_Something’s Gotta Give_

Hello on a Sunday Afternoon,

It’s been a sort of meandering, albeit significant past two weeks. Since meeting with doctors on a variety of appointments, there have been some important things managed, other important things to ponder, and, as is normal with our health system, issues to figure out. I remember when I turned 60, there were significant issues, and I wondered if it were merely entering that new decade. I am contemplating the same as I make it to yet another title. As I have noted in some of my social media, I am beyond grateful for the thoughtful, thorough, and personal care I have received from my various doctors and specialists. I do not take any of that for granted, let me assure you, and there is not a single moment I am not appreciative.

Unless you’ve been under a rock since late last week, I am sure you are aware of the passing Diane Keaton, the incredible actress, producer, thespian, and force of nature both in Hollywood and beyond. While I do not often put famous people on a pedestal, nor am I akin to so kind of hero worship, she is one of the couple people to whom I might be inclined to make an exception. The first movie I remember seeing her in was Baby Boom. I was in seminary and many of my feminist-leaning seminary class mates were encouraging their male class mates to see it. I found it both endearing and groundbreaking and Keaton’s portrayal of the protagonist that saves the movie. Certainly, it is a series of expected RomCom events, but the humor and her acting make the movie more than an “oh-yes, I-saw-it” experience. And I am certainly no movie aficionado, nor am I capable critic, but I believe she could carry any movie she appeared in. My favorite movie of her is the title of this post. Both she and Jack Nicholson are exceptional, and her beauty and elegance in that movie as well as her humanity made her one of my favorite actresses. I watched the movie again out of reverence for the profound body of work she has provided us. I laughed and cried as I watched, both because the movie evoked such emotion, but also out of sadness of a life ended and graciousness that her talent was shared with the world.

As I pondered the reality of the movie (we all wanted to be loved, and we are also so fragile when it comes to accepting it), the title seemed to be indicative of how my life has unfolded. From birth to retirement, it seems like figuring out how to proceed was merely making a decision, realizing “something’s gotta give” if the next step, the next piece, the next chapter was to occur. None of this is meant to be hyperbolic, but there have been situations from the outset until even as recently as a week ago that have me somewhat pinned into a corner, and there is the reality that you have to do something and move forward. The choices might be stark; perhaps they are difficult, but nonetheless, there are choices to make. In truth, something’s gotta give. There is a certain substantiality to daily life; there is no escape, and while doing nothing might seem like an option, it is a choice, and it is doing something. As I pondered life, there are three areas I have always struggled to make choices, perhaps because of fear. Those areas are (and not necessarily in order of importance or concern) relationships, finances, and health. While it is easy to assert health is most significant, and something that has been central to my daily life, at least since I was in my 20s and diagnosed with Crohn’s Disease, it is perhaps the easiest of the three to face head on for me. Of course, I do not remember my birth, but the profundity of my prematurity caused immediate response for those charged with my very existence. Certainly, ending up in a Pediatric’s Ward in first grade, still struggling with under-development, and having all three childhood diseases back-to-back was a difficult time for doctors and my parents. Some decades later from once being told without surgery I had about 72 hours to live, when receiving another diagnosis and told once in 6 months certain options would be off the table or when various people came to visit when I received news that I had months or weeks, each time decisions were made, not always because I knew the best decision, but sometimes because I had to make a decision. Plain and straightforward – something’s gotta give. Generally, I must say things have worked out. Twelve abdominal surgeries, drug therapies, homeopathy, and a number of amazing medical people, I have managed well. Perhaps, the reason it is the easiest of the three to manage is because it is just me. It’s what happens to me.

On the other hand, relationships . . . oh my. Again while I have examined this often, and intently, have done extensive long-term counseling, and, yes, failed in two marriages, I am still a hopeless (hopeful) romantic. Then again, I am unsure how to get beyond the idea of hopelessly in love, which actually is fleeting. I understand the idea of loving someone, liking and not liking them, or realizing the tremendous effort necessary to sustain a profound and intimate relationship, but it seems I do not know how to do it. That is both tough and a bit embarrassing to admit. This is something I have attempted to understand for years. It is because I did not grow up with a model? Is it because the words of disapproval still ring in my ears too loudly? It is the incredible wounding that occurred when a person who promised to love through all called me wimp when she left because of my Crohn’s? As I reach an age where I am both independent, but simultaneously lonely at moments, I have little sense of what I really want and need. Indecision can create paralysis or it can establish the need to examine and ponder the possibilities. Momentary paralysis can serve as a breathing space, but again, soon after, something’s gotta give.

Looking thoughtfully at my upbringing, both the area I have just considered and the third area previously mentioned were nothing ever discussed in my childhood. Relationships, something I have addressed throughout my posts, are learned mostly through observation. My father worked away from home through most of my elementary and junior high years. He and my mother were not often home together. There was never any sort of hostility, but there was not really any affection either. Shortly after my divorce from my first wife, he plainly stated, “I am not surprised you are divorced.” That statement stunned me and then he explained. My initial response to his summation was rejection. However, further examination proved him spot on. In the area of finances, I knew nothing, and I had little idea of how poor or solvent we were, nor did it ever feel appropriate to ask. My life was a rollercoaster early on, even through a marriage. If I have a malady in that area at this point, I was too generous. This is not an exaggeration. If everyone paid back what they owed me, it would be into 6 figures. And that is not the only area of generosity, footing the bill or giving things to others has always been who I am. It has pushed me into the corner more than once. Somehow, I managed, figuring it out, working harder or more.

Life is choices and consequences. It is both a cliché statement and a truism. It is something I face at the moment in all three areas, not all to the same degree, but certainly simultaneously. Something’s gotta give, and at the moment, perhaps because of age, it seems more imperative. Yet, what sort of power, what amount of agency do I have? I am not sure, but I hope I might figure it out with the sort of class and elegance, the amazing goodness, that it seems Diane Keaton exuded in everything she did. And ironically, my father’s name was Harry.

Thank you for reaching,

Michael

escuchando español

Hola desde el hotel y Main Street Bloomsburg,

It’s Friday night and the end of the week where I have felt like I was on a rollercoaster. The role health has played in my life has been significant, and while that can be argued for any human, from day-one, a premature delivery and a birth weight of 17 ounces has affected my very being in multiple ways. What is still amazing is whether that miraculous start, and survival is still creating consequences. I am not sure if things I face now as a septuagenarian are related to my beginning or if I am merely just getting older. Monday started with multiple doctors’ appointments to manage various issues affecting almost every aspect of who I am. While that is due in part to my travel and needing to manage things in person (most doctors are not licensed to do telemedicine across state lines), so getting everything managed at one time is optimal. The other thing realized in keeping my address and administrative life here is a simple, but important fact: my doctors know me and my unique circumstances, my modified body. That reality was readily apparent this past week as my PCP questioned some things. She is incredibly thorough, and while her concern led to a stressful few days as I waited for the additional testing, the very thought she was so attentive was comforting.

As with earlier this year, returning to Bloomsburg was and is sort of mixed bag. The familiarity can be helpful, but the simple reality that I technically no longer live here is readily apparent on a variety of levels. I have found myself wondering if I should still be working, and imagining what I would have done in the year and a bit longer if I was still in the classroom. Some of my retired colleagues say they never looked back, but I guess I am different. I wonder how much of it was my mantra that being a professor was not what I did, but it was who I was, and still am to some degree. The reality of identity seems to be a bit complicated, or am I merely making it such? I am unsure. More people still refer to me as Dr. Martin than Michael, and even that at times confuses me. Which moniker, which name is more comfortable and why? Another reality is schedules, and certainly people have lives that have continued just fine without me; there’s nothing surprising about that. No one is indispensable, and that is something I have told others for a long time. Higher education is no different; it is a business. The starkness of that truism was profoundly evident in the post-COVID, which on the Bloomsburg campus was exponentially more pronounced by the integration of three campuses (previously other universities in the PASSHE). Even today, running into some former colleagues, I often hear from them “I am jealous.” However, of what? Of no schedule per se, of no daily responsibilities to a classroom, department, students? I realize things I miss more than things I did not enjoy. I understand the profound opportunity and privilege I had to be in a classroom with amazing people.

