thewritingprofessor55

Seasons

Good early morning,

I am finally making some notable progress against this pneumonia, but I think I have been In bed more hours in the last two weeks than I have usually been in six. I was in bed before 9:00 p.m. Last night. While I have been productive during the days, there is more to do than the hours I have been awake, so if you think about that I am working my way backwards. That is a problem. The weekend will require some significant work. My niece will be here this weekend and I am looking forward to seeing her. I have not seen her since last Spring. Even though we speak regularly, it is a long way back to Iowa.

If you live in Bloomsburg, you might think my blog title is referring to a restaurant here in town. While I appreciate that establishment a great deal, it is not the topic or focus of my blog. I will put in an unabashed plug for this restaurant gastronomique. Others might think I am referring to Antonio Vivaldi’s amazingly well-known, and, in my opinion, over-played composition, which is actually titled le Quattro staglioni.. While this might be actually closer, it again is not really what I am rying to strictly consider as I write this blog. And, btw, if you want to cosines some different musical compositions that are more than concertos, not to take away from Vivaldi, look up Fresh Aire I-IV by Mannheim Steamroller for another take on the quadratic divi on of our calendar year. Most of you know their Christmas music, but this precedes it. In fact, I am listening to the second album (download) about Spring as I write this. The metaphor of seasons and understanding or illustrating our lives is quite common, and that is more what I have been thinking about this past few weeks. Again, knowing that I have been working with requirements of being the trustee for Lydia might provide some context, and rightly so, but I think it is my own life and reflection upon that life that is more the impetus for this posting. It is the fact that my best friend in life is now in a care facility suffering the devastation of ALS and I am here and can do little to help or visit him that is hurting me profoundly. It is perhaps that I have another set of freshmen who have barely begun their lives and I know that I have lived most of mine. I know that I have worked against odds to make it this far, and while I plan to go father yet, there are things that want to keep that from happening. It does not really sadden me, but it does make me wonder how best to use this period of time, this final season if you will.

If I would try to imagine my life as those four seasons, how might I show the parallels? Where are those divisions and why do I see them as I do? Is each season the same length, as a normal yearly cycle we follow or do they vary? What are the significant moments or events within those seasons? Those are all Fragen daran zu denken . However, it is almost 5:00, so there other priorities for me, and it is time to rise and shine, or, at least rise.
. . . As is often the case, the week got away from me and other priorities with the first week of classes came to the fore. So it is almost midnight on Friday and my niece, Jennifer, just arrived and she will be here until Sunday sometime. It is good to see her. I have not been able to get together since she was in Bloomsburg last Spring around the end of March. I am not sure what all we will do tomorrow, but it is wonderful to have her here.

So what happened or when was there a time that I would consider there a
springtime in my life, that place or time of growth, of hope, of believing the best was yet to come? What I am realizing as I start to ponder this, it is likely that neither my life can be seen in an orderly manner nor would my seasons follow the expected chronological pattern. For instance, you might consider the spring to be the time when you were younger, when things are or were, new, things are, or were, changing, when there’s wonderment about what you are and where you will or would go. I’m not sure I had such a time throwing up. At least I don’t remember feeling that way at any time as a child. I think that time for me might’ve been when I was in college, at Dana College. I was 24 years old shortly after arriving in Blair. Granted there were times growing up but I had that wonderment. As I noted in previous blogs,, Christmas times at my grandma’s house; or times on my great aunt’s farm. If I use the concept of being amazed the idea of extreme wonderment, I imagine the time that I was in the Marine Corps might be such a time. Was for me wide-eyed and gently boggled by everything that occurred around me. And without a doubt, it was one of the times in my life I grew the most. Yet, looking back, I don’t remember it as a time of time of happiness or a time where I felt good about myself. Again there were moments but I felt those things, but nothing sustained. As I ponder all of this what I realize are the times that I was most happy were the times I was learning something. I imagine that’s why am happy even now. Though I must admit some of the learning is now more difficult or more significant. Some of the most significant learning has actually been outside the classroom. I don’t believe that’s a bad thing. Maybe it’s reasonable to ask when was my most significant learning moment. Within the realm of school I believe it was the first time I went to Europe. Outside of school I think it’s actually been that during the last year. Simply put I guess spring time for me is the time of growth, both growth in my mind and growth in who I am as a person.

How might I describe the season of summer and when did that season occur in my life? As the next thing for me to ponder, when did I feel the warmth of the summer, a sort of caliente capable of radiance through your entire being; creating a warmth than affects your very soul? Has I wonder about this the only time I can think I felt such warmth and happiness was as a small child with my grandparents. I remember laying in the yard in the grass on a summer day and gazing out the sky, pondering the art and the figures in the clouds. I remember once gazing a crossed and I could see what we’re grain elevators. I didn’t know that’s what they were and I thought I was gazing at heaven. I was so happy and content. I liked where I lived; I knew I liked that I was loved. I believed life was wonderful. What I know now that would last much longer and I’m not sure I’ve ever felt that since. On one level, that’s an incredibly sad statement. On another level, I think it addresses the actual complexity of what it means to be truly happy. I do believe there are times of my life where I’ve been content. In fact, I would say now is one of those times. I am content because I have everything I need and certainly most anything I have wanted. Yet none of that really makes me happy. For me, happiness goes beyond contentment. That statement is probably worth an entry on its own.

I think for the time being I will just continue to ponder. I will say something about the two additional seasons in my next post. However most of the rest of the day I should do it work on school things and be prepared for the coming week. I owe that to myself; I owe that to my students. Perhaps a century will make you ponder your own life and those times or seasons when you felt the best? What where the contributing factors to those seasons of growth? those seasons of happiness?

As always thank you for reading. I hope you have a great week.

Dr. Martin

_Selma_

Hello from my room where I should be sleeping, but . . .

Earlier this evening I was fortunate to be able to go to the movie theatre, not something I would normally mention. While I enjoy movies, and particularly ones that force me to think or ponder, seldom to I leave a movie speechless or so amazed there are simply no words to adequately portray what I am thinking or feeling. The last movie to come close to doing that was A Beautiful Mind, which up until this evening, was the movie I have referred to as my favorite. After seeing Selma this evening that designation for the amazing movie about John Nash may have changed. What an astounding movie this look at our country 100 years after the end of the Civil War is painted (pun intended). Poignant, risky, and one that forces all Americans to face our racism, both in our unbelievably saturated history, but also in our lingering overt and covert continued practice of marginalizing those we deem different. I am still processing the movie on a number of levels and will probably see it a time or two more. I have some other thoughts about how I might use it in my classes this semester. I was particularly struck by the way the federal, state and local levels of politics and law enforcement managed the issue of voting. What an eye opening thing for me. I was only 10 years old when most of this was happening, and growing up in an almost totally white NW Iowa, I had very little awareness of these issues. What is amazing to me is how in a time of our national history when we claimed or perhaps appeared to be such a beacon of democracy and equality, we were actually not listening to the nation-wide cries of injustice and our image was barely a veneer of any such place.

As mentioned, I grew up in an almost totally white town, even though there were around 100,000 inhabitants, there were very few blacks and probably more Native Americans. I grew up knowing that the “N-word” was not to be spoken, but I do not think I met a black person until I was a senior in high school. Seriously. The re-proportioning of high schools in my senior year meant that most of the black students, which were not many, went to my school. I honestly do not remember thinking they were really any different than I was, but I think that was because I was pretty easy going. The very fact that I might say do not think they were different, however, raises the issue. Why might I consider them different? Why am I even prompted to consider such a question? Going into the Marine Corps was an eye-opening experience because of the racial exposure I would receive. While they argued that everyone was Olive Drab, as I look back that was not true. I have some very painful experiences in the service because of a particular situation with a Black Marine, but that experience was because of who he was as a person and had nothing to do with his race. However, all of this, I believe, forces me to admit, to see as a revelation, the reality of my white bias. It forces me to realize I was raised in a society that saw, and continues to see, “the other” as different, and too often different means less than or somehow problematic. Perhaps this is what Melissa was trying to get me to see more clearly than I was able way back in September when I wrote about privilege. Perhaps I need to give her more credit than I was willing to give. Perhaps it was, because this white bias, I could not see through her words or understand her clearly. Perhaps it is because my emotions got in the way of my brain. That happens more often than I would like to admit. Going to the movie last night I saw things I could’ve never imagined. I thought things I did not anticipate. I thought things the touched my very soul. For me, ultimately, that’s what makes the movie successful. The analytical side causes me to wonder how much directorial license was taken? How much of the script is fictional? Regardless the answer, what I know is it the movie was moving, compelling, and phenomenally effective. I must know it was not until I was lying in bed last night at the irony of seeing this movie on Martin Luther King Day hit me. What an unbelievably apropos thing to do, but I must know that I did it unwittingly and unknowingly. I am never been against a holiday, I must also must admit that I’ve never done much to celebrate it.

