Teacher in Cheeseland

Maybe an answer for the medical problem?

2011-08-28T22:32:00.000-05:00

I went to see a neurologist from another medical group a couple days ago. He listened carefully, took copious notes, and, from things he said, he obviously had studied my file previously. After about 40 minutes or so, he asked if I had had a virus or been exposed to one back in Nov. 2009 when this numbness started. Although I couldn't remember, the doctor said this could be a post-viral rection--essentially my smaller nerves were damaged as a result of the virus. Although the nerves have likely healed, my body has retained a kind of nerve memory (like the body having muscle memory). I'm taking an anti-depressant now to deaden the memory in my nerves (lucky me, I'm hitting, like, every single one of the side-effects: nausea, increased heart rate). I've also been scheduled to get two more nerve tests to determine if this is, indeed, the problem.

The doctor said it may take several months of meds for results.

And, even if it's not, at least it was an answer.

Or at least it was something to try.

Thank God.

She will be remembered

2011-07-06T10:14:00.000-05:00

Laura, our 30 year old niece, a wonderfully sweet and funny girl, a staunch battler of seven years against her stage 4 ovarian cancer, a woman of hope and faith in her Lord, passed away quietly on Sunday, with her mom, dad, and sisters beside her at hospice. Her faith, her determination, and her spirit will live on as an inspiration to those who knew her, and even those who never had that pleasure (as in Laura's Smile Mile for ovarian cancer awareness). We'll miss you, Laura.

Saying goodbye to Laura

2011-06-17T10:11:00.002-05:00

Our niece is in hospice care. I guess, by definition, that means she won't be with us long.

Laura's only 30 years old. She got her college degree, got married, and then a few weeks later, at age 23, she was diagnosed with stage four ovarian cancer. She's only 30 years old. I write that again because I just can't believe it. 30 years old. That's just too young to die.

I didn't have too much connection with Laura, to be honest. I married into the family when Laura was 17--her life was filled with other things (as are all 17 year olds), so we didn't spend time bonding. Whenever I saw her it was with the large-scale family, allowing for the litany of small-talk questions: How's school? How's work? and the like.

But she was always sweet. And positive. And smart. And witty. Just a lovely young lady. She read at our wedding (she's Jodi's goddaughter). She always included us in family invites later when she married. Did I mention she's just 30 years old?

She has fought this cancer with every treatment in the book (and some that aren't, I am sure). Her faith has been incredibly strong, her outlook incredibly positive. Her in-laws began a foundation and an annual walk/run to increase ovarian cancer awareness, and it's been a huge success. They call it Laura's Smile Mile, well, because she brings smiles to so many people, and she smiles, and laughs, so much herself, even through seven years of fighting this. Now she's 30.

When Jodi and I stopped in to see Laura at the hospice on Memorial Day, I stayed pretty much in the shadows, as I have always done, peripherally involved in stories told, nodding, sharing a smile. When it came time to go, I touched Laura's arm--I've never hugged her or anything, except probably at her wedding, and now I couldn't because she looked so frail I feared she might break--and told her I loved her, and that I would always remember her reading at Jodi's and my wedding.

Since then, word's come from Laura's mother that Laura has accepted that her time is coming soon. We stopped in yesterday to say goodbye, I guess. I sat in the periphery, as usual, but when it was time to go, Laura held out her arms for a hug, our cheeks pressed together, and she said "I love you."

She's only 30 years old.

That's just too young to die.

Medical update

2011-05-07T13:08:00.001-05:00

For anyone who still checks this for info on my numbness, here it is: The numbness and arm weakness that came a few days back seem to have intensified. My calves are numb (which I don't recall them being before, as opposed to my whole legs), and it's possible my shoulder blades (whichever muscles that would be) are, too (they feel differently, but maybe it's just how I've been sitting around). My right foot is virutally completely gone, figuratively, and my left foot is about 75% gone pertaining to feeling, although I can still perceive pressure when I walk (which I counldn't do with the last episode a couple months ago). My neck even feels a bit lighter, so I don't know what that's all about. And my right arm is joining my left arm a little bit in terms of strength loss.

