Category Archives: Writing

Maybe We’re All Sign-Holders

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What do you think when you pass under political, sign-holding people on freeway overpasses? Of either variety, bright red or dark blue?

My internal dialogue. “Apart from posting on Facebook, I don’t think anyone could choose a less effective form of political persuasion. Has anyone ever, in world history, said, ‘You know, I was driving south on the I-5 when I looked up and saw an outstretched sign that said ‘X’. Until that moment, I really believed ‘Y’. But now, I realize how misguided I have been and I’ve completely come around to ‘X’.”

At 65 mph, the outstretched sign advert might last 1-2 seconds. That’s not even subliminal.

The sign holders are careful to keep a safe distance from their opponents they’re hoping to somehow convert. Their method is a metaphor for our modern age. We’re all steadily improving at keeping a safe distance from one another. Getting better and better at reducing the inconvenience and unpredictability of direct, interpersonal contact.

Abrupt shift. You may be wondering how I’m doing. Lots of people appreciated the “rawness” with which I described Lynn’s final chapter. Now though, I feel like the humble blog is completely inadequate for telling my story. Of how I’m doing.

I suppose, like the sign holders, I’m afraid too. Afraid to “keep it real” in way too impersonal a format.

So what to do? I don’t know.

Makeda For The Win

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Don’t tell anyone that Makeda was one of my favorite students in my Fall 2024 First Year Writing Seminar.

In large part, because she was from Gondar, Ethiopia. As if our Ethiopian connection wasn’t enough, she was super diligent and hyper intelligent, both academically and interpersonally. As a result, she elevated every class discussion by picking her places to make extremely thoughtful contributions. She dug the course material and it showed.

I’m worn down from having read thousands of first year essays, and yet, I always looked forward to Makeda’s. A superb writer with mature insights that belied her age.

So I was happy to get an email from her today asking if I would edit her nursing school admission essay. As I suspected, the essay didn’t really need anything apart from massaging a few phrases.

But it left me with a familiar dilemma. I’ve had the good fortune to teach several Makeda’s from near, meaning mostly Eastern Washington, and far. Students who are the “first in their families” to attend university. Students who are motivated by their families sacrifices to excel. Students who do excel relative to their peers.

These Makedas almost always aspire to the helping professions, teaching, nursing, social work; because, I think, it’s as ambitious a future as they can envision for themselves.

And of course, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with being a third grade teacher, or registered nurse, or social worker. “Absolutely nothing wrong” is a poor way of putting that, more to the point, there’s everything right with choosing those professions.

Still, I get this nagging feeling that inspired me to write this to Makeda just now when I returned her barely marked essay.

“Excellent work Makeda. You will sail through. Trust my few suggestions came through, if not, let me know. Only question I have is whether you might make even more of an impact as an MD. Either way, I’m excited for your future. Ron”

I have no doubt Makeda could excel in medical school and in practicing medicine, just like I have no doubt that my Makeda’s who plan to teach K-12 could pursue PhD’s and someday replace and exceed my university colleagues and me.

Maybe I’m projecting a superficial impulse that mo’ status is mo’ better? An obviously problematic premise.

I just don’t know if Makeda has considered the possibility of becoming a doctor, thus my nudge. I would love to turn her life upside down with that suggestion.

Either way, she’s destined to flourish.

Postscript. The reply.

“Thank you so much for your kind message and encouragement! I really appreciate it. I received your comments and suggestions and will do my best to adjust accordingly.

I also wanted to thank you for your thoughtful comment about the impact I could make as a physician, it really encouraged me! God willing, I do have a plan to pursue an MD in the future, and I was wondering if you think it would be a good idea to mention this in my last essay.

Thank you again for your time and support!

Makeda”

Postscript 2. Anyone who has ever uttered the phrase “shithole countries” has never met a Makeda.

Indie Bookstores For The Win

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From The New York Times, “Dragons, Sex and the Bible: What Drove the Book Business This Year”.