I should note that it is early Tuesday morning and I’m up and ready for a new semester. I think I will start with breakfast at the diner. Two eggs, hot tea, a half order of potatoes should do it. While I had gained some weight back during the fall have managed to lose all of that in the last 10 to 12 days. That does not really hurt my feelings and, in fact, I would like to lose another 15. That would put me in the 170s. Not a bad thing especially as I’m getting older even as I write.

Back to the issue at hand. The movie forced me to think about where our country comes from and what we value. What we say we value corporately or nationally and what we seem to do individually is too often at odds. The portrayal of Lyndon Baines Johnson and his willingness to create a law to ensure voters rights was quite interesting. At least in the movie, up till his very announcement before Congress, he was unwilling to do the right thing because it was not politically expedient. Again how true that might be is probably open to debate, but I also know that he was a political pragmatist and he was from Texas. Even though that is my birth state, it is not a place known for being compromising nor willing to work with another. Hence the billboards “don’t mess with Texas.” I might again reveal a political bias here, but Bush 43 seems to prove that assertion. Again I do not want to be a spoiler in case you want to go and see the movie. All I can say is regardless of script or directing, I believe the movie provides an unparalleled picture of our world a mere 50 years ago.

While it forces me to consider the past, more importantly, it requires me to ponder our present circumstances. Well I’m well aware of the argument that will be made regarding legalities and voting for the black person in the 1960s, I cannot help but see parallels between then and how we now treat Latinos and other minorities in our present immigration debate. Not that long ago, in our own history black people were only counted as 3/5s of a person. What the hell? They were brought here, many against their will and we abused and marginalized them. Too often I believe we still do. I’m not sure that every Latino, Asian or other immigrant child wants to come to the United States, but in order to stay with their family and, often in the hopes and dreams of parents providing a better life, they come. In the big picture, not that long ago, my ancestors did the same. As I noted in the previous blog, we are all immigrants. It does not matter the color, the gender, the creed or faith, is a fundamental human given to hope for good life. If not for ourselves at the very least for our children. It is the very reason I will see many faces, new faces, today in my classes. They are hoping to somehow this investment of tens of thousands of dollars will provide an opportunity for them to be more successful, to make a difference in their own lives and in the lives of those they love. How do we value them as a student? How do they value themselves? Too often their backgrounds cause them to believe they are capable of less than they are. On the other hand, it is not our job to merely hold their hands. It is such an interesting balancing act, and there is no recipe card.

However, as I noted, where am I now as I ponder my own personal baggage and where I stand regarding issues of equality and justice? Perhaps the most important thing to occur in the approximately-a-year I’ve been accepted as a member of the Galán family is foundational because it has provided an indescribable opportunity for me to consider my racial bias, a bias that it pains me to admit, but one I must confront if I am to understand it and then change it. It is something that I am working on. It is something that being opened to has forced me to finally recognize how deep-seated it is. I am grateful to be learning this. I pray that I can continue to learn to accept people for who they are and the gifts they bring rather than for what I expect or hope from them. Melissa and José, thank you for coming to see me Sunday morning. José, thank you for your words. Melissa, thank you for your presence.

Off to the office to start a new semester; to my various surrogates, I wish you a successful semester. If it is your last one, hang in there; you’re almost there. For those who made Dean’s list last semester, I only have one thing to say. Do it again. To the rest of you, good luck with your semester, be it here in Bloom or somewhere else. If you have not seen the movie Selma, do yourself a favor and go see it. To everyone else, thank you as always for reading.

Dr. Martin

Temporalities

Hello from the Detroit airport,

I am quite sure that this post might be a tapestry of thoughts, emotions, and memories. As I sit in the airport my mind seems to be a conundrum of possibilities and requirements, opportunities and necessities, remembering the past and imagining the future. I have my earbuds in and ironically the song from Neil Diamond’s The Jazz Singer titled “America” is playing. I will write more about irony later in this post. I am remembering the first time I heard that song, I was in then what was West Germany and traveling as a student with Dr. Nielsen on the interim titled Auguries of Loneliness. As I sit here lonely among the people crowding around me gathering for the last leg of a cross-country flight, I am content in my solitude. It is always sort of a game to try to imagine what the stories are of the people around me. While someone told me this week I am an academic and I seem like one (not sure if that is a compliment), I most often see myself as an Iowa kid who grew up blue collar and worked hard. I have been fortunate to have people who cared and loved me step up along the way. Without their help I certainly would not be where I am. One of the things that I believe makes me a bit different than most is I do not forget people, and I reach out to them from time to time to help them know they still matter and that their assistance was neither forgotten nor expected. I think that is my grandmother’s admonishment to be a gentleman put into action.

The temporality of our individual human experience is something I have been pushed to consider these past weeks. It is not quite a month ago that I needed to fly home for Lydia and to help make decisions on whether the quality of life she had been reduced to from the long-term consequences of dementia was the life she wanted. When is mere existence no longer life? Sitting with her family physician, a man I respect beyond words, said, “Michael, it makes no sense to try to prolong her life.” Those were both difficult and freeing words at the same time. This brilliant woman, strong-willed and yet loving, determined and yet fragile, had lived an amazing life. She was no longer living, she was marginally existing. To move toward palliative care was a change that was done out of love and not out of selfishness. “Another day goes by and I thank God that I am alive” (Nico and Vinz). I am not sure Lydia could say this any longer. While her temporality saw much more than many in her 90 years, 4 months and 27 days, I am forced to see her and myself as temporal.

Before you read what follows as fatalist, let me tell you simply, please don’t. I know I am temporary. At one point I chose to ignore, perhaps even foolishly argue against, such a notion. I wonder why do we struggle so desperately to hang on to this life? I think I have realized that life has a quality and maintaining that quality is not always an easy thing to do. That does not suppose that we should merely disregard what we can do, but what really matters when we hold onto our existence, even somewhat dramatically or even more sadly desperately. Is it because we believe we must still accomplish something? It is because we foolishly believe that we make such a profound difference? Again, I am not saying that those things do not have value, but are they such astounding things that our lack of physical presence will cause them to totally disappear. Lydia is no longer physically here, and while I cannot actually hear her voice or see her amazing eyes, I can say unequivocally they are still present and they affect me. I can see both her smile of approval and her scowl of the opposite as if she were still here. What I am pondering more carefully and thoughtfully is what is my purpose from this point forward? Again, please do not see me as falling of the cliff of sanity, but I know that much of my purpose this past decade was to care for and follow through on the promise I made to her.

It is certainly a good thing that I have my position at Bloomsburg and a program to continue to grow. It is a good thing that I have the Decker family. Tenure removes some of the temporality of that position and provides some security. Having the continuity with the Deckers from Wisconsin to Pennsylvania is more profound to me than they probably realize. To watch their family grow, evolve and to be treated with the respect and love they have given me again has affected my life beyond measure and in a way that is indescribable. In addition some of my other colleagues have become treasured people in my life. My former chair and present chair are astounding people. The colleague with whom I started in the department is more of a friend that I am sure he realizes. The person who was my acting chair my first semester and his wife are such a blessings to me. The English Department at Bloomsburg University is really a wonderful position to be placed in at this point in my life. Then there are the students. Speaking about temporality, they come and they go more quickly than we can even seem to manage. I have watched two sets of students complete their studies and watched them mature from wide-eyed freshmen to young professionals, still wide-eyed, but in a different way. Every once in a while I find that what I have done has had some profound positive effect. Those moments are fleeting, but they are precious. I have also learned that not everyone is as genuine as I might have hoped, but those are important life lessons too because they remind me that I have really very little control of anything but myself. Those moments are equally precious. They remind one of what is true and upon what or in whom we can believe and trust. There are very few in whom we can actually trust and perhaps even fewer in whom we can hope to believe. That brings me to a different concept. It is the concept of giving my word. Following through on to my promise to Lydia to care for her to the best of my ability was something I felt strongly about, and I still do. My word to someone, regardless who they are, needs to be trusted, to be believed. I know there are times I could be more comprehensive in making this happen, and those times affect me more than most might realize. I think this comes from my father. I know that his word to someone was almost sacred. I tried to care for Lydia as I watched him care for others, without a sense of reward, and during this time I have continued to give to others like I believed she would. What I know is the help we offer others is temporal in more than one aspect or manner than we might think.