More appointments today, but also some good news, although tempered. My balance is squared away again, for the time being. The crystals in my right inner ear will always be problematic; and reoccurring vertigo is the pragmatic issue. Getting things back (literally) in balance this time was especially problematic, necessitating at a follow up visit. This is the first full week in almost a year that I have not feel shaky or out of balance. I am hoping to get some work done that has not been possible over the next weeks. The only thing left to manage for the moment is the cataracts that have gotten much worse in the last year. And having Lasik in the past does create some complication, but my ophthalmologist is well aware and already taken that into account. As typical, I have been reading about the procedure and how it might affect me. It seems pretty routine and improving my eyesight will be a good long-term strategy. When I had Lasik done almost 20 years ago, it made a profound difference for me.

I am continually astounded by the xenophobic attitudes of the American public from the person on the street to those who have elected to our national offices. Since it was announced that Bad Bunny, who is Puerto Rican, which is an American Territory, would be performing at the Super Bowl, the ridiculous response to his SNL spot or MTG’s wanting to pass a law before he performs border on the line of absurdity. Even though I can trace some of my family linage back to shortly after the Revolutionary War, there are many in the family who immigrated and spoke another language (e.g. Norwegian, Irish, Spanish). Certainly, their desire to speak English was probably significant, but if you consider the reality of Puerto Rico as a territory, their Hispanic culture is their reality, their identity. Expecting Bad Bunny to only speak English, particularly when his music is indigenous is ludicrous. However, MTG falls into that category regularly. Throughout the decade-plus I have been writing, I have noted on numerous occasions that visiting other cultures, listening to other languages, and experiencing new places and peoples has been one of the most significant things I have done to understand both myself as well as the other. It was while first hopping through the snow in Garmisch, sitting on a train from the Spanish border to Paris, listening to Danish that early morning at the main train station in København, or experiencing a demonstration in Rome listening to the Italian chants, I realized what education really entailed. It was taking in a lecture on Luther as the first socialist at Karl Marx Universitat, being examined at Checkpoint Charley by East German guards, or sharing the reality that I could write to an East German seminary to student, but he could not write back that taught me the differences governments created for its citizens, and the blessings the diversity of America offered. When I worked on a doctoral degree, it was teaching a writing class of all foreign engineering students that to this day was one of the most profound teaching experiences I would have (and I visited one of those students just this past July); traveling with a colleague to offer students the opportunity to experience Eastern or Central Europe, studying Polish in my 60s, hosting exchange students or immersing myself in Moscow after being blessed to have a Russian student share her life for a year and hosting her parents in my home are some of the most transformative things in my life.

Fearing the other, closing ourselves off to the rest of the world out of anger or arrogance is not what made America a great nation. The change we are experiencing over the 40+ years I have found myself traveling to other countries is sad; it is frightening. Even this past summer, my experiences in travel to Denmark, to Poland, and to Spain enriched my life yet again. The globalization of our world has consequence, and those consequences are complex, but our similarities far outweigh our differences. Fearing the differences are not who we have been; it is not who we should be. ¡Que viva el otro! Démosle la bienvenida al otro. Seremos mucho mejores.

Thanks for reading (and listening).

The Other (Dr. Martin/Michael)

ABD and Buslife

Hello from the soggy Cumberland Plateau,

The last 36 hours or so have been a struggle to get anything done as it has rained off and on since Sunday and now pretty much non-stop for the last day and a half. I had hoped to be on my way back north by yesterday. Now I hoping to get at least to the TN/NC border by nightfall. We’ll see how it goes. Over the last month, I have learned firsthand how little I can have to manage. There are some specifics, and a membership to Planet Fitness is a significant piece of that. Help from a dear friend in Bloomsburg is also a vital component in managing some of the daily health issues. As I am actually existing for the most part in a far-from-completed bus, there have been numerous moments I have questioned the wisdom of what I am attempting. There is such a steep learning curve, but the difference is I never took the elementary courses in electrical, carpentry, or plumbing, so the foundational comfort is missing. It’s like riding a bike, but skipping the training wheels. And coordination has never been my strongest suite.

Yesterday, I experienced the first personal-injury mishap of the build. The storage door created for the back area is substantial, both in weight and its sheer density (e.g. 14 gauge steel); it comes up to a 90 degree angle from the bus, and is about 5 and a half feet up (about forehead height). I know this height because walking around the corner of the bus, I walked into it full-stop (literally and figuratively) and knocked myself out. A trip to the ER resulted in a CT Scan, a tetanus shot, and 5 stitches to close the gash on my forehead. I knew the possibility was there, and I have tried to be cautious, but forgetting even a moment had consequence. I believe there will be others, but hopefully not something quite so extreme. In spite of the setback, because of the hard work and insight of my two bus building colleagues, the bed platform was installed. It’s incredibly sturdy and functional. There are still a couple of minor details that I work out when I get back to Tennessee. Which means, by the way, I’ve made a 700 mile track back to Pennsylvania. It was not my intention to drive so far one straight shot, but a dentist appointment early this morning necessitated such a drive. Driving the bus that far is much more consequential and exhausting than driving the bug. There are a number of things to manage back in Pennsylvania, but I’ve started on the to do list. I’ll be back here for about 10 days. And this back to Wanderlust Waypoints.

If I were to answer the question, what are the important things I’ve learned both conceptionally and otherwise in the last month, the list is long. And it’s been humbling. As I try to figure out the logistics of the build, too often I find myself questioning anything I believe because I do not understand what is required in the intricacies of framing, of wiring, of plumbing, and that is even the basics versus how managing it in a bus might complicate that process. For instance, doing the framing in a fiber glass shell creates issues of stability, and when you only have 7’7” of width, using a normal 2×4 is too big. So I am looking at 1x3s. And yet, it has to attach to the walls of the bus, which are merely a piece of 1/16 to perhaps to 1/8 fiberglass that sheets 3/4 in plywood and second piece of fiberglass. And before that, there is an issue of the weathering (26 years) of the shell and how recent heavy rains have revealed more leaks. All of that has to be remedied before I do any real inside building. There are also some logistic issues in terms of time and place here in Bloomsburg. I hope to manage some of that tomorrow (which is now Friday). Oh yes, there’s the DC and AC wiring, then the the 120 amp and 12 volt wiring and such I use all shallow gang boxes, and can I get them?

The manufactured doors, which are quite incredible (and heavy) are creating their own set of issues. I have broken the spring in the door latch mechanism twice in 4 months. The first time before it even left the shop. Today I was at Home Depot looking at heavy duty assemblies, which of course are not regularly in stock and must be ordered. That will be done in the morning. I should wash clothes tomorrow. I need to decide how to manage the leaks and there are some issue with the reinstalled windows (which will necessitate a trip to the window installer tomorrow also. All of this means arriving three days later her in Bloom might necessitate being here longer, which affects the Beetle retrieval in Iowa. I think you get the picture. I do have a consultation on Saturday with a master construction person and plan to ask lots of questions. I did reach out to set up an appointment with the Bus Guru as I refer to him, but somehow have not heard back. The points and parallels I imply in my title are both instructive and meant to remind me of a couple of important points.