I'm sure hoping this won't get worse before it gets better, but, even if so, I guess I have a baseline from the last episode and can assume that this is merely temporary.

Say a prayer. Thanks.

Neglect and numbness

2011-05-01T20:10:00.001-05:00

I've certainly neglected this blog for my political blog MisLeading Wisconsin (http://www.misleadingwisconsin.blogspot.com/ ). And it's been very exciting, to be honest. I've interviewed Sen. Erpenbach (one of the Wisconsin Democratic 14 that left the state to deny a quorum), I've gotten an e-mail from former Governor Jim Doyle saying he'd check out my site, and I've been in contact with national editorial cartoonists, obtaining their permission to run their cartoons on my "Laugh About It" page. And I've gotten some comments from visitors (not a lot yet, though), and most importantly, I've gotten a chance to research and write about topics that are vital for this wonderful state's future. If you can visit, please do.

I also said I'd use this as a health chronicle. Even though the neurologist said that no news is good news, and all my tests say I'm healthy, I still have had the general numbess in my limbs.

Today, it's getting worse again. My left arm feels like dead weight (especially the bicep area), and the tops of my feet and the back of my thighs have severely lost feeling. It certainly feels like it did before the last episode that made the neurologist think MS (the MRI showed absolutely NO markers for it, thank goodness). To be honest, I don't recall the backs of the thighs going out before, so I'll see how I'm doing tomorrow.

But, the good news is, if history is any predictor, the feeling will come back to where it was. I'll just have to wait and see what happens.

And keep writing MisLeading Wisconsin, of course.

Ah, Baseball

2011-04-03T18:30:00.001-05:00

I love baseball. It means summer, green grass, having a beverage out in the sun. And the make-up of the game is perfect for warm, lazy summer evenings--you can tune in for an inning, come back later, and probably not have missed a thing. And even if you did, every inning, every pitch really is classic drama: pitcher vs. batter, batter vs. fielder, fielder vs. runner. Any pitch could be the one that turns the game. And any player could be that day's hero, no matter how bad they are.

But the best thing about baseball is that you can be down to your last out and still come back to win the game. I told my second graders that before the Brewers opener--just like life, you can be way down, and still come back. It was actually (I thought) a pretty powerful and positive message.

And it proved true. Cincinnati hit a three run homer with two outs in the bottom of the ninth to win it.

Right message.

Wrong team.

Go, Brewers

Spring Has Sprung

2011-03-27T20:08:00.001-05:00

A beautifully sunny (albeit chilly) day. The birds are singing like crazy--it seems every year I wonder, were they this vocal last spring? And the Brewers start on Thursday. I'm taking more walks (because I can), and am really enjoying doing so. My legs are still a bit out of control, and my shins (yes, my shins) are completely spent by walk's end, but I'm doing great (well, except for my NCAA bracket...). HAPPY SPRING! (and GO, BREWERS!)

More lies from my Governor

2011-03-25T19:38:00.003-05:00

As you may or may not remember, Governor Scott Walker's "budget-repair" bill was passed in the Assembly just after 1:00 AM, when many Democrats (and even some Republicans) weren't in attendance. Then a quickly called committee meeting allowed the Senate to also take the vote soon thereafter, despite a democratic committee member protesting that no one even had time to read the bill.

I just happened to stumble upon a Walker quote from the Appleton Post-Crescent (April 24, 2010), when he was running for Governor:

(Walker) promised to sign legislation if elected governor that prohibits the Legislature from voting after 10 p.m. or before 9 a.m.
"I have two teenagers and I tell them that nothing good happens after midnight. That's even more true in politics," he said in a statement. "The people of Wisconsin deserve to know what their elected leaders are voting on."

http://www.postcrescent.com/article/20100425/APC0101/4250504/Milwaukee-County-executive-Scott-Walker-Republican-candidate-Wisconsin-governor-voted-allow-late-Assembly-sessions-he-now-bashes

So the people of Wisconsin really DON'T deserve to know what their elected leaders are voting on, after all?