I remember once writing a practice sermon for a preaching class in seminary. The text was the poisonous serpent text in Numbers and I titled the sermon “temporarily faithful.” That seems to be predominately who we are as humans. We hold on to things that we either value or things we believe benefit us. When the value is deemed minimal or we believe we might need to put more into something that we receive, it is easier to discard it. There have been moments in my life I am guilty of this practice, and for those times I must humbly ask for forgiveness. There is one person, a person I have loved beyond measure most of my life, I have run away from because I was frightened and felt guilty. I am not sure if I can repair this situation or not, but ignoring it is not the right thing to do. It is amazing how we can decide things or believe things that are perhaps not accurate, but we do it and we box ourselves into something less than ideal. Over the weekend, I did have the opportunity to speak with one of the people to whom I have referred from time to time. It was an interesting, and helpful, conversation, but there are still things that do not make sense to me. As hard as I try, I cannot wrap my head around that fundamental concept or the manner in which he (and my extension, they) use this concept, word, or philosophy. I wonder what that particular word means and the two synonyms used do not connect for me. Again, I am not arguing against that position, but I cannot see it as possible, either logically or emotionally and therefore I cannot see how it is actually practiced, particularly when the actions taken do not seem consistent with what I understand that term to be. I guess I will continue to struggle to understand. More importantly, I will continue. I know that the value and joy brought to my life far outweighs anything negative. I am not sure that is always portrayed as well as I might and for those times, again, I must ask for forgiveness.

Tomorrow I begin another semester, so it is now Monday. I am still struggling with my health and it appears after another appointment that I might have coughed so hard that I had a minor stroke. I do know exactly when that occurred as the pain I had in my head was unbelievably intense. Perhaps, ironically, that coughing finally helped because I am actually feeling a bit better, though I must admit every time I go into a coughing spell, my head is very tender and it hurts pretty badly. Again, all of this reminds me pretty clearly that we have much less control over what happens than we might think. While I have worked hard for the better part of seven and a half months to improve my health, there are some things I cannot predict or change. I will admit, as I did yesterday that the last month has not been stellar as far as taking charge of my health, and I am changing that again, the work I have done this past 3/4 of a year has been pretty darn significant. As I look toward the semester and what is on my plate, there seems to be little doubt that it will be busy and continuous, but that is nothing different. What I need to do is be smarter and more intentional about each and every thing I do. This past year, and most of my life, I allowed people I believed cared to have more control than I should. That is because I have a tendency to put others before myself. Again, I know from where that comes and while I have made some progress in that realm, sometimes it seems like two steps forward and one step back. That is better than one step forward and two steps back, but I need to make sure that I do not go backwards at all. It is such a balancing act for me. I have heard from more than a handful of people that I need to take care of myself. I am sad that my time over break was influenced by illness as much as it was. That kept me from enjoying some things, places, and people, that, or who, are so important to me. Time is fleeting and I know that is cliché, but it is cliché because we note it and then too often ignore it. We allow things to affect and influence us, turn us upside down, and then we wonder on the other end “What the hell happened?” Sort of what the Green Bay Packers are wondering this morning. As a Packer fan, I must say, I am still in a state of shock. The point is, we have opportunities to make a difference. Even in the fleeting moment, we can positively influence another persons life. Sometimes what we might do could be significant or appear significant. Other times, it might be something very simple or even mundane, but the point is we affect, and are affected by, those around us. Each of these moments are opportunities, changes to change both our own life and the lives of others around us. Too often we are selfish, narcissistic, or just plain clueless. I am so fortunate because I am, through my position in the university given entrée into others lives. I am gifted to be able to share what little I have to offer to make a bit of a difference. What I am realizing again, it the temporal nature of that chance, of that opportunity. Ultimately, I hope in the coming weeks, both in the semester, and in my life, I can focus on the gifts I have and try to share them as unconditionally as I can humanly muster. I fail there too often, but as Lydia demonstrated in her life, one can still care. I have been asked a couple times lately about the purpose of my blog and why I write as I do. I noted that writing is always contextual. I am grateful for the questions and indeed, I do go back and edit at times. Sometimes those edits are for bad writing. Sometimes those edits are for poor practice. Sometimes those edits are simply editing and proofreading.

As I told one person, I hope in my writing I reveal my soul (if so, you might catch a glimpse of who I really am), but I also hope to protect my life. I am reminded of a seminary professor that once said, while it does note that the shepherd lays down his (and I would add “her”) life, and when I was a pastor the shepherd analogy was probably more apparent, no where does it say the sheep take his (her) life. What I have learned since is if we let people, they will take more from our lives that we can afford to give. Off to a new semester.

Thanks as always for reading.

Michael (and tomorrow again, Dr. Martin)

Diversions, Dastardly Deeds, and Directions

Hello from another airport,

I can honestly say in 40 years of flying I had never had a pressurization issue in an airplane. That streak as now ended. We could not reach cruising attitude and they had to divert the plane. The most important thing is they managed the issue professionally and calmly, and while there is some inconvenience, we are all safe and sound. There is so little we actually have control of when we fly. Yet, most of us hop on the plane, walking down that jetway without a second thought. I have probably flown somewhere between 500,000 and 1,000,000 in my life. I have only had two issues: this one and way back when I was only 18 and a tire blew out on landing. That was actually more frightening than today was for me. So now I am in a cab and they are actually taking us to another airport. I think I will be writing American Airlines a very long letter. I know that flying is still more efficient than other modes of travel, but my experience with American and its partners over the past two weeks has been anything but stellar.

As I sat in the various airports today, the continued unfolding of events around Paris and throughout France are mind-blowing to me. How does someone created such hatred within himself or herself that they deem it appropriate to kill another person because their opinions differ? I believe in principle, but how does that principle, or adherence to a particular set of beliefs, create the justification to kill another? I find this particularly egregious when we use our faith in any God or prophet as the rationale for such heinous actions. First, let me note that America has engaged in such behavior, both in the Civil War and in the Japanese Internment Camps in WWII, so we are not blameless. Furthermore, while I do believe in the importance of national security, some of our actions post-911 are currently problematic for me. I don’t care what Former Vice President Cheney says. I was speaking with Marco yesterday – it is now Monday, by the way – and we discussed the various manners in which countries seem to respond to actions such as what occurred in Paris, Boston, or other places. The manner in which governments are responding to terrorists incidences seems to be more strident. BTW, if you have not read Fareed Zakaria’s blog over the weekend, it is an outstanding read.

Having been in Auschwitz barely a week ago, there is little doubt in my mind the extreme consequence of the espousal of hate can be. As I am sitting and listening to NPR this morning a story about another form of human bombing was noted. In Nigeria, the terrorist organization had begun using adolescent girls as bombers. How do you convince a 10 year old that such an action is reasonable, acceptable, or appropriate. I find it incomprehensible that a 10 year old can develop such hate for another culture or group of people. I have written so much about our difference in cultures and how those cultures affect both our identity and our practices. Certainly there are times the difference in culture has to do with daily practice; sometimes those differences have to do with language and how we use words differently. I am pondering some of that even as I write this. My travels during this break and my experience with Lydia and language has once again reminded me how language can open doors, but it can also create barriers. As I sit here in a Starbucks drinking hot tea and trying to overcome what I have found is double pneumonia, I have been working on syllabi all morning, but I have also been pondering what this coming semester will hold for me. Lydia’s presence in my life had more value than most might imagine. Taking care of her and making sure she was cared for in an appropriate manner was a significant part of who I had become. Lydia taught me important things. As I have noted in some previous blogs, she became my mother, and while she was a tough person at times, she had an incredible heart and a goodness to her. At some point, I will write a blog posting about the 10 years I have known her and how she has changed both my life and my perspective on life. She was the victim of, and experienced on a first-hand basis, some of the dastardly deeds that I noted in my title. The fact that her husband was a political prisoner of the Reich is one thing. The fact that she lost members of her immediate family because of the post-Czech issues of the Second World War, it is easier for me to understand why someone could grow to so dislike another that they might actually hate them. Lydia would use that work in her comments toward the Czechs, but her way of managing that extreme emotion was to eliminate them from her existence. I do not think she every again spoke Czech in her lifetime. Is she entitled to such emotion? That is not an easy question. Are we entitled to either love or hate another? There is not entitlement. There is only our human response to our experiences. It seems the more extreme, or more affected we are by the experience, but more likely that experience will be grafted into our DNA if you will. While I am aware of what happened to Lydia’s parents, it is not something she spoke of often. In fact, she only told me of it once, and that was when we were standing in her room at Comforts of Home.