When I had reached the dissertation stage of my doctoral work, there were a number of times I felt overwhelmed. And that is not uncommon, as writing dissertation takes time and focus. In fact, often someone might receive a finishing fellowship to get things completed. You are not teaching or doing anything else, you are writing. It is your total focus. People are strongly discouraged from going out ABD (All But Dissertation) because you will literally have two full-time jobs. However, I did precisely that because of my need for better health insurance than what our graduate health insurance provided. I knew this first hand because an emergency surgery the Fall of 1997 was not covered because of what they could argue was a pre-existing condition (so those who want to argue the efficacy of the ACA do want want or get me started on that). The reality of life took priority over the conventional wisdom of finishing my diss before taking a tenure track position. For the first two years I was at Stout (and I had a finish by date from my dean at Stout) I tried to manage a 4/4 teaching load, new preps, and spending every weekend focusing on my dissertation. Most of it was written in a coffee shop (thank goodness for both Caribou and Starbucks). It was only in the last year I head from one of my committee members that my dissertation, while passable was a bit disappointing. And thought it was published, I knew they were right. Having the appropriate time and focus is paramount. And so it is with the bus build.

Fortunately in the last 24 hours, people who have not seen it since I left here about 10 1/2 months ago are stunned at what has been completed. Since I see it daily, it is easy to focus on what is left to do versus what have I completed. As I lie here at the end of my first full day back in Bloom, that has been the predominant response, from friends to colleagues, who understand as well as anyone how far I am outside my area of expertise. That is gratifying, but each day it seems there is some particular instance that happens and requires a slight change in focus and priority. Fortunately the sun is out, so I think I can get something accomplished the next couple days. Some additional waterproofing, possibly the sanding on the trim areas. There are a ton of items to manage. Meeting earlier today with a master carpenter and builder was helpful. So many moments I feel overwhelmed, underprepared, and generally inadequate over the past month, but the words of encouragement from people I have known for some time provides a sense of hope. And also provides some clarity.

The 27th of September is a significant date and a poignant reminder in my life of things accomplished and things unexpected. Fifty-two years ago, I graduated from boot camp on the parade deck at MCRD – San Diego. There was more than once I was unsure I was capable of achieving that. I remember tears under a pillow the first couple days of my time there. I remember fear more than once when I was confronted with my diminutive size. Graduation was an achievement for me unlike anything I had done up to that point. I was on top of the world. Four years later, I experienced on the the most difficult days, when I received a phone call from my Great-aunt Helen informing me that my grandmother, my hero, had passed. I was crushed because of the guilt I felt for failing to visit her the last time I was back in my hometown. While I had cried only months before when my brother passed, I sobbed unconsolably at her committal service. My entire body shook as I wept at her graveside. Life has a way of reminding us what matters, of things important and things imagined important. As I work through this building process, much like I worked through the writing of my dissertation, there will be moments of inertia and other instances of extreme process. I remember an 11 day period in an early August when I accomplished a great deal (of course, I slept a total of 24 hours in 11 days). I remember when we were finishing the painting of the bus, and all the hours of prep work came together. And yet, while both significant, they pale when compared to people and life. For every season there is a time. I will not get this accomplished quickly or without frustration, but I will succeed. I will not quit, but I will be slow, not because I desire that, but because it is that complex.

Thank you as always for reading.

Michael

Floyd and Kirk – Division Runs Deep

Hello from central Tennessee,

I have been here about a month and plan to depart for a bit in the next couple days. I will be back before another month passes, but there will still be much to do. This is the first time I have spent more time than to drive through Tennessee (though I did spend two or three days in the Smokies about 20+ years ago). And while I am sure there was a possible similar experience to what I’ve noted these past weeks, I spent part of that former visit in an ER with an intestinal blockage, so it was not a great visit. What has caught my attention this visit is the profound graciousness and politeness of the people here, almost without exception. I have been called sir, asked about my day, been offered deference to go first, and been thanked more in the last four weeks than in the last four years, and with an accent that happily makes three syllable words out of one syllable words that establishes Southern charm in a manner never before experienced. It brings back memories of my cube-mate at Kaneohe MCAS, a young man from Paducah Kentucky. Even yesterday, when somehow parts (e.g. brakes, rotors, calipers supposedly ordered 10 days ago were not available when I arrived for service at the local Ford dealer. The service person was kind, gracious, and apologetic beyond measure. I did also work hard to be as kind and understanding as possible. So that is why I will be here until Monday rather than on the road on Sunday. I have a little loaner truck for the weekend, but the problem is I cannot do anything on the bus in the mean while.

Certainly partisanship is inherent in a two-party system, and I am quite sure the angry public rhetoric that seems indicative of our current world has occurred at other times in our 250 year history. The Federalists vs Republicans (the Democratic Republicans) of the 1790s, and remember duels were considered gentlemanly. How did that work out for Alexander Hamilton? By the 1850s the argument about slave vs free states which led to the succession of 11 states and the Civil War. Reconstruction was not as smooth as we might want to believe as the Compromise of 1877 led to many of the repressive actions of the Southern Democrats, actions that can be directly connected to the Jim Crow laws and the Civil Rights of the 1960s. And yet not everything divisive was directly connected to the issue of individual freedom. The New Deal, which was President Franklin Roosevelt’s answer to the depression, was stymied by the conservative Supreme Court of the time and they would not embrace the constitutionality of much of it for a significant amount of time. The embracing of America as somewhat homogeneous did not really occur until after WWII, and that still left substantive people outside the American Dream. In my opinion, the significant partisanship that characterizes our current national psyche began in earnest when Speaker Newt Gingrich and his Contract with America, which was both a move back toward States’ Rights, but additionally, the Speaker was adamant that working with the Democrats was not going to happen (perhaps it should be noted the Democrats had controlled the House for 40 years), and the increased use of the filibuster, and the rhetoric that referred to Democrats as immoral or traitorous. The rise of the conservative “moral majority” would probably lead to the impeachment of President Clinton based on moral grounds (though the specific charges were perjury and obstruction of justice). Many see the impeachment as profoundly partisan, and that is also the case with both impeachments of President Trump.

The point is simple, partisanship is inherent, but when does it become hyper partisan or ideological polarization? I am sure each of you have some feeling about it, but what do you think? Have we entered a period where the two parties (be it in Congress or on the streets of our hamlets, towns, and cities) cannot see something positive in the person across the aisle? The 1970s saw the Doles and the Dingells, the 1980s saw the Packwoods and the Rostenkowskis, the Moynihans or the O’Neills, and the 1990s had the Hatfields, the Nunns, and even from the beginning Susan Collins has been considered a bipartisan champion. On the other hand, I believe one can safely assert that the 21st Century has been a bipartisan wilderness, and yet, even since 2000, there are legislative accomplishments that show some degree of crossing the ideological lines for the good of the American public (e.g. Homeland Security Act 2002 – post 911; COVID-19 Relief Packages – including the CARES Act 2020; Infrastructure Investment and Jobs Act 2021; Bipartisan Safer Communities Act 2022). While the ideological polarization has certainly increased, perhaps more disillusioning is the affective polarization. The emotional distrust and open animosity of the other side makes it almost impossible to move beyond a regular state of stasis that characterizes much of what the public sees and hears, which, of course, brings up another point. Partisan news sources and social media algorithms make the ability to hyper-politicize everything commonplace.