Again, shame on you, Governor Walker.

P.S. An appeals court just said a Milwaukee ordinance requiring sick leave for private corporations--which was voted for by an overwhelming majority of Milwaukeeans two years ago--is valid. I am SOOOO curious as to how Walker plays this. When the votes favor HIS agenda, he says, "Hey, the people voted for it." Well, the people voted for THIS, Governor. So, do you follow the same rules you've asked everyone else to accept regarding YOUR laws and accept the "people's will," or do you pull strings--and invoke hypocrisy--to change the rules?

Remembering an Uncle and a Marine

2011-03-25T19:08:00.001-05:00

Today I traveled to King, Wisconsin--the veterans' home near Waupaca--for my Uncle Carl's funeral. Uncle Carl (a former Marine who was at Iwo Jima) was never shy, whether talking about politics or how Brett Favre would never become a decent starter (which he maintained throughout Favre's career), but he was pretty much always entertaining (in a good way). At one time, he owned a bar in Three Lakes with my Aunt Marge (his third wife), and a long time ago, he once ran unsuccessfully for county sheriff. I went up with my parents (Carl was mom's 14-year-senior brother) and my sister to meet with Carl's 12 living kids/stepkids, and assorted other relatives to share in telling stories about his life. I remembersoftball games at the family reunions--they let us little kids play with the adults--and Uncle Carl always seemed to pitch against me. He gave me the business with every pitch, but it was always in fun, and I could tell he was as thrilled as I when I dropped one over the infield to reach first safely.

I hope my nephews have warm memories of me, too, when I'm gone.

Rest in peace, Uncle Carl.

A Brief Update

2011-03-15T21:42:00.002-05:00

The health is good. I've taken to going on more walks, because I can. The tingling is still there, there's some pain in my left ankle and left bicep, sometimes my feet don't follow my body, and my left arm has about 85% of the strength it had a few weeks back (before it went dead), but I'll take it. A couple weeks from now, the neuorologist will let me know that which will be the next steps, so to speak.

Oh, and regarding a Scott Walker update: it looks as though 91,000 seniors will have to pay more for their prescriptions, a program to preserve Wisconsin farmland will likely be discarded, and the Governor's new budget bill makes the mediator for labor disputes (such as those brought by unions and citizens against Walker regarding unfair labor practices in not negotiating before the current changes) no longer impartial, but a governor appointee. These interesting and exciting revelations, I am sure, are tragically just the tip of a very horrific iceberg for our great state.

But, hey, I can walk.

Not My Health, My State's Health

2011-03-09T22:43:00.001-06:00

I obviously think Governor Scott Walker is morally bankrupt.
Here are some examples of his lies, ostensibly done to purposely deceive the people of Wisconsin (these are not union tweets, but from well-researched and local articles).

***"I campaigned on (the proposals in the budget repair bill for Wisconsin) all throughout the election. Anybody who says they are shocked on this has been asleep for the past two years." --Scott Walker, 2/21/11. PoliFact (Milwaukee Journal Sentinel, who endorsed Walker for Governor), 2/22/11 (rated FALSE);

Walker never mentioned the proposal on his official campaign website nor debated it during his two-year campaign. It reverses long-standing policy in Wisconsin, among the first states to give public employees union rights. Wisconsin Senate passes public-sector union curbs, Reuters News, 3/9/11

***Wisconsin Gov. Scott Walker says his budget-repair bill would leave collective bargaining “fully intact” PoliFact, 2/18/11 (Rated PANTS ON FIRE)

***This (collective bargaining) has never been about union busting, it’s about balancing the budget.

Walker promotes splitting of budget repair bill to effectively strip collective bargaining rights (NOT as a fiscal matter).

