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My Students/My Friends

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In my long career as a teacher, thousands of students passed through my classroom. For a while–sometimes a semester, sometimes a few years–I got to see them almost every day, got to watch them make their way through the giddy, grueling, crazy maze of adolescence, got to listen to their hopes and heartaches, got to read their essays, got to know them as students of English and of life. It was, from start to finish, an absolute joy. From those who recoiled at the very thought of reading a poem to those who approached every assignment as a gift, they all ALL inspired and energized me. And then they moved on. But some will always remain in the front row of my head and heart. Some have continued to inspire and energize me as they graduated into adulthood, entered relationships, started careers–Ehow Hawk Chen, Ashley Karitis, Emily Comerford, Patrick Carroll, Kelsey McClure, Whitney Swander, Alex Day, Juliet (JT) Mylan, Patty Garcia, and so many more (my front row is crowded!). I love these ...
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The Jensens of Taupō

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A lot of New Zealand is beaches: stunning cliff-hugging beaches, long sandy beaches, beaches with harbors, beaches with surfers. It’s an island, after all. So, Catherine and I (and Jim, when his travels intersected with ours) spent a lot of time communing with Neptune–walking along, wading in, watching the vast vast expanse. In lovely Russell, we even spent a day sailing with a small group–a first for me–in the Bay of Islands. It was exhilarating and wonderful. I saw dolphins. I burned my feet. But some of the most memorable experiences I had in New Zealand were about as far from the sea as it’s possible to get on the North Island (81 miles), in Taupō at the Jensens’ beautiful, peaceful home. Kathy and Ian (Spike) Jensen have been friends of Catherine and Jim for over 20 years, and they welcomed me as though I were part of the family. The 17-acre property (about 7 hectares) where the Jensens built their home is tucked up into the hilly pastures just outside the metropolitan center of T...
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Kia Ora!

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  When the impossible happened in 2016, I began to seriously consider a move away from this country where I no longer felt at home, and over the course of four hellacious years, I obsessively researched possible landing places–places where people mattered more than profits, where basic needs (food, shelter, health care) were recognized as rights, not privileges, where I could afford to live comfortably (if not lavishly), where I could make a new home for whatever remained of my life. Again and again, Portugal presented itself as that place. Portugal was warm and people-centered, welcoming, affordable, and safe. Steeped in a rich history, building toward a better future for all, it seemed like a real possibility. I had to find time and means to go there, to experience the reality. My friend, Catherine, who had spent some time in Portugal (and loved it), offered to be my travel companion, and we began looking for a good time to go. But life: I went back to work, first just to help ou...
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My Wonderful Family

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  OK. In case you didn’t know already, I’ll tell you. My sons are so, so fucking great. They are smart and kind, funny, talented, tender, thoughtful. I love spending time with any of them, and having them all together–which, since they have grown and moved away, is a Christmas time-only experience–is amazing. Not always easy, mind you; not uneventful. But amazing. Discussions about football or politics or, well, anything, really, can (and have) become loud, angry philosophical debates as my ultra-verbal sons weigh in passionately (and stubbornly?) for their position; evenings can (and have) turned sour as one or the other of us unwittingly tapped into tender emotional territory–or perceived that his emotional territory had been invaded. But the amazing always kicks in afterward. Laughter returns. Love prevails. So, when the prospect of a full-family June gathering was floated, I was thrilled. Neal and Brendan took vacation days, I made reservations at the Burbank airport Marriott, ...
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Perspective

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  Another failed attempt at a camping trip to Joshua Tree. I thought to beat the oppressive heat with an early April run, but I thought wrong, and that’s all right. For the three days I was in Southern California, daytime temperatures nudged 100º, once even topping it. So, I shared the wifi and air conditioning with Colin and Leigha (both of whom are working from home) during the day, and we ventured out when it cooled down in the evening (into the 80s) for good LA food and one great night of music at the Largo. It was awesome. After the amazing time I had getting to Los Angeles, I would have called the trip a success if I’d only seen the Los Feliz Blvd. trash can fire that prompted Leigha’s first ever 911 call. Driving to our campgrounds outside of Crescent City, CA, on the first day was mostly familiar, a pretty, easy drive I made so many times to see my parents in Medford. My heart ached a little as I passed landmarks that reminded me of those distant days. But as I cut away fro...
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Finding Purpose

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  Tomorrow is Mardi Gras–literally Fat Tuesday–the last day before the Lenten season of self-denial, self-reflection, self-abnegation. We will indulge with a raucous carnival–literally farewell to meat–then get up the next day to be reminded of our mortality with a solemn ash cross swipe across our foreheads, preparing us for 40 days of sacrifice. Haha. JK. We’re just going to keep the carnival going, right? I have long since abandoned the rites and rituals of my Catholic childhood (and early adulthood, for that matter), along with my belief in a True Faith, an omnipotent score-keeper, or any sort of heavenly afterlife to which I might be admitted if I check all the right boxes. But that doesn’t mean I’ve given up on wonder or a commitment to good. I am regularly awed by small, simple moments that remind me that life–in general and particular–is absolutely amazing. Looking up from my dinner preparation to see Chip and Caruso, curled together in front of the fireplace; passing withi...
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There Are Rules

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  It’s December and still no snow. Mt Bachelor is getting antsy, I imagine, but these beautiful, clear days, with highs in the 50s (and a few times 60s!) are letting me enjoy midday walks with my dogs that my former work schedule prohibited. Nearby trails and neighborhoods, their foliage and front porch decorations changing with the seasons, provide our usual routes, but today after errands we stopped at the Skyline Sports Complex where my boys could run on the deserted fields while I made my way twice around the paved perimeter. Except for the group of children on the far east playing field (7 – 8-year-olds, I would guess; probably Seven Peaks students), we were the only ones there. The children were engaged in a game of kickball, and, as I entered the park, their piping voices carried clearly to me: Piping Voice 1:   Hey! You went t o  the wrong base! Piping Voice 2 :  I can choose my own base! Piping Voice 1:  No you can’t! There are ruuuules!! I mean, yeah. ...
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