It is Wednesday of the last week of break and I have actually slept for more than 12 hours in three of the last five days. That is the most I have slept in years, but on the other hand, I think this is the worst I have felt since last spring at the end of school. While I am not generally one to jump on the Alka Seltzer or other sort of cold and flu bandwagon, I do not think I had a choice this time. I do not have time beginning next week to be sick. The last two nights I was in bed before 8:00 p.m. Last night it might have been barely 7:00. I am pretty sure that the travel schedule, which I am realizing had more wear and tear in it than I expected as well as the time I spent in Menomonie, took its toll on a body that already has its own issues. I can honestly say I do not think I have felt this badly since I had to go back into the hospital a little over two years ago because of surgical complications.

It is now Thursday early morning and my alarm went off at 3:45 a.m., and even though I went to bed before 8:00 again last night I fix it sleep very well. I think the largest period of continuous sleep I got before the alarm going off, which I was awake to hear, was maybe an hour. The fog was ridiculous this morning. While I had hoped to get more work done, that did not happen. Even as I sit here on the flight this morning, waiting to depart, I am sweating. With only a t-shirt and sport coat, I feel like I am in a sauna. I guess my body is fighting to the best of its ability. It is amazing mechanism in spite of its current frailties.

As I begin a new semester and a life altered because of the events this past month, I find it necessary to imagine what it is I am called to do and how I will prioritize all I do. I think last year might be seen as an experiment – one with mixed results, but one nonetheless I am glad I tried or one in which I participated. It is also one that I can put away as I have put away other things in the past. I am realizing that I am perhaps more like Lydia than I might have imagined. While I might not be as reclusive and, in the past, I have not knowingly pushed people away as a practice, what I am realizing more clearly is I have too often believed the best in others, leaving myself open to hurt and disappointment. I believed I needed others in my life more significantly than I perhaps do. I will be much more discerning than I have had a penchant for doing. I can only ask as the liturgy notes “Kyrie, Eleison”. It is the name of a Mister Mister song and the only part of the liturgy that remained in Greek rather than moving to Latin. For those not sure of the meaning, it means “Lord, have mercy.” I know there will be things to manage in the coming weeks, in Pennsylvania, both at school and on the home front. There are significant things to manage between Wisconsin, North Carolina, Naperville, and Northern Minnesota. I will work my best to manage as I believe Lydia would have wanted. Ultimately, it is about her desires not what everyone else thinks. I am so grateful for the staff of Comforts of Home. They continue to work with me and help plan things. I did get some of the initial pieces completed this week and I need to work with the monument company this week. One piece at a time. That is moving in a direction and that is what life is about. Moving forward and managing what life throws at you. Lessons experienced and lessons learned are simply what life is. Well, I think I might try to close my eyes and beat my present fever.

Thanks as always for reading my thoughts.

Michael

Why I am not Charlie

What an amazing read – provoking and powerful

a paper bird

There is no “but” about what happened at Charlie Hebdo yesterday. Some people published some cartoons, and some other people killed them for it. Words and pictures can be beautiful or vile, pleasing or enraging, inspiring or offensive; but they exist on a different plane from physical violence, whether you want to call that plane spirit or imagination or culture, and to meet them with violence is an offense against the spirit and imagination and culture that distinguish humans. Nothing mitigates this monstrosity. There will be time to analyze why the killers did it, time to parse their backgrounds, their ideologies, their beliefs, time for sociologists and psychologists to add to understanding. There will be explanations, and the explanations will be important, but explanations aren’t the same as excuses. Words don’t kill, they must not be met by killing, and they will not make the killers’ culpability go away.

To abhor what was done to the victims, though, is not…

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Trying to be Healthy

Good early morning,

It is about 6:00 a.m. MST and I have spent most of the night with the shakes and shivering in my motel room. I think the stress of these last three weeks, the battle of the last seven months and the travel has ganged up on my body. All of this led to a less than ideal sleeping night and though I seldom remember dreams, somehow I dreamt two or three times and the dreams, while related, were a bit bizarre. I keep dreaming about the Green Bay Packers, and the dreams are a bit goofy because they are about impossible scenarios. Perhaps the good part of feeling less than stellar will be i can lose some of this weight that I’ve gained over the last month. I managed to gain back about 15 pounds and it doesn’t make me particularly happy. Of course to be perfectly honest I have not been juicing as I should and I haven’t taken my vitamins as well as I should. Lack of healthy diet probably means lack of health.

I’m in Salt Lake City to meet with the founder and the main brain trust behind the company that my students worked with last semester. I’m not sure exactly when I can say about the company right now but I can’t say that I am learning a lot about how to start up companies work. Both Dr. Decker’s classes and my classes worked with the company and now I’m hoping interns and small groups of students will continue that work. I am particularly excited for two reasons. The opportunity for interns to work on the front lines and learn things is especially helpful. Second this might open up additional opportunities for students. While we often talk about preparing students for the real-world, this actually does it. Last night after dinner I have the opportunity to join in on the chat, Skype chat, as the primaries through that of the company work through various issues on their development. It was amazing to see how they used both language and technology to accomplish their tasks. The use of apps and software programming and other technology makes the turnaround time unbelievably fast compared to the past. We’re not talking days, nor talking hours, sometimes it’s minutes. That is the hard thing for students to understand. So over the next day I will be working on this and try to figure out the best way to both help the company and help my students. It might be one part of my position that I enjoy the most.

As I was speaking with my colleague on the way to the airport yesterday, he brought up something I have thought of over the last couple weeks. Is it really interesting and a coincidence or was it planned by Lydia that she would have gone in her battle against dementia, and pass away only a couple weeks after I was notified that I have been granted tenure. In spite of everything, did she somehow knows that yes I would be okay. Knowing her this would not surprise me a bit. Her attorney during our conversation the other day noted that she picked the perfect day as far as taxes to pass away. Again I don’t think I’m surprised. As I’ve noted over the last weeks, she was in charge to the very end. I am certainly fading as I write this: sneezing, coughing, shivering and sniffling; so it seems I have managed to do this full-blown. Hopefully, I can get back on track soon. I am getting some hot water for Emerg-C now and I will be chugging water like crazy to keep hydrated and adding some Chloraseptic spray on the side. As I was thinking about Lydia’s strength, I am still amazed that she held on to her life for almost 13 days after she decided to go to bed. Again, she had one time when she got up (on the 26th) and about 8-10 ounces of water in that time. Yet, she maintained, and according to Nate and Carissa was pretty stable, though weak, until the last 36 hours or so. Our bodies are such astounding instruments. They endure so much and manage to function, serving us remarkably well, and yet they are still quite fragile, but we fail to realize it. I think what I am realizing, again perhaps because I am technically into the year that I begin another decade, that our bodies manage because they are so resilient, but they do not go unaffected. What we do throughout our lives has a consequence. If I were to graph my life in terms of healthy or unhealthy (or in between) habits, I think I might be shocked at what I have put my body through, sometimes knowingly, sometimes somewhat unknowingly, and even sometimes merely because I was subjected to it. I know that last category might seem a bit sketchy, but hear me out. When I was very small, as I have noted, the first two years of my life were under less than idea circumstances, and I am pretty sure from what I have heard, my sister and I were malnutritioned. Add that to my being born at about 17 ounces, and I was fighting an uphill battle from the outset. The next three years with my grandmother, who I do adore, was probably like the Tale of Two Cities. I think there are times we ate very appropriately and nutritionally, but there were the other times because she worked all day and there were other health issues in her own life. When I came to the Martin household at almost 5, I think things probably improved on some level, but my adopted mother was not a good cook, nor did she enjoy it, so there were way too many starches, canned vegetables, and overcooked things. Overcooked can be both damaging to the nutrients, but more importantly, it tasted badly and so eating was not particularly enjoyable. I remember in high school already being diagnosed with ulcers and I had other intestinal issues, I now realize, that were precursors to the Crohn’s that would be an eventual diagnosis. In my twenties, I fluctuated between eating very well and eating fast food garbage. If it were a psychological diagnosis in terms of my eating it would probably be multiple personality disorder. I could go through the entire almost sixty years, but that is not that interesting. To be more concise, I have probably eaten in a honestly healthy manner in a combined total of less than 1/10 of my life. That is not to say there was nothing healthy in what I did the other times, but to be carefully and intentionally nutritious in a systematic way has not been something I have done nearly as carefully, especially as a IBD person, as I should have.