***He had also has made clear in recent days that he would not negotiate or budge from his plan to sharply curtail collective bargaining rights for state employees.
--PolitiFact, Milwaukee Journal Sentinel, Feb. 23, 2011 Walker reveals e-mail proof of negotiations with Democratic leaders. –March 6, 2011

Again, these weren't passionate rhetoric or being misinformed, these are CALCULATED, DELIBERATE LIES MEANT TO DECEIVE THE PEOPLE OF WISCONSIN (all of us, not just the teachers). If you need specific citing of the articles, please let me know.

Which is worse, really--fleeing the state because of your principles, or LYING because of your principles?

Shame on you, Scott Walker, Glenn Grothman, and every official backing this heinous measure.
And may God save the great state of Wisconsin.

The Good Boat

2011-03-08T07:14:00.000-06:00

I got the call from my doctor yesterday regarding the results of my brain MRI.

It's not MS.

Actually, that should be IT'S NOT MS!!!!!!

They have no idea what is causing my limb numbness and assorted symptoms, but after conceding it sure seemed like multiple sclerosis, it turns out it isn't. I know many people live okay with MS for years, but I didn't want to be one of them. It's conceivable that the causes behind my symptoms are even more insidious than MS would be, but them not knowing has given me new hope that it may be okay someday, that I might be okay.

I'd be incredibly remiss without thanks to God (although I thank him, too, especially now, for days I can walk, things I can do, friends and family).

Hey, but with not knowing what this is, I'm in pretty much the same boat I was two weeks ago--except with MS ruled out.

That's a pretty good boat to be in.

The Waiting Game

2011-03-06T11:25:00.000-06:00

I had my MRI last week. The sedative-like drugs were so good I barely realized I was in the MRI tube, and everything went well.

Now I just have to wait for the results. I'm pretty sure it is MS (I've been told that once they go to the brain MRI, they've just about ruled out everything else), but I'm not quite sure as to what that would really mean. I think I'll spend time (especially at first) waiting for the next attack. Then waiting to see if it subsides. Then waiting to see how much deterioration takes place. Then waiting for the next attack, and so on.

But I've heard that medication and exercise can often successfully slow the progression, and, again, my wonderful wife, Jodi, will be by my side, so I'm hopeful it won't be as bad as I envision, at least not right away.

Until then, I'm waiting.

A walk the other day

2011-02-28T20:50:00.005-06:00

I wrote this a few days back, the sensation in my toes had been completely absent for two days (it returned joyfully the day of this walk). The realization, to that point, was sad and frightening.

Took a walk through Regner Park, mostly along the somewhat shoveled pathways. You know, you try to will yourself to walk straight, even though you know it’s not working. You lean to one side and your body follows. And you look back at your tracks in the snow, and you think maybe the toes of my boots always dragged, then you notice the slight curvature of a walk steered by little else besides momentum. And you slip on the slightly snow-covered walk, unsure if it’s icy, or if it’s you.

Look at this, here I am talking about the negatives of the walk. To be honest, it was beautiful. The snow—big cottony flakes I could easily catch on my tongue—drifted lazily, as if they had nowhere to be. That’s kind of how I took my walk. I went off-roading, gently trudging through banks of snow halfway up to my knees, just because I could. I stopped to watch a crow. I listened to the brook tumble through the rocks at the turn where I could always find the crayfish—with Jodi when we were dating, with my nephew Josh when he would come to visit when Grandma and Grandpa lived up on the hill at Mitter Circle.

And I thanked God for all this loveliness. I felt regret that I hadn’t done this every day of my life—I’ve probably walked through Regner Park fewer than a dozen times since moving to West Bend more than a decade ago. And of course I cried. Some of it was me feeling sorry for myself, wondering when, or if, I’d get the chance to ever do so again. Some of it was gratitude, I think, that I can still do this. That I’ve had 50 wonderful years of doing so, even if I didn’t take advantage of it.