So where does it leave us? I think looking at the death of two individuals and our national response might be worth consideration. I should note that I did not realize they had the same birthday 20 years apart until I did some image searching, what a bizarre irony.The murder of George Floyd, an unarmed, but resistant black man, at the hands of the Minneapolis police sparked world-wide demonstrations and pushed for a social reckoning about the inequality in treatment, particularly of black males, by law enforcement. Certainly it raised the profile of the BLM movement and provided an impetus for reform within the law enforcement community. Certainly, the consequences of the protests were mixed when a number of demonstrators moved toward violence, destroyed property, and created a narrative that moved beyond what many consider acceptable protest. What is significant is the protests in response to Floyd’s death were global. Again, what spurred such profound outrage, beyond the idea of racial justice, is open for debate and is still being pondered over five years later. The systemic reality of inequality boiled over unlike anything since the summer of 1968. While the data compiled by the Pew Research Center shows there is still an elevated concern about racial equality, though less than 5 years ago, the majority of Americans still believe equality is a fleeting dream. Additionally, there are still numerous questions regarding what was accomplished through all that occurred. Certainly, the current backlash against any idea of wokeness and the current administration’s rejection of anything seeming to invoke DEI might argue a negative net sum. And yet, I believe it can be forcibly argued that the the Post-Floyd world is much more ready to respond to and question inappropriate actions at any level.

Undoubtedly, the role of social networking, and its impact on how things are disseminated has been instrumental in the global reaction to the death of Mr. Floyd and the world since. Personally, I find it troubling that attempts to be honest about our racism has been hit with such a rejection. This brings me to the recent murder of Charlie Kirk, the CEO of Turning Point USA and MAGA influencer. While the stories of his killer show someone and something incredibly complex, the past three weeks have been a series of events which are akin to someone bungee jumping. The sort of boomerang bobbing at the end of a jump seems to be what is occurring daily. Again, there is little doubt that Mr. Kirk, while polarizing, was nonetheless, profound figure among his supporters. Additionally, he was simultaneously problematic for a numerous people, groups, or ethnic groups he disparaged. Even when people have noted some of his more controversial statements, be it about 2nd Amendment and some people might die, what he has said about the Civil Rights Act, or, when he noted that he noted that Democrats want America to be less white. Certainly he has used gender, race, and religion to sow discord. To be transparent, as many know I am a retired professor, and a registered voting Democrat. Mr. Kirk responded more vehemently to others on my campus, but I too found myself on his watch list of professors he accused of spreading Communist propaganda. You can canvas scores of my students, and I believe you would find that the great majority would argue that I worked carefully not to impose any of my personal stances on anyone, from my Bible as Literature course to any course I taught. And even with all that, he did not deserve to be shot. That is a full-stop statement. Additionally he does not need to be deified. As I write this, his service was happening, with more than 60,000 people in attendance. I did not watch it, nor do I plan to do so.

What does our national response to his death say when compared to the death of George Floyd? First, it is not really possible to equate them for a variety of reasons, and I do not have space here to elaborate, but Mr. Floyd was in a long line of black males who have died at the hands of the police (and even there, the circumstances are not all the same – certainly some police acted in self-defense), but let me share a story that happened on a Bloomsburg Street one Sunday morning. It was light out and a beautiful day. I was walking down a side street, and I heard someone behind me. Nothing about it, but I realized there was a person behind me. I reached in my pocket to grab my phone, and I was aware of the individual jumping out into the street. I turned, somewhat shocked, and he apologized. It was a young black man, and he said that he reacted because he saw me reach into my pocket. I was stunned. I then apologized to him. Long story short, we began a conversation, and he talked about his growing up in Philadelphia and how they are always aware of their surroundings, and the need to be cautious. Again, much could be said, but for me, I realized how differently he had to manage his life than I as the elderly white man. That conversation and encounter helped me realize many things. Mr. Kirk was a young white man, who used his platform to create a national phenomena. There is nothing wrong with his using that ability to create a better life, and one must say he certainly did it well. About 6,000 people attended the memorial service for George Floyd, but he was not a political figure, and Mr. Kirk certainly helped create and rode the coat-tails of President Trump.

What I want to note is quite simple. The world (and America) has be transformed dramatically from the onset of COVID to where we are now. The response to George Floyd and Charles Kirk have similarities, but profound differences. The outrage of someone losing their life to violence should always be revulsion. Neither of them were saints, and they should not be remembered as such. Their deaths are tragic, but our responses need to be also considered. The profound difference in response across the board demonstrates just how divided we are, and we should all be concerned. When I was a parish pastor, I was very careful and intentional about never declaring a judgment on how God would respond to the deceased. And here I do the same. We are all dependent on the saving grace of a Creator.

I wish both our world and the wife and children of Charlie Kirk as well as the family of George Floyd, some five years later, God’s comfort.

Thanks for reading.

Michael

Successes, Failures, and In-Betweens = Life

Hello from the bus-build,

The morning was not really stellar. I had thought last fall as I pre-ordered things I was making good choices, the morning proved that to be less than accurate. Diesel heaters, what I thought I ordered for my hot water heater (e.g. electric – what I intended – rather than gas). What I have been pushed to realize is I am so outside my element I feel like a pre-schooler. There is so much I respect from others now. I wish I had a mentor to walk me through it all. Some things are progressing, but to say it is more complicated and more slowly than anticipated would be the epitome of understatement.

And while all of that is tangentially related to the title, it is more where I am at the moment as I consider the age I have achieved. While the age is a number as the cliché goes, it is, nonetheless, significant. For the first time in my life, I can imagine not reaching the next decade. That is not said to be morbid, just honest. Few is my relatives were octogenarians, and as I ponder life and a new decade, what I realize is how blessed I am to merely be here to write this post. As I’ve noted in the decade+, since initiating this blog, my very life is a miracle, the incredibly premature child of a 15 year old. I was born at 26 weeks and weighed 17 ounces. I fit in the palm of your hand. The Chair of Neurology at Geisinger, after looking at MRIs and other neurological testing, said candidly, “That you were not born with CP or that I did not have serious mental deficiency was a miracle (his words about mental disability was much more politically incorrect).” When I spoke with a nutritionist/pharmacist to get my Type II Diabetes more under control a little over two years, ago, she noted, “When I read your medical chart and all you have endured, I do not expect to see someone looking so healthy in my office.” Both medical responses remind me of how resilient the human body is and demonstrates how fortunate I have been to have the medical care I’ve received over the decades.

Health is a combination of genetics and self care, and learning to advocate for yourself in our medical system is not always easy. However, in my life, finding the voice to do so was fundamental to my survival. Much has been written about nature and nurture, and, again, as I have often noted, there were ways and periods I lacked both, and yet as I face this new decade, I am neither bitter nor feeling somehow deprived. I have made things work; I have found a way in which I believe moving forward no matter the obstacles, is always a possibility. More importantly, it is the way you can succeed, even when the outlook is less than optimal. It is easy to feel sorry for one’s self. It it is easy to ask the why, but in both cases, there is really no adequate answer.

While I did not really excel in elementary or high school, I was a capable student and when I put my mind to it, I did quite well. It was not until I enrolled as a 24-year-old freshman at Dana College did I seriously apply myself to becoming educated. It is the success of which I am incredibly proud, but not everything in that endeavor was successful either. There were instances where, in spite of hard work, I would have less than great consequence. What I know now, as I review my various places I worked and professed, my position at UW-Stout was one of those periods. While I did some good work there, and I made a significant difference for both students and colleagues, I had so much yet to learn about being an academician. Those difficult lessons prepared me well for the time I would spend in Pennsylvania. Even my first teaching position at Suomi College was a very mixed bag, and my learning on the job would have serious growing-pains. Perhaps the most profound thing necessary is to be consistently working in a diligent and humble manner to improve, to never believe you have made it, but rather to realize there is so much you can do to develop and refine what you do. Perhaps what I realize and find most gratifying is I am both a teacher and a storyteller. I wrote and preached teaching sermons. When I waited tables or managed a restaurant, I taught both servers and guests things they could do to enhance, to boost their interaction with the person who walked in the door. I taught the guest how to do more than merely eat. I helped them enjoy their meal. My mantra was, and is (even in the last year), dining must be an experience. What I know about myself is that my best work occurred when I am interacting with another in a manner that creates a memory and makes a difference.