What is perhaps amazing to me now is how not being as intentional in the past month as already taken its toll on me. While I am not back in Bloomsburg until next Thursday, a week from now, I can still do some things while on the road to try to maintain and do a bit better than I have. I did do some of that last night when I had things boxed up and I was more careful about portion control. I guess one of the positives in my current health situation is my body tells me almost immediately if it is happy or not. It has forced me to pay attention and that is probably in my best interest.

It is now Thursday evening and I had a great day of meetings. On the other hand my conversation about health is so appropriate at this moment. To say that I feel rotten would be serious understatement. I had chicken noodle soup for a late lunch and I have been doing Emergen-C all day. I can only hope that it starts to make a difference soon. This is a case of where I’m sure that my traveling has taken it’s toll. There’s also been some stress in the day but that’s an entirely different story. None of that stress was unpredicted but dealing with it is an entirely different thing. People continue to amaze me, and yet I guess I shouldn’t be. There are persons who believe that my help that I have given Lydia for 10 years was based on what I would receive from it. Not surprisingly those persons are making themselves known at this point. While these things are stressful there’s little I can do about it. I was simply allow the attorney to do her job.

In the meanwhile to keep my stress down I need to do my schoolwork and prepare for second semester. I’m hoping just keeping a low profile and doing my work over the next few days will give me a chance to get healthy and lower my stress. Life is what it is. I think the people who really know me know that I am a giver not a taker. I guess I just have to let that story come out. In the meanwhile it’s time for more chicken soup.

Thank you as always for reading.

Michael

Life Beyond

Hello from an Airbus 330,

I am sitting in Row 48 in die Flug und im Berlin-Tegel Flughafen. As we leave the gate and taxi toward the runway, my thoughts begin to consider the next days and, it is certainly unfortunate that I must already see Poland as a memory. However, what a wonderful few days it has been. Robert is correct when he noted that I need to come back for at least two weeks and more likely a month. If I am able to accomplish such a study trip, I need to consider going also to Vienna and then to the area in the Sudetenland where Lydia first lived. I probably need to do some other reading about the Polish resistance as well as what the exiled Czech government did to those of German (Austrian) and Hungarian descent. Yesterday at Auschwitz it occurred to me that the Hungarian people have probably suffered as much as single group of people in WWII. Again as I mentioned in my last blog, I am mortified by what we do to each other and supposedly we are the one creature in creation that understands compassion. I am reminded of a book I once used in class titled The Compassionate Beast. Perhaps it is the oxymoron in the title that reveals this ability.

It is now Tuesday morning and I am awake even though it is only 6:00 a.m. My surprise is when I finally crawled into bed about 10:45, my internal clock was at 4:45 a.m. I have to admit the last 30 miles were perhaps the longest 30 miles I have ever driven. I had the sun roof open and the radio cranked up and I am still sure I found that I had closed my eyes a half dozen times. Not good. I ran to the diner for a smaller breakfast (seriously) and now I am going to try to tackle all the things on my plate that need to be managed here in Bloomsburg before I am on a plane again tomorrow; this time for Salt Lake City and two days of meetings. I had to smile wistfully as it is snowing and cold here this morning and on my original calendar, the event for tomorrow that popped up was Republica Dominicana. Last summer it was planned that the Galáns and I would be returning there with a chance for the entire family to go (Melissa and Jordan have not been there since they were very small). For a variety of reasons that trip has been postponed. Tomorrow they are forecasting significantly cold wind chills (-40F) in some areas. At least I think it will be better in SLC. I have to catch up with my colleague and see if he is willing to run me to Philly to catch the plane. Oh yeah, and I think I still have to make a hotel reservation. On Friday night I am flying to Sacramento and then going up to Placerville for a few days. I will use that time to concentrate on my second semester syllabi, continuing to work on my new class prep, and putting things into BOLT. If I can work solid for about 5 days and relax in the Crush Pad, I think it might be just want needs to happen before I continue to try to tackle all the things that are coming in the next days and weeks. All of that being said, being in the Dominican Republic when it is so cold outside my window would have been a nice thing.

I am still trying to wrap my head around the fact that Lydia is no longer terrorizing the poor caregivers at COH, trying to hit them, punch them, bite them, swear at them, or whatever else she might have done. I watched her do this from time to time. I have tried to imagine what my demeanor might be should I be afflicted with dementia or Alzheimer’s Disease. I am hoping that I would be a nice person, but as I have noted Lydia used to tell me I had a shit temper. I must say it does take a lot to get me to respond in anger, but I have learned to do it more appropriately. It is actually Epiphany (and Christmas for Orthodox believers) and the last day of the Christmas season. I think I need an epiphany at times to help me understand how the world works. The last two weeks have been more of a roller coaster than I think I have experienced in a very long time, but I guess that is to be expected. This morning I read one my past (and will still be in the future) student’s blogs and she is such a wise person. Understanding that we are responsible for our own happiness is a wise thing. I am back after some time on the phone with the attorney; there is a lot to work on and manage, but it is merely one step at a time. I heard this song again this morning and in so many ways it expresses what I hope Lydia knows and what I feel (and always will, about, and for, her.

While I am not a resolution maker, I am a reflecting and pondering person. If you have been reading this blog for a while, or if this is your first time, that should not surprise you. While I often say that so many people need to turn their brains on, there are times I wish I could turn mine off. Yet, as Sr. Galán notes, too many people are unwilling to think and allow others to make decisions that affect them without any consideration. He is so correct. The only way we can move beyond things is to reflect and learn from them. If we begin to truly understand and comprehend a situation, then we can actually manage it. Thinking and understanding also keeps us from being victimized (note, I did not say victim). Indeed we are often the victim of circumstances, but if we are to move beyond it and to refuse to allow it to victimize us, we can continue on with our lives. Again, I think of Lydia and George. After visiting Auschwitz and Auschwitz-Birkenau this past week, it would have been easy for George to feel victimized by his political incarceration at Dachau, but he did not. In fact, after his escape, rather than go somewhere safe, he returned to Poland to fight Hitler again. George and Lydia could have felt victimized by their immigration to the United States and the consequence of having to begin yet again. Instead, they had no such plan, they set out to create a life for themselves. I know that I wrote about George’s saying, recounted to me by Lydia, “we are too poor to by cheap (sic)”. They knew and dealt with the consequence of coming to this country with not much more than a suitcase, but they never saw it as, nor allowed it to be, a detriment to their moving beyond their situation.

Too often I hear a student blame the professor, or their parent, or (you fill in the blank) for their situation or for their poor performance. There is little realization that their lack of consistency or their waiting until the last minute or their failure to either take notes or even go to class might have some impact on where he or she is. There is the belief that as long as they pass, it is good enough. When they move beyond this place called college, a place where they are still more spoon-fed than they might realize, the reality of not doing their work or putting in a reasonable effort will come back to haunt them. I am thinking of a particular student I had last semester, who was a nice person, but did not come to class, missing more than 7 classes, did not turn in some assignments, and then did not make a portfolio accessible, which is grounds for failure in and of itself, wanted me to justify why I failed him for the course. There are those who believe if they just work hard the last two weeks that should make up for 12 weeks of slacking. I did hear at least to some extent about the grades of the six students, each of them to a greater or lesser degree, I see as my surrogate kids. Four of them were on the dean’s list, one did quite well and the final one got by. I think they are all capable of dean’s list, but 4 out of 6 makes me very happy. Not that they need my approval, that I know, but I am glad to hear things are going so well. The three of the four on dean’s list are seniors and that is a really nice thing to see when employers start considering resumes and potential employees. While it is so easy to think that a particular class (usually a foundational or general education class does not matter, nothing could be more untrue. Not so much because of the particular grade you earn, but rather because of what you did or did not learn. A few blogs ago I noted that I had misplaced a number of items. Well yesterday, after and reordering a new debit card. I found my old one in a jacket pocket. The only think I have not recovered at this point is , of course, the think I most want to find: a second set of car keys. The key is expensive to reorder in the realm of hundreds of dollars. I know if I order it I will find it, but I do not want to spend that money.

It is now Wednesday morning and I was up at 1:00 a.m., once again headed to the airport for a flight to Salt Lake City. I took two extended naps yesterday to try to fight off a sore throat that seems much more prevalent this morning. This is not something I need. Yet, I imagine the past two weeks have taken their toll. As I was driving to the airport, I realized it is my grandmother Louise’s birthday today. She would be 102. Happy Birthday, Grandma. Our flight is a bit delayed, but nothing too terrible. I’m grateful as always for Mark. He got up very early to escort me to the airport. He and I always have great conversations. Last night I had an opportunity to see Shiama. It was wonderful to catch up with her and chat. I had not realized the last time she was by the house was when she and Melissa had dinner together. That seems so long ago and so much has happened. I guess that is the reality of our lives. We are constantly moving, sometimes beyond things and other times into things. Two weeks a go I was holding a vigil at Lydia’s bedside and it was Christmas Eve. Last week, I was in Poland and getting ready to celebrate New Year’s Eve with Robert and Katarzyna. This week, my life had significantly changed again and by the day’s end I will be in Utah and working on projects for the upcoming semester

We are always moving beyond.

