often and I could spend more time, but I’m forced to realize of the giftedness time is. I’m forced to admit that I’ve been able to have a best friend for over 55 years. A friend, who which in spite of any distance or periods of not actually speaking because of space and life, always knew who I was as I knew him. Perhaps one of the most important things I have done was to sit down and actually write him a letter and his birthday two and a half years ago. I remember speaking to him on the phone one night and crying. I praise God for that call and that letter. I told them both last night again how much I love them. José, perhaps you’re right, it’s all we have. I guess that raises another question. If it is all we have why are we so conditional in giving it? Is it because we’re fragile or is it because people don’t know what to do with it? Somehow Dan Fogelberg is in my thoughts again. I will probably embed another video of one of his songs at the end of this post. “The heart is too heavy and fragile to hold and I am afraid I might break it.” Yet, this is whereI find myself struggling to understand what you mean, José. How can my heart be big enough to love all the people? For me to love someone means they have dramatically changed my life. It is not something that happens automatically. Perhaps it should; perhaps I’m just incapable. For me to love someone means not only have they found their way into my heart (and perhaps my house), but I have made myself vulnerable, and not just a little bit (I do not do things a little bit), but in a way that they have enormous power. Ideally, they don’t use it in a malicious way and even when we are hurt, sometimes it is not their intent, but our fragility. As my father used to say, “the people we love the most can hurt us the worst.” As I told you last week I’m still trying to wrap my head around all of this. Perhaps we’ll have a chance to talk again this evening as Melissa has once again surprised me and we will all be together. Perhaps by the time you come, you will have read this and I have no doubt you will have things to say. I always appreciate your thoughts and the passion of your insights. I am always thinking about what you say more than you might ever know. Cuando Melissa a menudo me da miradas de la consternación o hace rodar sus ojos en la exasperación, usted sabe que siempre considero cosas y trato de tener sentido de ellos, pero realmente no pienso que cualquiera de ustedes es que diferente.

Is now after 5:00 a.m. and a couple hours of sleep still seem like a good plan. I would like to be at my office by 8:00 or 8:30 at the latest. I have a lot of my plate for the weekend and perhaps going to dinner and chatting tonight will be a nice distraction from other things that I need to accomplish. This past week was quite productive. The certificate and the minor revision are onto the last level of approval. The concentration is not far behind. If I can get those things done by the end of the academic year and I can hand someone a diploma, I think I will feel like I’ve completed all I need to do. Anything beyond that is an extra gift. Tal vez el punto es este: no hay ningún entendimiento, allí sólo hace. Y es importante hacer todo lo posible podemos.

Off to sleep; thanks for reading.

Dr. Martin