And yet, as implied by my title, there have been failures also. Again, perhaps most apparent, and certainly painful, are two marriages. Managing that role as a husband is something that required more than I seemed capable of supplying. Looking back, the reason(s) for each marriage’s dissolution are different, but I am the common denominator. I have noted over time some of what effectuated those events, but I believe it was because I was more selfish than I realized, and too often that selfishness, the actions based on what was ultimately self-interest eroded the trust necessary to maintain a healthy spousal interdependency, certainly a big word, but a necessary one. And yet, much like my eventual successes in the classroom, I believe today I would be a much better partner than I was earlier in life. While I still care deeply about my own goals and needs, I see how they can still be met, without there having to be at the expense of the other. Perhaps it is my own maturity emotionally that provides such a viewpoint.

And perhaps most often, my life falls somewhere in the realm of in between. I will never be the perfectly successful individual at anything. And it is hoped I ever experience such a profound failure that one might see it as the quintessential loss. No, most of my life falls somewhere in the middle. This is not to imply I am merely average because I do believe my life has been eventful, and most often quite fulfilling. In spite of my divorced, there are times I hope both of us were happy and hopeful. It was the maintaining of that where the failure occurred. While I believe I was overwhelmingly beneficial to others as a professor, there were individual days that did not happen. And early in my career, there were entire specific classes where I failed my students. Fortunately, the individual class period ends or the semester is completed. I worked to become a reflective practitioner. And I learned to listen to critique without being destroyed by it.

Living the majority of my life in the in between provided an impetus to improve, to never rest on what was accomplished. Much like the current task at hand, there is so much I need to do, but much of it is believing that this project will happen, that it is okay to feel overwhelmed and inadequate. It is okay to see and experience how under/prepared I was and am. The path forward is a bit frightening, and the logistics are more challenging than I anticipated. And yet, the two working with me are patient and kind. They even said they admire me for doing this at this age. This age . . . once upon a time I could not have imagined being this age. Once upon a time I remember my great/niece telling 55 was ancient. I remember the daughter of my first host family exclaiming loudly, “Thirty!” when I answered her question about my age. And yet, it is here and life with all its successes, failures, and in betweens continue. It’s a gift for sure. Welcome 70.

Thank you as always for reading.

Michael

Understanding the Consequences

Hello from the bus,

It’s early morning, and I am sleeping on an air mattress in a sleeping bag (well, not actually sleeping because I’ve started this blog). It is September 11th, a consequential day in American history. It is also a day, where as a gun-owning culture, we are confronted with the shooting of a 31 year-old , who was married with two children, as well as another school shooting in Colorado. Both incidences, while horrific, have become common place in our nation. This is not a political statement, but rather a statement of fact, which is beyond unfortunate.

In the past few months, this all-too- common occurrence has occurred in blue states (Minnesota with the killing of state legislators and at a school), now in a red state (with the killing of Charlie Kirk in Utah, also a predominantly LDS state), and in what many now consider a purple state (Colorado with a second school shooting and one might assert that Columbine pushed this kind of violence into the mainstream.). The point being, there seems no place immune from the violence and division that too often ends in the loss of life. A quick check of statistics compiled by the Morgan Law Group, which considers a number of factors when determining the safety of a state, has a listing of the safest and most dangerous states. The two safest are Vermont and New Hampshire and the two most dangerous are Louisiana and Mississippi (https://policyadvocate.com/blog/top-10-most-dangerous-states-in-the-us-2025/). You are welcome to check out the URL. It noted Utah to be the 5th safest state, though some are not feeling that today.

One of my mantras over this past decade, when we seem more and more polarized, has been the following: fear creates anger; anger creates rejection. It seems we have become an angry country, perhaps in an angry world. As I lie here in the early morning hours, 24 years to the day of the American apocalypse, something we call 911, I believe it can be argued that those who attacked America did so out of anger and hate. There was certainly fear of American power and rejection of a world order controlled by American influence. And today, as the finger pointing, from both sides of the political aisle as noted even in Washington DC in the house of Congress yesterday, fear and anger are on display at every level of our society. Sen. Mike Lee (R Utah) rightly condemned the shooting of Charlie Kirk, but when Melissa Hortman, the Democrat from Minnesota (and her husband) (were) was shot in their home in the middle of the night, his response was profoundly different (again worth reading). Violence begets violence. That is a truism. And when the violence seems particularly partisan, the response contributes to and exacerbates an already divisive rhetoric that again is all-to-commonplace. As someone who spent much of his life studying and attempting to understand the power of language, the persuasiveness of language, I see an interesting parallel between what is happening in our society and what happens when two married people decide they can no longer be married. Please hear me out.

When I was parish pastor, people came to me when their marriages were struggling; as I look back, certain characteristics were often apparent, and I would have to note the same in my own failed marriage. Often the terms used about the estranged partner were less than kind (you can fill in the blank). I would often ask, if that person was really that derogatory term, why would you marry them? In honesty, we all have the ability to act in the ways that would earn such a moniker, but if that is our primary personality, the choice to marry was less than wise. After explaining that, and most often getting some sense of understanding and agreement, I would note, such behavior is in response to something happening (or not happening) in their relationship. A second regular occurrence, it seemed, was each person would, at times, work diligently, at least in their own mind, toward trying to repair this important relationship. However, when the changes hoped for did not occur in either the manner or within the timeframe they desired, they would get angry and soon give up trying, all the while blaming the other for failing to respond or making what they believed were the necessary changes. Again, fear and anger ruled the day. Generally, there were two issues in that moment. Seldom were the two working at the same time or in the same direction, and second, there was little communication between them on what they were actually doing. The consequence was generally even further disintegration of the relationship, a greater degree of mistrust, and additional hurt or fear, continued anger, and often rejection (dissolution of the marriage). To this day, I believe being married is the most difficult undertaking one can ever enter into. And I do not see that as a negative or reason to not be married, but rather to do more than exist, it requires incredible, thoughtful, and consistent effort.

Currently, the extremes of either party in this country have become what seems to be more and more commonplace. If you consider each of them to be in a marital relationship of sorts (they have been together for 250 years), certainly that marriage is currently on the rocks. As with any long-term relationship, there are cycles; there is an ebb and flow to how well the union (pun perhaps intended) seems to be going. The marriage license (contract) here is the Constitution, and the way it is framed, it is doubtful another partner will ever be found. This is a serious two-party (person) situation. And this union is complicated by 533 brothers and sisters who do not get along, and 340 million kids, the majority who seem to be in their terrible-twos. Certainly, the ability to communicate with the other is a foundational necessity. Much like the married couple, I do believe there are individuals in both parties who care deeply about America. I do believe that there are individuals who want to serve the country and hold firm to the belief in a representative democracy. Again, pushing the parallel, currently, the struggle seems to be two-fold. There seems to be a fundamental breakdown in the willingness to communicate in a civil manner with the person who thinks differently. We see the consequence of that lack of civility daily. Second, what seems to be s willful vilification of the other as permeated our society from the Oval Office to the basic person on the street to such a degree that one must question if our democracy can survive. I believe this is a very dark time in our country’s history.