Thanks for reading, as always.

Michael

Processing Evil

Hello,

It is about 1:00 a.m. in Poland and I am flying back to the United States in the morning, but I wanted to get some things down here in my blog before I leave. Today I went with the group of students from Bloomsburg University and Dr. Polyuha, who was gracious enough to let me tag along, to see Auschwitz-Birkenau (Oswiecim). Oswiecim is the Polish name of this town and it is a town, that unfortunately became the location of the extermination of over 1.3 million people in barely four years. Birkenau has to do with the birch trees that were planted at the edges of the death camp to make such evil seem more serene, if you can imagine such a thing. There were four crematoriums at KL Auschwitz-BIrkenau II, but they could not keep up with the gassing of the thousands of people on a daily basis. In fact, they became to burn bodies in the woods surrounding the camp to try to keep up with the corpses, and in fact they were working on building a third unit to try to manage all the people who were coming to this Ungodly place (and I use that word intentionally). I have visited both Dachau and Buchenwald, and I was stunned by those places, but nothing could have prepared me for the massive scale of genocide that I learned about today in this place. Of the 1.5 million people who came through that gate claiming “Arbeit Macht Frei” at Auschwitz I or on the trains to Auschwitz-Birkenau II, we were told only 144 people escaped. Almost 90% were exterminated immediately. If you were old, infirmed, female or a child, your chances of living more than a day or two were minimal at best. I learned that of the 7,000 prisoners lived at the liberation of the camp, many of them died because they were given too much food in the first days following their liberation. We heard that for the first week one tablespoon of soup a day was all their bodies could manage. As we walked through the camps today, it snowed and the wind was quite bitter. It forced me to imagine working 12 hours a day with no shoes and merely the cotton covering of clothing they had. The inhumanity of this place is beyond words. There was a room where the length of an entire wall (behind glass and probably 15 foot deep 50 yards long and piled three or four feet high) was the hair shorn off of the woman who entered the camp. The hair was actually bagged up into bales and sold. This completely stunned and revolted me. Thousands (which is a mere fraction) of shoes or hairbrushes or cosmetic cases are on display to provide some sense of the horror and the complete dehumanization that occurred in this place. However, that, in spite of its unimaginable nature, is not what is the most staggering to me. The most mind boggling, shocking, astounding, or dastardly thing about this place is how the Nazis worked tirelessly to figure out how to be more efficient in their extermination of those people they deemed of no use or value.

Good morning (it is about 7:15 a.m. and I have been up for an hour getting organized to fly back the states latter this morning. I have been writing lists of things I need to do. It is a bit daunting, but discipline and work and it will get done. It has been good to be away and in another part of the world for a few days. As if often the case, five days in a place gives you a little taste of what it offers. I know that Poland is both a land of beauty, but also of a place where many struggle to get by. However, that is the world in which we live. I think the experience of Auschwitz and Auschwitz-Birkenau yesterday merely reminded me of how we justify something to the extreme. Mr. Galan would call it failing to love the other, and I believe that is true, but I think it goes to something more fundamental (again he will argue love is fundamental and I agree, but I am not sure we agree how one expresses that love) for me love is demonstrated through respecting the other. I think respect is the ultimate expression of loving the other. When you fail to value or respect the other you disregard their right to exist or co-exist as a person. Certainly what happened to the Jews, or the Russians, or the Gypsies, or the infirmed, or the gay . . . in all cases, it is the other . . . was because they were deemed without value, they were disrespected. I know that he and I will have more conversations about this idea of love. I think he uses the word love, where I use the word respect or value. To love another, really love them for me means the other person has found their way into your heart and changed your life. That is actually for another blog I imagine.

I think what the lack of respect or value for the other does, when exercised in the extreme, is exactly what I saw yesterday. You can exterminate them and justify it because you do not see them as human. I am reminded of the article by Stephen Katz titled “The Ethics of Expediency.” It is an article I use at times in my Technical Writing course. I am not going to say much about it, but in this document, humans are referred to by terms like “load” or “cargo”. When we dehumanize the other, we can justify almost anything. Disrespect for me is always wrong . . . . and when pushed it becomes evil because it devalues one of the most important elements of creation. Trying to process that one culture (and an astounding culture at that) could systemically remove 6,000,000 people in less than four years, at least for me, cannot be done. It was again questioned that how could others not know, perhaps not the scope, but not know the action? What was offered yesterday was thought provoking. It was noted that other countries had different priorities. The priority was to end the war, not about saving people. For me, as I often do, I merely observed people yesterday. It was particularly interesting to observe Maria, who is Polish, and she has relatives who live in this city (Oswiecim). Her body language and the look on her face was particularly moving to me. Perhaps in was heightened because I know her. Perhaps it was heightened because I am here as a guest of her father. She has been through the camp before and noted that most Polish people say you should see it once, but that is enough. Perhaps that is part of her demeanor, but I know that even though I have been to other camps, I do not remember being as moved as I was yesterday. I will have to dig through the pictures. I do not think those pictures were scanned yet. I have pictures from Buchenwald. While the gate at Auschwitz claims “Arbeit Macht Frei” (Work Makes You Free), Buchenwald’s gate reads “Jedem Das Sein” (Everyone gets what they deserve). I find this saying even more troubling. It implies that those brought to these camps deserved the inhumanity they had to suffer; that they deserved to be treated with such disrespect, and that somehow God would have said such action was okay. Remember that Germany was a “believing” nation. That was part of the reason that Bonhoeffer, my dissertation topic, chose to get involved in the plot to assassinate Hitler. He claimed that if the church was not going to be “the spoke in the wheel” that stopped things, other measures needed to be taken. One of my other former students and I chatted on the bus yesterday. He was in my class about 4 years ago this coming semester, and is actually going to graduate school in Israel I found out. He is a history major and it was great to speak with him. We talked about the idea of disrespect and how such actions can lead to such atrocity. He is a very thoughtful and intelligent person.

I have continued to try to wrap my head around the other significant change that I will be facing when I return. It is to begin to manage Lydia’s affairs. I am glad she was so organized and clear in what she wanted. While I have struggled with that change, being in Europe pushed some things off until I get back to Bloomsburg and begin to go through all the things I will have to do. I am not sure how it all works, honestly, and I am sure I will be speaking with Bridget at some point today, perhaps tomorrow. I have one entire day in Pennsylvania and then I leave for Salt Lake City. I need to still get some things arranged there too. I think I will probably be in my office most of tomorrow trying to get organized. While coming here did give me some great material for considering the novel, and contacts, amazing people who speak the language, there will need to be other trips. I think coming in the summer would be a good plan and something I might have to do some work on getting a professional travel grant for. I will be traveling some more before the end of the break and I am hoping that hiding away for a few days in one of my favorite places next weekend and beyond will allow me to get second semester organized and ready to go. I have a new prep this semester and I have done some reading and have some things at my disposal from the winter term class last year, but there is much more to do. It is almost 8:00 a.m. here in Krakow and it is important for me to get my ducks-in-a-row for what is immediately necessary, so I think I will sign off.

Understanding or processing evil, as I titled this blog, is something that is a present tense verb for me (in the Greek language sense of the present tense – and I am not trying to merely rhyme here), and certainly the events of Auschwitz-Birkenau are past tense (but, again, in the Greek language sense). Present tense verbs in Greek are much more about continuing action. While I am not sure I can ever understand the evil that prompted such despicable horror toward the other, it is something we as humans need to continue to process. We should never stop considering what evil we might do to another individual. Indeed, the gerund form of continuing to process or ponder is necessary if we are to stop committing such atrocities. It is precisely because we do not continue to do so that I believe such evil continues to occur. I believe that evil is in us and I will not merely blame it on “the devil”. The past tense in the Greek language is called the aorist tense and it means “completed action with continued significance.” There can be no doubt that what the Nazis did during the late 1930s and into the 1940s has significance for us as humans. Yet, we still rain evil down upon each other on a daily basis. Genocide has not stopped; it continues in various parts of our world on a daily basis, but somehow I am afraid we turn our heads and pretend it does not happen. Perhaps I still have too much idealism in me yet. I want to believe that people are predisposed for good. Yet, when I walk through such a place in the cold, wind, and snow as I did yesterday, it is impossible to be idealistic. It forces me to consider what happens when we as humans disrespect or fail to value the other. It has been a wonderful experience to be in Poland these last days and learn more about yet another culture. We are so diverse and yet some connected. Perhaps that is what I needed to be reminded of yet again. We are dependent on each other for survival, whether we want to consider that or not is a different question.

