Mediocre Expectations

The life expectancy for American men these days is about 76. As I am about to reach my 79th birthday, I have a few thoughts on the matter. I wondered, today, if my life ended on schedule, and I were no longer, alive, what I would have missed by now. I made a short list: 1. Another chance to take to the streets in a No Kings rally. 2. Teaching my little writing your memories class at the local community center. 3. Dental appointments where I can wonder what now? 4. The chance to see the next election. (Im optimistic) 5. The first fishing trip of another year. 6. New lakes and streams. 7. A big bash when I reach 80. 8. The Kentucky Derby 9. More significant downsizing (Sweedish death cleaning) 10. Playing blues harp with my friends in our geriatric music group. This is a partial list, of course. I expect to add to it from time to time. All I have to do is survive. I shall do my best.

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The Quality of Optimism

I've returned to The Book of Qualities, by J Ruth Gentler once again to meet the needs of one of the senior students in my little Writing From Memory class I'm currently teaching in my local community center. This little volume personifies various concepts and personality traits. The particular student "in need" seems to be fixated on writing about her past relationships. Apparently, there were many. I'm OK with that. I only hope that she picks a few qualities that are as revealing about herself as those that might describe her Ex's. There is much to be learned by writing about a quality. The aforementioned book seems to have survived well over the years. I first encountered it and its author way back in the late 1970s. I took a journal writing workshop from her. Then, a few years later, her book came out and I introduced these writing exercises to my students. 11th grade Juniors seemed to do the best with it. ...

Mr. Greene v. Mr. Brown

I want to tell you about something. Something I've carried inside myself for a number of years now. Perhaps if I were a different kind of person I wouldn't need to talk about it. I'm not. My need to tell it is stronger than your need to hear it. Because, however, there are a number of teachers and former students of mine who may read these meanderings from time to time, I need to tell this story all the more. About 7 or 8 years ago I was asked if I would allow a university PhD. candidate to observe an English class. At first I decided against it because I was scheduled to have a student teacher placed with me the second half of the semester in question. After some urging, however, at the request of a respected colleague, I agreed. Soon I was committing to extra meetings, signing documents and explaining to the class in question who the young woman who thoughtfully pounded away on a laptop in the rear of the classroom three times a week was. I knew that the topic of ...

Writing on the Wall

The first time I saw graffiti that was memorable was in a middle school bathroom. As 6th graders I often walked home with friends by the middle school we'd soon be attending. A stop by the boys bathroom near the boys gym placed me face to face with a piece of graffiti that immediately madame and my friends laugh uncontrollably. On the wall above the urinals, was penned a short poem that read" This is a Teepee to take a pee pee, Not a wigwam to beat your tom tom 14 year-old humor at it's best. The laughter my friends and I experienced was cathartic. Being bottom of the barrel Freshmen could have dire consequences in the boys bathroom. Those unpleasantries would come later, but for the moment, we were ecstatic and proceeded to read all the g...

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