And all of that is in light of 24 years ago today people reached across the aisles, across the streets, or the alleyways to embrace the other as we stood unified in our horror of the events in New York City, Washington DC, or Shanksville, Pennsylvania. There was a unity and a love like nothing I’ve ever seen in my lifetime. The incredible good will we received from the global community was squandered it seems. And yesterday in a larger picture, Russian drones were shot down over Polish territory. This has invoked the calling of Article 4 of the NATO Treaty (and emergency meeting of members). Had the drones killed someone in Poland, the reality of Article 5 and it’s invocation would be facing all of us today. Actions have consequences; that is a reality we are taught early on. It seems either we have forgotten this, or in our selfishness, we just don’t care. That is even more consequential. It is a dangerous world, but this is the world we have created. I hope we can retreat from our precipice of destruction on all levels.

Thank you for reading, and reach out and tell someone they matter today.

Michael

Nomad-life and a new Education

Hello from the mountainside,

For the last 10 days, and foreseeable future, with a required trip to Pennsylvania sandwiched in, and before another wedding in Georgia, I am at a bus building camp in somewhat North Central Tennessee. The address is technically Spencer, but I am seven miles away or so, on Baker Mountain. The camp I am at is certainly rustic, but I have running water, a bathroom, and laundry, so that makes things manageable. I am sleeping on an air mattress and in a sleeping bag, but again, this is not the worst thing for me. The most fortunate thing is the group of people currently here. There are four (both a couple and a son and mother) who make it all enjoyable. There are a couple of permanent people (ironically, both Andrews) who are also very helpful, but have other jobs, so access to them is limited. The son, a young man, Brent, with unlimited skill and knowledge it seems, had been a guardian angel. This has made my experience here move to the positive side in ways unanticipated. Thank God for huge favors. The couple, Chris and Stephanie, are lovely people, and Chris, Brent, and I have developed a mutual working relationship that I believe helps all involved.

Certainly, there is so much I understand conceptually, but knowing how to do it is well outside my comfort zone. However, each day I find myself taking more chances to figure it out. Sometimes I feel I am inept, but other times I surprise myself. What I realizing is the cliche of slow-and- steady is not just a saying but a philosophy. It will maybe be a slower, but a more successful process. My bus building guru’s admonishment is “do not build yourself into a corner.” That is wise for two reasons. First, it wastes time and creates frustration, and second, it is expensive in terms of cost. The amount of money on little things previously mentions adds up more quickly than one thinks. The newest piece today, and fortunately because of help minimal expense will be installing new brake pads. I did some helping on the bug recently, and now I can add the bus. While I do have some important tools, I think I need to invest in a couple of additional things to make sure I have what I need if I have even basic issues.

As indicated in my title, this is an entirely new learning process, but also a useful one. I have often said some of the smartest people I know did not attend college, and that is proving true on an hourly basis at the moment. The basic skills of carpentry, electrical, metal work and welding are all essential to me through each day. Learning by doing (what I have referred to as experiential during my previous life) is what many people do every day. Even as I wrote this, I watched one of the Andrew’s strip wires with an attachment on his drill. It is so much quicker. I wish I would have spent more time with my father helping with projects. While he was a journeyman electrician, and he was an expert in that field he know other things, epitomizing the jack-of-many-things and a master-of-one (my paraphrase of the classic. As I write, the wind is coming up, the thunder is present, and in the span of three minutes I have ducked into the bus and it is pouring again. I am fortunate the “clubhouse” as it is called (where the bathroom, shower, and laundry are located), is 30 feet away. The group is bringing food back, and that should arrive soon, but I think they will be shocked by the downpour. It does seem that the weather changes in a relatively short distance here, and the changes can be quite dramatic.

As the back of the bus is still a shell (hopefully the solar, framing, wiring, and insulation will be in within the month), the rain on the roof is incredibly loud. I imagine that will change (hopefully significantly) when the solar is on the roof and the wiring insulation and wood ceiling are in place. it was typical when I was teaching I would wake up around 2:00 a.m. and ponder possible assignments. I am still waking up in the every early morning, but now I am pondering bus-building logistics, design possibilities, and things I hope to incorporate into my 105 sqft. of living space. In spite of my getting rid of so much, I think I still kept too much, in spite of the question I asked myself (not do I want or need it, but will I use it?). I suspect when I go back to Mallard to outfit the bus with the living essentials, even more things will be discarded or thrifted away. We think we need so many things. I am amazed how few things I find myself using daily. And I am not feeling unnecessarily shortchanged or deprived. My jeans get dirty and keeping my hands and fingernails clean are a lost cause. The other day at Walmart I purchased a fingernail brush, but I think it will take more than that. Soaking my fingers in soapy water for 20 minutes might help, but within an hour or two it will appear I did nothing to ever clean them. It is one of other learning elements of the nomadic life. While hygiene is still essential, what I am willing to manage from hour to hour is much different than my last year in the townhouse. There is an interesting dilemma at the moment. I am imagining how I can get some of those interior design elements into my tiny space. These are the elements of the bus that some inspiration comes from my friend, Hayley (look up dayzea on Instagram) and her shuttle bus. I must give her a shoutout for providing significant inspiration for my vision. Second, a shoutout to Rebecca (look up Eden.thebus on Instagram also). She provided the logo by way of a tattoo for my bus adventure to accompany my name of the YouTube channel I am documenting all of this on.

While there are numerous lessons ahead, of that I am sure, process, camaraderie, and progress are the hallmarks of daily life. Ironically, there are a couple people I know in the area (one from college and one from my days at Stout) I plan to catch up with also. Thanks to the people here, each of you, sharing this journey and making the days of trial and error, trial and success, and somewhere in between manageable. I imagine some days will seem like this classic tune, but for now, I am grateful for the new experiential education.

Thanks as always for reading.

Michael

Which Direction am I going?

Hello from the Cumberland Plateau and Spencer, TN,

I arrived here on Saturday night, almost a week ago, having traveled from the Quad Cities, with a stop in Fenton, Missouri, and then back through the tip Illinois and north to south through the corner of Kentucky. For the most part, the drive was good and the weather very reasonable. There was a slight mishap on the narrow two-lane Bridgeport Bridge between Illinois and Kentucky, when a larger vehicle also with wide mirrors, clipped my mirror. I thought I was as far to the right as I could be, but to know avail. The impact pushed my mirrors into my driver side window and shattered it. I pulled over at the end of the bridge and waited, but no one came back; so I drove about 30 miles to Paducah, Kentucky, covered in glass, where I stopped at a Safelite Auto Glass shop. A profoundly kind shop worker there, one named Logan, helped me clean up all the glass and attempted to put a temporary fix on my door. Unfortunately, the temporary fix did not work, and after about 30 miles I took the plastic off and drove the west of the way with no window. That extended time, which had me driving after dark, kept me from making my final destination of Wanderlust Waypoints. I decided, because I had no idea of the roads or where I was staying once I arrived, to get a hotel in McMinnville, a town about 20 miles away. Is it rain that evening, but fortunately not very hard so I had no water to really worry about inside the bus. So last Sunday morning, I arrived here to begin the interior bus build in earnest.