In a few hours I will be on a plane from Krakow to Berlin and from Berlin to NYC. Es hatte eine gute Reise gewesen. While I need to work on my Spanish and get my head back into that language again, I have now another one to learn.

Do Roberta i Katarzyny,

Dziękuję wszystkim za życzliwość; to było wspaniale spędzić czas z tobą tu i obiecuję, że wrócę.

To everyone else, thank you for reading.

Dr. Martin

Meine Mutter

Hello from Kraków and my little apartment,

It is about 1:30 a.m. and while I was originally in bed before 9:00, I have awakened and decided to write something if I going to lay here awake. It has been almost 24 hours since I got Nate’s initial text telling me that Lydia’s unbelievably strong battle to hold on to her life had finally ended. Over the previous 24 hours I had told people here she might wait him out also. She went 12 days without eating and I think she probably drank less than 10 ounces of water during that time. In that time either Nate, Carissa, a staff member of COH or I was with her. The smiles she gave and the hugs or pats on the head she doled out as those of us who watched her (probably not a single person could see her and not have tears at some point) was, and is, quite phenomenal. As I sat in her room (she is the only person to have occupied that room up until now) at the end of the hall, she seemed to let each person somehow see that incredible heart she possessed. She seemed, while never completely losing her ability to illustrate what she wanted or did not want, to try to genuinely show each and every person that she was grateful for the care they were providing.

I should note something about that care and all the wonderful people who have offered their care to Lydia during the last 3 1/2 years. First, they are not paid nearly enough for the extreme circumstances and difficult positions they endure each day. There are some incredible caregivers who try to help these men and women maintain their dignity as their minds disappear and their lives regress into the abyss of nothingness. When Lydia was first at COH, those individuals who were already where she would eventually be, petrified her. The actions of people, those who were once hard working and blessed with extraordinary intelligence, is unpredictable and often outlandish. They can be both physically and verbally abusive and that takes an emotional toll on the caregiver. Yet, I have observed first-hand care that was second to none from some of these employees. Yes, they are employed, but they are so much more than an employee of this company that has dozens of these facilities. There are individuals who are angels in human- form. As Lydia was blessed by their care and compassion, I too have received the precious gift of their love and concern. I would try when I was back to get them something from Caribou (the Midwest Starbucks for those unfamiliar) or I would fix dinner for everyone as a small token of my appreciation for all they did. While I do not want to point out any particular people, I did note during my recent visit that the present staff was probably the best overall staff I experienced during the entire time I had been coming to COH. I also know that such a staff is only possible when they are phenomenal people to begin with and the particular building management supports them in their care. I am grateful to those who are there full-time also. The atmosphere of genuine decency and expected respect for both the residents and family was so apparent. The corporate office in Minnesota is richly blessed to have the administrator, nurse, and activities person they do in Menomonie. In my opinion, they probably do not realize how fortunate they are. The individual acts of care and kindness you have given to Lydia and me will never be forgotten.

It has been a day of relief on one hand and tears on the other. I understand this dichotomous response and am willing to just let it happen. I do struggle with the fact that I handed off the physical presence of being in Room 23 to Nathan and I am grateful to him for choosing to come back even when I said it was probably okay to let her go because I think it is what she wanted. I do believe she held out much longer than anyone believed either humanly or medically possible because she did not want me ( or perhaps anyone) to be there. I am grateful that Carissa came in on a New Year’s Day and spent three hours on her day off with her. Lydia came to love Carissa and it was evident in the way Lydia looked at her and by the way Lydia’s entire affect changed when Carissa would come near. What I know for sure in my heart is that Lydia came to trust the people at COH and for that to happen, it took amazing individuals doing miraculous things. More importantly, you can be sure those who provide that outstanding care do it because they are outstanding in their own right because none of them are, nor could they be, paid enough. That being said, they should certainly be compensated much better than they are. I have learned much about elder care and, in particular, care for the memory impaired.

It is now Saturday morning and I did hear from Nate on some things and he did seem to get the immediate things that needed to be managed yesterday done. It is interesting to me that his need to be in Menomonie in the future and my need will now be quite different. He will have significant issues to manage there and I will not. Theresa and he will have substantive interest in Park Circle now and I will not. That is not to say that I will not go back, but I will no longer have a place to stay and in the next weeks I will have to probably go back and clean out my things from the Upper Sanctum and collect all the books and things that have been there since I left Menomonie. I know that what will happen in the next weeks is a process, but Lydia was amazing and she had it all figured out. I am fortunate to still have some amazing friends and former colleagues there, so there are ways that Menomonie will always have a sense of place for me or feel like home. However, the main reason that I have gone back in the past 5 1/2 years is now a guardian angel for me and someone who has profoundly changed my life.

I cannot get the image and the experience out of my head of the moment that last night when I told her I loved her and she had become my mother, the parent I no longer had and she simply whispered, “I know.” As I moved down the hall from her room, I cried and trembled as I tried to walk away from this person. I remember Lexie and Brianna both tearing up and hugging me as I got to the common room. I think as I reflect on my own year of attempting to be a parent, for better or worse, perhaps most of what I know of parenting actually came from Lydia. I am not sure I realized that until just now. That might be something to ponder in another post. As I type this, again the sun is out and shining brightly into my windows, though if it is like that past couple days, it is fleeting. I guess that is apropos at this point. The fleeting nature of our experiences and what they offer to our lives is something to be considered. I have known for a long time that Lydia would come to this day and I would have to figure out how to manage it. It is life and I do not mean that in either a cliché or an uncaring way. Life is profound; it is a gift, but one that often burdens us or one we might too often take for granted. In the past days as people have reached out, I am once again shown how blessed I am. Those who took the time to send their words through text, FB, Whatsapp, or even phone calls have done so much to support me. I am grateful for those who have taken time to connect in whatever small way they have (they are not small).

It is now the evening of the 3rd and I am back in my little abode. I enjoy this little studio apartment and I appreciate the solitude. Today I was actually on my own as Robert dropped me off at the Wieliczka Kopalni Soli (The Wieliczka Salt Mine) to tour it. This mine is gargantuan (and that is an understatement). It has 9 levels, but we only saw three. It no longer mines salt, but still produces 150,000 tons through desalination. The tour was almost three hours long (if you want to see pictures and follow me on Facebook, I have posted some there). The picture at the top of this post is of Pope John Paul II and is carved entirely from salt. It was created in 1999. The mine has been in operation for hundreds of years and during WWII the Nazis actually moved a factory into the mine. Some of the salt pockets that have been mined are almost a hundred meters deep and the length and the width of the some of the rooms are astounding. There is a huge chapel (there are actually 20 of them throughout the mine’s rooms and tunnels) and three men carved some of the most amazing Biblical scenes into the walls. The floors, the ceilings, the walls, everything is made of salt. It is not really describable through words. Over a half million people visit it a year, and there is no doubt in my mind why. I think it ranks up with the Seven Wonders of the World. This is my fourth time to Europe and I have seen beautiful and stunning things, but I think the last two days are right at the top of the list for beauty and awe.

As noted, I am back in my room and I want to work on my syllabi for a moment and some other reading, but I cannot stop thinking about Lydia and coming to grips with the reality that she is no long present in my life in a physical form. I understand death, both from losing family members and as a former pastor, but this passing has hit me probably like the loss of my grandmother did. While I am keeping busy, there were three times today that my eyes welled up in tears and I did not even realize I was thinking about, or emoting because of, her. Last night when I tried to read to Robert and Katarzyna what I had written about her, I began to cry. Again, what I realize is I have lost yet another parent. Perhaps it is because she is, was, and will be, the best mother I have had. If you have read my blog during the past year (again see Wondering What She Really Thinks) you know that I have struggled with those maternal relationships. What I know about Lydia is that she could really get to me in a number of ways and produce a myriad of emotions, but when it was all pushed down to the basics, I think I loved her more than anyone, with the exception of my grandmother. I think I might have even loved her more than my adopted father, and that is saying something pretty profound. Is it because I am older and I understand the frailty of life more poignantly? Is it because she so affected my life in the last 10 years? Is it because we realized what we both gave and received from the other? I think it is some of all of these things. While my biological mother is still alive, I have no desire to reach out to her and that is for a number of reasons. Sometimes I feel guilty about that, but I think other experiences have taught me that I do not need to make everyone happy, and there are some I do not need in my life. In fact, it has been a hard lesson, but what I am realizing is there is no promise from anyone that he or she will remain in your life. While I do not mean this to be selfish in anyway, it has become abundantly clear to me that believing in the one’s self might be the only guarantee we have, and not even that is sure because sometimes we can be pretty flaky, even to ourselves.