This year, 422 newly opened stores joined the American Booksellers Association — nearly a hundred more than joined last year. . . .

“It’s exciting to see so many people shopping in alignment with their values, and I see that reflected in the tremendous support communities have given indie bookstores this past year,” said Allison Hill, the C.E.O. of the A.B.A. “In some ways, I think that’s a response to the turmoil of 2025 in this country and reflects a backlash against billionaires and algorithms. Indie bookstores are proving to be an antidote for the time we’re living in.”

My draft novel is about a hopelessly promiscuous dragon experiencing an existential crisis.

“Keep Your Hand On That Plough, Hold On”

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Science has no answers for Multiple Systems Atrophy. Some day it will, but until then, I lean heavily on the humanities for sustenance.

Ian McEwan is on my Mount Rushmore of writers. Presently, I’m reading his most recent novel, What We Can Know. The main character is a former academic caring for her husband who is suffering from Alzheimers. I marvel at McEwan’s ability to evoke that world. A hyper creative, all-world imagination that deeply moves me.

Then, a week ago, I stumbled upon a Robert Plant/Saving Grace Tiny Desk concert. Plant’s voice, at 77, is more bluesy and folksy than rock and roll. Major props to him for continuing to create. And for moving me. Deeply.

Lynn’s hearing is about the only thing M.S.A. has spared. So I shared this song with her. All I know to say to her now is, “Keep your hand on that plough, hold on.”

Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John, all them prophets dead and gone
Keep your hand on that plough, hold on
Never been to Heaven, but I’ve been told the streets up there are lined with gold
Keep your hand on that plough, hold on

Hold on, hold on
Keep your hand on that plough and hold on

Mary wore three links of chain, every link was Jesus’ name
Keep your hand on that plough and hold on
The only chains that we should stand are the chains of hand in hand
Keep your hand on that plough and hold on

Hold on, hold on
Keep your hand on that plough, hold on
Hold on, hold on
Keep your hand on that plough and hold on

Hold on, hold on
Hold on, hold on
Hold on, hold on
Keep your hand on that plough, hold on

Paragraph To Ponder

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From an article titled, “In Yellowstone, Migratory Bison Reawaken a Landscape“.

“Tens of millions of bison once roamed North America, grazing on grasslands, forests and plains, from the Great Basin of Nevada to the Atlantic Coast. It is difficult today to imagine the size of herds that are no longer seen; Lakota oral histories gauged herd size by the number of days it took them to pass.”

No mention of North Dakota State football.

On Hiatus

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Since the beginning of the humble blog, I’ve strived to write authentically. Because of her right to privacy, that’s gotten more and more difficult as my wife suffers from a debilitating illness.

I am trying to care for her and am completely overwhelmed. But I don’t feel I can write about it. Maybe at some point in the future. Probably at some point in the future.

For now, in addition to caring for my wife, I’m planning to teach beginning in September. I don’t think I can do right by my wife, my students, and you.

Thank you for reading me and especially to those who took the time to comment from time to time.

Is this the end? I don’t know, time will tell. I’m trying to not plan the future as much, and instead, to live in the present.

Peace out.

Brutally Funny

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A taste of Zoe Williams’s scathing review of Tom Bower’s book, House of Beckham about David Beckham.

“There are much smokier guns in the book, as regards David Beckham’s infidelity, detailed accounts of his text message and travel history with Sarah Marbeck, Celina Laurie, Rebecca Loos, Danielle Heath. All of this is quite historical – the annus horribilis from the institution of marriage’s point of view would be 2004 or, to put that another way, 20 years ago. Perhaps more problematic for the biographer is that it was all already in the public domain, courtesy of many overlapping newspaper reports and in quite granular detail. So without anything from inside the house of Beckham, and almost nothing new from the many women involved, Bower’s is more of an aggregator role. Chat GPT could have done the whole thing faster, with the prompts: David Beckham – erection – sun lounger.”