The bus building camp is very rustic, and even a little disconcerting, but there are tools in abundance, toilet, and shower facilities, and the proprietor and two people living on property are very helpful. Currently, there are about eight of us working on builds, and the majority of the people here are willing to work together, asking questions, offering advice, and coming to solutions in the building process. There are two people in particular who have unparalleled in their help, expertise, and kindness, helping this somewhat fish out of water work on his bus. They are both in their 30s. The window was replaced on Tuesday by Safelite on site, and the replacement mirror should be at O’Reilly Auto Parts tomorrow. Each day I have learned something new about reality of the shuttle bus industry, and what most of these places in Indiana did with a cab, engine, a drivetrain, and a chassis. What is built, at least in 1999, was nothing that tremendous. Two 16th or 8th inch pieces of fiberglass around 3/4 inch plywood is about 90% of the shell behind the cab. There is no insulation, and the wiring would make my electrician. Father roll over in his grave.

That being said, every single day has been a learning experience about what not to do when building my bus. Again, fortunately one of my building colleagues, whose name is Brenton (or Brent) is incredibly knowledgeable about most everything, and his willingness to work with me and teach me is beyond generous. Andrew, one of the people here on the property, is also profoundly knowledgeable and generous in his willingness to help. The two of them along with Brenton‘s mother have made the week really quite enjoyable and productive. Back in January and February, when I was painting the bus, all the lights, from headlights to tail lights, and clearance lights were all replaced. The clearance lights worked prior to replacing them, but getting to the wiring after removing the old ones, was incredibly difficult. So I actually hoped the Ford dealer would take care of that issue when they did some other work. That did not happen. In retrospect, that might’ve been a blessing because now the wiring, which was terrible, has been replaced. in the process I’ve learned about connectors called WAGOs, wiring ends called Ferrules, and crimpers called Kneipex. The need for soldering or connectors that require heat are no longer needed. It’s really quite wonderful. It took a day or two, but all the clearance lights are working. While not every day, regular trips to O’Reillys, Lowe’s, or a food store are par for the course. The morning seems to be talking over the strategy for the day and what best to work on first. Likewise, there are things to do to help them in their path. There are times I am a go-for and times I am doing actual work. I’ve also put my cooking skills to work for the good of Brent and his mom. I’ve also worked on some additional body work with sanding, painting, and there are some (hopefully) minor issues with the front fabricated door and its locking, but we hope to remedy that tomorrow.

What is certainly apparent is the importance of detail and considering every possibility of breakdown and making sure it doesn’t happen. This is where the expertise and knowledge of my two partners is invaluable. One piece of advice I was given my back in January was to not build myself into a corner. Between Brent and Andrew, I’m quite sure that won’t happen. The second thing really apparent is that things will not go as quickly as I hope, and understanding that is OK is an important lesson. In the meanwhile, I am sleeping in the bus in a sleeping bag on an air mattress. It is not luxurious, and being able to jump in the shower and be as clean as I’m used to being is certainly not something that will happen easily. However, there is a Planet Fitness in McMinnville. I will be making use of it with my membership. There is something of extreme importance to understand here in the bus village. We are community and no matter what your background you are just another builder; we are dependent on the graciousness of each other and our willingness to help the other person. It is an incredible equalizer and it helps you see people beyond your initial impression. There is a couple that have a long bus and are here long-term. They are gracious and kind, but not as much a part of the community. There is another couple who have been here in the past and are back. Their camaraderie and willingness to ask questions and offer thoughts make them a wonderful part of our group. There is a second Andrew here and he works a lot, but he is sort of the caretaker of the place, and I appreciated getting to know him and learned that he has a background in Williamsport, Pennsylvania. Those connections are important when it comes to appreciation and consideration of the other person.

And yet, the outside world continues. I spent part of the last two days trying to manage how to move money from here to Europe, and I still don’t have it completely figured out. I’m not sure Labor Day weekend is the best weekend to accomplish more. I also spent time this week, managing mail, prescriptions, health, insurance, and all the other things that sit in the background, as I am somewhat isolated here in Central Tennessee. Fortunately, the weather has been outstanding. It does seem a little bit like fall, and it is strange to not be back in the classroom. Thank you to all of you who have reached out and responded on Facebook, TikTok, or Instagram. I will continue to post the progress, and I still will need to be back in Pennsylvania before the end of September. You can follow me at some of the hashtags that are connected to the post. I wish you all a happy holiday weekend as we head into September. My music video for this post seems to describe life as I am experiencing it at the moment.

Thank you for reading.

Michael

Lonely Wind

Robby Steinhardt

Hello from a Starbucks on Clinton Street,

It is in downtown Iowa City, where I once wandered as a student in 1982. Hard to believe it was that long ago, but it is the beginning of another academic year and there are students everywhere. I have been managing things as I work toward getting serious on my bus build, and to be honest, I am feeling a bit overwhelmed, perhaps a bit frightened, and most importantly, a bit displaced. There has been significant reflection on the idea of place over the years; additionally, my consideration of family and belonging have been constant elements of how I understand life. As humans, we are incredibly dichotomous; we simultaneously desire something and push it away, or so it seems. Even though I am well aware of this sabotaging tendency, as well as wish I could remove both the feelings and the actions, it seems Paul’s statement in Romans about that which I hate I do is alive and well within me. I should also be kind, acknowledging a number of people have worked diligently to welcome me, to allow me to feel loved and appreciated, and that has been something experienced for many years, but often I do not manage that care, that love consistently or adequately. Perhaps the important question is simply why?

While I have often pondered, regularly examined, and continually reflected on this seemingly contradictory behavior, what seems most apparent to me as I write this post is perhaps it is fear; perhaps it is somewhat an impostor syndrome, believing, in spite of myself, that I am unworthy of belonging. While I can more than adequately determine what I was told as a child is utter bullshit, the deep-seated feeling created is just maybe it was true. I was not planned for a biological mother; I was not expected nor appreciated from an adoptive mother, and those two events set up a strong sense of abandonment and malignity that I have struggled to overcome for almost seven decades. While there are certainly moments, and even periods, I have felt respected or capable, the belief that I was a desirable person has not been something often experienced. What does it mean to be desirable? It is certainly more complex than many think. There is the physicality of being alluring, and many first consider that aspect – equating it with being seductive, perhaps even fascinating. But desirability has to do with so much more – what makes one preferable, gratifying or acceptable? That goes far beyond one’s initially noticed attributes. As I have often noted, I will never win a beauty contest nor would I qualify as a Chippendale, so I must have something more enduring. I remember a young freshman student once batting their eyes when I told them they needed to revise a paper. The long-story-short was I informed them that intelligence was life-long and more abiding. Beauty or cuteness would change with age.

I recently wrote about the reality of aging, and while I am still the same basic person I have always been, how I express things, how I respond to situations or others has moderated, and yet, the underlying reasons or the things that most affect me emotionally have remained rather constant. It is, in spite of the counseling, the intelligence, the concentrated work I have done, and even the degree to which I understand how such events, though decades in the past, can still cause me to respond as I might and feel as I do. I still believe the post written to my adopting mother over a decade ago is the most consequential thing I have ever written, and it has helped me move beyond the hurt and damage in ways probably beyond what I know, and yet, there are still those moments. The frightened and confused little boy can still come to the fore. The demeaning and abusive words still have the power to cut deeply and quickly. The sense of being unworthy, undesirable, penetrates my soul in a way that all the success, all the schooling, and all the things accomplished disappear and the boy who heard he was undeserving to be in their home can fill my ears and sting me in a way that is still incredibly powerful.