What I know as I am going to call it a night in Poland (tomorrow is my last complete day here), I have lost yet another special and incredible person. While she owed me nothing, she has offered and given me much. While she was could be aloof, she was as down to earth as anyone I have ever met. While she might have appeared to many as hard or unapproachable, she welcomed me and loved me as few ever have. While she had no children, sie wurde die Mutter, die ich nicht hatte, und ich werde geehrt und demütigt, um einfach und liebevoll zu ihr zu sagen: ‘Lydia, ich liebe dich und du bist immer meine Mutter sein.’

As always, thanks for reading. When I post again, I will probably be back in the states.

Michael

Understanding What Matters

Hello from JFK,

For the second time in 5 months, after not being out of the country in almost a quarter century, I am leaving for another country. This time Germany and Poland. I am hoping to get some research done on George’s background and the places he lived. I am actually in Berlin and it is Tuesday, December 30th. It is about 3:15 a.m. Pennsylvania time and I have not yet slept. The flight was an hour late getting out of NY and I knew my connection was tight; so, of course, I missed my connecting flight to Kraków by literally three minutes. So I am sitting in the Berlin Tegel Flughafen für die nächsten sieben Stunden. I have gotten some walking in around the airport, but I am starting to fade. It is about 6:05 Pennsylvania time and I did not sleep. Though I would love to close my eyes, I am afraid I would sleep through the only remaining flight of the day. . . .

Good morning on December 31st, the last day of the year from Kraków, a historic city in Southern Poland. I remember the first day in Europe in late 1980. I was a much younger man, and I knew a little German, but I felt so isolated because I knew so little of the language. At least in other place, I could look at signs and get some idea of what I might have been considering, but it is certainly not as easy. Then there is the punctuation issue and the different letters with little tails or lines through them, which means they are pronounced differently. I wish I could merely absorb languages and know them immediately. As I walked around the city center, where I have a small studio apartment for the week, it was so interesting to listen to the people and try to make out even a little bit of what they were saying. I did hear people speaking English and some others speaking German, so that was a bit of a bright spot. Robert and I made plans for Katarzyna, his significant other person, him and I to spent New Year’s Eve at a really cool pub just close to the main square. The people are out in mass getting ready to celebrate the turning of the calendar and there were markets and marathon runners and a wide variety of people. We did run into Maria and some of the other people here in the Polish Winterterm class. It was really a treat to meet one of my favorite students in her home town. While walking around, I saw the window where Karol Wojtyla, the Archbishop of Krakow, and later Pope John Paul II, used to give his homily or greetings. I also saw in a cathedral close by where he gave his confessions. The city center is a spectacular place and being back in Europe after almost a quarter of a century is one of the best decisions I have made in a long time.

It is now New Year’s Day and there are still some fireworks going off even though it is about 10:30 at night. I spent most of the day, the remainder of the the last day of the year, with Robert and Katarzyna as we went to the place called Dobry Kumpel (which is translated Good Friends), for our New Year’s Eve. It was a wonderful time. It was a small underground sort of a pub and there were not a lot of people there, though the town was packed. The other nice thing was no one was drunk, stupid, or loud. Today, January 1st, we went out to eat at a wonderful Italian Restaurant. It was sort of fun to have both a Polish and an English menu and try to compare. I worked on my Polish pronunciation skills. They are pretty sad, but both Katazyna and Robert are kind. Otherwise it was a pretty quiet day and I worked on my syllabi. . . .

I have been awake since about 3:05 this morning, though I might have fallen asleep somewhere around 7:30-8:00 for a bit. It is now about 9:30 in the morning and while I should begin with a greeting of Happy New Year’s and so there you have it, I received the call I have been expecting each day since I left Lydia’s bedside last Friday night. She passed away last night around 8:00 p.m., but she died peacefully and Nathan was there with her (I will put the time of publication for this at the time Lydia passed). I am grateful for both things. What an amazing woman she was. If you have been reading the blog as of the past month or so, you have learned something of her. It was ironic that on New Year’s Eve, I was in the church where the former Polish Pope John Paul II actually went for confession when he would return to his homeland. I lit a votive candle for Lydia and prayed that she might finally find peace and that George might come to take her home. It is also ironic that I did it in his homeland. Perhaps that all helped. While one cannot be sure of such things, and I am well aware that some might dismiss such things, it was something that I felt compelled to do on her behalf. There were phone calls, what’sapp messages and other texts to try to get things managed from 6,000 miles away. I spoke with Carissa this morning around 6:00 and she also filled me in on her last couple of days. It sounds like the last day and a half she was in that in between state of this world and the next. Nathan told me that he was holding her hand as she passed and that is really a wonderful thing. I am glad he has been with me on this journey. He is a good man.

What an amazing life she and George lived and what tremendous things they accomplished together. While I am glad that she was so aware of things and how she planned and orchestrated things in her life is an entirely separate story. I think she was in charge of things up to the very end. She made it into the new year, and while she did not pass on Christmas, she passed on the first day of the new year. That will be something to remember and something hard to forget, just as she herself is. It is now my goal to get the story written. It is something I need to do to give back for what she has given. What is it she has given . . . there are all the things that one might see, but what she actually gave was something of much greater value. She allowed me to see her when she was actually vulnerable; she allowed me to see her heart and the love she was capable of giving. She had learned to be protective of her heart because she was afraid because of her small stature and her accent. The fact that I could speak German with her broke down one of those barriers and the fact that I could always understand her when she spoke meant a great deal to her. The fact that I let her have her way more often than I perhaps should have also did something. I remember people being angry with me because she had become such a central part of my life. There is truth to the fact that I let her control more than I perhaps should have, but I had become her family. What was important is she realized that I loved her. I remember the day I left to move to Pennsylvania and she and Erica stood at the top of the drive way. I had to pull over a couple of blocks away because I was crying. Each time I would pull out of the driveway she would wave goodbye to me. When I returned from any trip or even from school that day, she was there to greet me and her smile was infectious. Even though she always argued she took terrible pictures, she had the most radiant smile and amazing blue eyes. When I left her a week ago this evening, I told her as I cried on her shoulder that she was my mother and that I loved her so much. I was sobbing and she was rubbing my head. She opened her eyes and whispered, “I know.” As I am writing this, I have to stop because I cannot see through my glasses or more correctly, through the tears.

What matters one might ask? What matters is that God saw fit to allow me to be given yet another parent. What matters is that we loved each other and that I have been so blessed to have her in my life. What matters is that she passed peacefully, without pain, and yet still on her terms. She made me promise that there would be no IVs, tubes, or other measures and that is how it was. What matters now is that I live a life that might make her proud of me and that I will work to complete the dream of writing a novel about George and her, which, though fictional, will provide some sense of the phenomenal group of people they represent, those people who were displaced by the atrocities that were, and are, a significant part of 20th century Europe. A story that depicts the work ethic and spirit they had as they came to America hoping to create a new life. The irony that I write this sitting in Poland, George’s homeland, is not lost on me. The irony that I am visiting Auschwitz on Sunday is also not lost on me because George had escaped from one of the other notorious camps, Dachau.

As I continue to write, the sun has broken through after a day and a half of clouds and is streaming into my little apartment where I am writing away and preparing for yet another semester. I believe the sun is a reminder that more than merely feeling sadness, I need to rejoice when I think of her amazing life. Lydia, did this same sort of preparation, though not on the computer. There are boxes of her notes on her study. She was a brilliant professor and she cared passionately about other people learning. She is sort of like Sr. Galan in that way. She wanted people to think and ponder. She never tired of learning. It is unfair and tragic that she had to be afflicted with the terrible disease of dementia. She knew four languages. She understood so much about the world. She actually knew what mattered and she taught me.

Lydia,

Mit meinem ganzen Herzen liebe ich dich, und ich danke dich. Du bist jetzt mein Schutzengel, und ich verspreche mein Bestes zu tun, deinen Job zu schwierig nicht zu machen.

To the rest of you, thank you for reading.

Michael (the grateful son)