“I heard from the Idol people. I’m goin’ to LA in October!” Mr. Prude was at the bus stop Tuesday morning. “I went right to the Western Union office and sent my mom a telegraph. Next thing I know my phone was ringing and she was saying, ‘I knew you could do it!’” So this is how the story of Mr. Prude was unfolding for me. Here was a man I took… Read More
Ever since my garage door crunched itself into an intractable accordion, trapping my car inside, I’ve been riding the bus. I like it. It takes more time, but it’s easy – and its richer. One of my companions at the bus stop most Tuesdays and Thursdays is Mr. Joey Prude. The first time we spoke was on a Thursday. That day, like every other day I’d seen Mr. Prude he sat under… Read More
I just got e-mail. I’ve been writing e-mail back. And crying. My friend, Murry Owen, died last night. His body just couldn’t manage to breathe anymore. Yesterday I started this week’s blog. I called it “Big Changes.” I wrote about how I got to spend time yesterday morning with my friend Jim. Jim is the friend who found out 7 months ago that he has Rheumatoid Arthritis (EX:C blog, “Chronic Pain,” 6-4-2011). … Read More
Today is only a day. It is Saturday, the 4th of July weekend, and like every other day it has filled with moments linking up into hours, holding people and motion – holding change. This is how it went. Sun rays angled across the morning sky. I woke with two friends on my mind – two friends who are too close to death. Tom, a remarkable and kind educational leader, is here… Read More
It’s sunny in Portland OR and already in the 60’s at 12:24 p.m. on Saturday. People are out everywhere and I’m walking west, nearing the center of the Steel Bridge, one of the ten bridges spanning the Willamette River and operated by the Port of Portland. The water level is very high – highest since the flood of 1996. As I walk onto the Steel Bridge, I’m guessing the bridge operators are… Read More
Two American Indian men stand together. The Elder is Wyandotte and Choctaw of the Mississippi Valley; the younger is Walla Walla of the Columbia River. They are of two generations and they are friends. The men chat with one another during a break in a graduate class of mostly non-Indian students. The students are preparing to be teachers and counselors and taking this course on contemporary Native American life. The older man… Read More
Early this morning, I read email from “a cultural insider of the hacker community.” He’s a student in a class I’m teaching this term and was writing to clarify the term troll as it applies to internet hackers. A NYT article I’d assigned had used that word in a story of a man who drew people with epilepsy to an internet site that, unknown to the web surfers, presented a sensory blast… Read More
I have a friend who lives with chronic pain. He has Rheumatoid Arthritis. The other day we were sitting drinking tea. It was the first time he told me of the RA diagnosis he received last December. “It hits like a train,” he said. “But, man is it ever teaching me about making choices.” “Three things,” he said. “First, it doesn’t feel fair. It isn’t fair, and it is what’s going on,… Read More
A young woman in camo was in front of me in the TSA line at the airport. It was a long line. I asked if she was headed home. “Furlough,” she said. “Afghanistan.” We talked families and weather. She said she’s in her second tour of duty. Back to back. “The reason I re-enlisted,” she went on, “well, it wasn’t because there’s any glory in it or anything. It’s pretty much hell. … Read More
My friend Murry is in a protracted conversation with esophageal cancer. He knows all too well that his condition didn’t come from nowhere. The president spoke yesterday to matters in the Middle East – to the changes signified with the public uprisings in Egypt and Tunisia. He spoke to Israel and Palestine– to that protracted conversation. We all know that none of that came from nowhere. Today I took a photo of… Read More
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