There are moments I wonder what is the piece, the element of my life still needed to bury those demons once and for all? What might I do? How can I achieve whatever it is that will exorcise that brutal monster, who or which, in spite of everything achieved, can still convince me it is not enough? Much like I hide the physical malady that has been my daily companion since the Fall of 1997, I can most often hide the emotional malady that was created when I was adopted in May of 1960. To be fair to my adopting parents, I do not believe either intended to be difficult, or certainly, by today’s standards, abusive. I do believe my father wanted my sister and me with every ounce of his being. My mother, I suspect, was both unsure of, and under-prepared at best, to take on two additional (one pre-K and the other barely kindergarten age) children, but to be kind, I honestly believe she did the best she could. During my most recent trip and time in Iowa, I met with childhood friends, some of whom it’s been 50+ years. Amazingly, each of them, unprompted, spoke of what they saw in our household and how they felt badly for us. One in particular spoke of how they reached out to my sister, Kris, and even helped her run away to avoid the abuse. What was more remarkable was how their reflection helped validate some of the things I remembered or felt, and even in that moment how I felt as they spoke. There was no anger, but there was a sadness for my sister and brother, but also for my mother. What a terrible way to see life. What a horrendous way to experience daily living, even on her side.

Even now as I write this there is a sort of melancholy because I see all the ways it has affected me. How it has influenced periods of my life, from relationships and their failures to schooling and some of its successes. From times where I avoided responsibility to way too many times when I used excessive drinking to cope. Even now as I embark on this excursion, this nomadic existence, it is both escape and freedom. It is taking charge of my life and feeling like I have little control over anything. Again, there is the dichotomous reality I have existed in over what seems forever. This song certainly is a prequel to their more well-known “Dust in the Wind.” It realizes the temporal nature of our brief journey, and while there is a sadness to the song, there is the sort of Psalmodic lament reminding us that life will continue and we need to move forward. Living only a lamentable life is no way to walk our journey. There is a beauty in reflection and realization. There is opportunity in it to move forward. My choice to travel, somewhat in solitude, should not surprise me, and it probably does not surprise those who understand me. Earlier in life I needed people for validation. That is no longer the case. There is no reason to be validated, there is only an opportunity to “carry on” as a “wayward son,” the person who was told he was not worthy, who has never been a biological parent, and yet the figurative father to many. I have honestly been blessed by so many. Driving has always been cathartic to me, a time for thinking and examining. Now as I continue on to Tennessee to build, the road is laid out. The possibilities are endless.

While the video below is not with some of the original members of Kansas, which is still perhaps my favorite band, and one I saw in concert a number of times, it is a poignant live version.

Thank you as always for reading.

Michael

American Gothic and My Iowa Roots

Hello from rural Mallard,

It’s about the end of the day, the sun is setting, I can smell livestock from the hog containment facility down the road, and yes, there are flies (scads of them). It was a productive day as I got the weather stripping for the main bus door ordered, and the majority of the painting of the two doors completed (e.g. sealing the seams, taping the area, painting the trim, and painting the storage door, and installing the foam sealer on the inside to waterproof it.). The trim and black is painted on the front door. Some additional taping with happen tomorrow and the final green will be done. Also I ordered a replacement mirror for the outside as one of them was cracked (not sure when that happened), and it will not pass inspection that way.

Driving to Spencer, and later to Emmetsburg, I listened to some interesting pieces on Iowa Public Radio, and being back in my home state the reality of farm life is unavoidable. The acres and miles of 8 foot high corn rows and the incredibly clean rows of soybeans (not like I remember when I walked beans for Jake Goede) are in every direction. As you drive by the hog containment facility up the road, the aroma of livestock is unavoidable. And number of flies is unfathomable. As I sit in the wrap-around porch and dusk begins to settle, the different hues of green are tranquil, beautiful, and calming. I hear the locusts, and the chickens and horses have bedded down for the night. Already there is a layer of fog above the beans across the road. The humidity was significant this morning, and did burn off a bit late afternoon, but it is back. The substantial rains from the weekend, which have hammered the upper Midwest, and shut down the Wisconsin State Fair, have created issues here on the farm as the already saturated earth and rising water table has flooded the basement. The removal of water has been constant since Saturday morning. It does seem some progress is happening, but it is an unceasing process at the moment. Certainly storms seem more persistent, more pervasive, and more phenomenal in nature.

As I go to the diner in Pokey (as the locals refer to Pocahontas), conversations from the tables are markedly different than what I hear at the New Bloomsburg Diner. Men sit at one table and their spouses sit at the next table. The conversations are completely different. Often the women speak about family and plans; the men speak about weather, tariffs and how it affects agriculture, or something that is happening in local politics. The politics of Iowa, one of those “flyover states,” is more significant than many realize, and for more reasons than simply having the first caucus in our electoral process for many years. There is an irony in that while the University system is under attack, the importance of the Iowa State System (e.g. ISU, UNI, and the U of Iowa), be it agriculture, science and technology, engineering, computer science, writing or health sciences, has influenced the country and the world through its innovation. From feeding to healing the world, from innovation in technology, engineering, or communicating, the “tall corn” State is much more than fields.

The famous (and for some infamous) Grant Wood painting “American Gothic” has been interpreted in a variety of ways, and the questions of Wood’s intent still create discussion. Looking at the role of farming, whether it be for the State, the Nation, or the World, Iowa has led the way since the the late 1900s and certainly into the 20th Century. Currently (as of 2023) Iowa ranks first in corn, pork, and hides. It is second in soybeans, soybean meal, and vegetable oil as well as turkeys and eggs (which surprised me). The state is fourth in beef production and second only to California in total agricultural receipts. So that dower looking couple (which was modeled by Grant Wood’s sister and his dentist) perhaps should have been a bit more joyful.

Even today as I drove the two-lane highways, the trucks, the livestock haulers, the semis, and the pick-up trucks pulling anhydrous or trailers of hay the reality of agriculture from every corner is unavoidable. The gravel roads and two-lane highways abound and they are a mile apart. The weather can change in an instant, and I experienced some of that late morning as I met a college classmate today. We watched the regional news as we ate and the number of storms cells popping up changed by the minute. Watching the power of nature on the rolling Iowa bluffs is incredible and awe provoking. And yet what makes it so profound to me is it transports me back to my childhood and how we would watch the cloud move and change colors as a storm developed. The tornado sirens would have us scurrying for the basement. It is common to see the cloud bank as the storm rolls across the Iowa fields, hills, and farm houses. Ad I drove to my hometown, away from the storm front, I still found a cell of intense rain that slowed 65 mph traffic to 30. And yet in spite of the weather, the changing markets, the whims of the political winds, the Iowa farmer manages, and as shown above, thrives. It is by luck? Perhaps there are moments, but farmers are scientists, agronomists, botanists, geologists, and pedologists. They are veterinarians, business persons, and mechanics. And they do this with no guarantee of success. This is the world I grew up in. These are the people I went to church with and saw on the street where I grew up. I did not really give it a second thought, and perhaps too often under-estimated the miracle workers they are.

The story of Grant Wood’s painting and the reaction to it was ( and probably still is) varied and complex. As I look at it, I see the intensity of what the farmer must feel almost daily as they survey all the pieces of their daily existence. The gothic church-like window in the house is a reminder that they are dependent on something and perhaps someone outside themselves. The suit coat over overhauls with a white shirt is a stark reminder that it’s all connected and her jumper over a black dress and the small broach with pulled-back hair demonstrates an attempt at femininity with the appropriate understating of any sort of flamboyant gestures. Life was connected to the land , to God, and family. While there is no hint of a family in this picture, most had children who would become farmhands and eventually the person to take over the farm. Generational farming was something normal among my classmates, people in my church youth group, and even in my own family.

My return to Iowa has been enlightening; it has been a time of reminiscing about and appreciating the incredible things I too often took as commonplace. It is anything but. I am grateful for the reminder.