And as I cried upon returning home—in the bathroom with the fan on—my Jodi, my sweet, wonderful Jodi, awaited me sitting arms outstretched when I came out. And as I relayed my thoughts, my regrets, my fears generated on a walk through the snowy woods, she said, “It’s all changed.”

Yeah, it’s all changed. Hopefully I can appreciate more that surrounds me. Hopefully I can live in the real world, not in front of the television watching another rerun of Seinfeld in high def.

Well, not everything’s changed. I still have my Jodi. And with her by my side, this MS thing will be as much of a piece of cake as it can be.

My calves are completely spent. My left arm has a hard time staying elevated above the keyboard as I type. The tops of my feet are going numb (or, more accurately, more numb) again.

But I had a perfect day in the snow.

And a perfect woman waiting to comfort me when I got home.

Category: Life sucks sometimes

2011-02-27T21:03:00.002-06:00

About a year and a half ago, my left arm started going numb. Within five minutes, my right arm followed. By the next day, both my legs joined them.

The doctor thought it might be a virus (a reasonable diagnosis pertaining to a healthy, 48 year old man). It didn't get better, it didn't get worse. I had a physical and Cat scans and MRIs looking for nerve problems, circulation problems, whatever, and everything looked great. The neurologist sent me to a physical therapist.

But I still had no feeling. Well, some feeling, but more like the tingling prickly feeling you get when your leg has gone to sleep. And, thankfully, it still hadn't gotten perceptibly worse.

From my reading, thank God I didn't have pain or loss of strength--two symptoms that might point to multiple sclerosis, a nerve disease that has no known cause, and no known cure.

About a week ago, my left arm went dead. It was a struggle to write, even a struggle for me to keep my arm anywhere except hanging limply by my side. A couple days later, pain was in my now-terrifyingly-numb feet.

And that's when I started to freak out.

The neurologist said it was time for the MRI of the brain, which would either rule out MS, or rule it in.

Needless to say, it's been a trying few days awaiting the MRI.

I know it's not a death sentence if it comes out as MS, but it's no fun either. My physical and cognitive abilities will gradually decline (most readings say it may be up to 20 years before MS takes complete control), with episodes generally becoming more severe, both in terms of duration and intensity.

And although I rationalize that I'm coming to grips with the possibility of having it, and that my support group--especially my selfless and wonderful wife--will minimize its effects, my random crying when I watch the snow fall, or hug my bride say otherwise.

So, if you're religious, say a prayer for me, but please don't feel sorry for me. I'll be okay.

It'll just take me a while to realize that.

Hope springs (or falls?) eternal

2010-09-05T09:45:00.002-05:00

The school year has started. It's always a remarkably special time. I mean, kids are excited, parents seem excited, as are, of course, we teachers. It's a little like playing the lottery, and everyone hopes they hit the jackpot with the proper fit for a meaningful experience. I seem to have done just that.

My second grade students have been great, lo, these three days. We've sung some songs (I teach them the ABC's backwards), we've done some reading (I'll be reading the book Mr. Popper's Penguins), and we've learned a bit about each other (both personally and academically). It's been a lot of fun. Hopefully, that will keep up...

I've got one set of twins (who, for some reason, their mom decided their hair and clothes should be exactly alike), one set of triplets (each, thankfully, with their own look and style), and about 30% of my students are younger siblings of students I have taught previously. So, obviously, it will be an entire year of me calling kids by the wrong name (which, to be honest, is pretty much par for the course).

But it will be fun. It will be exciting. I get a chance to know very well twenty-two children, and they get to know me. It really is a magical time. And, although their will be some verrrrry long days, and some verrrry difficult challenges, it's a great way to earn a living.

I'm a verrrrry lucky man.

Summertime

2010-06-24T08:39:00.001-05:00

In a few hours, Jodi and I will be heading up to Springstead, to stay at our tiny cabin on a beautiful lake. It seems forever ago that we purchased it, even though it was but last spring. Since then, so much has happened: we've met new challenges (for better and worse), we've planned more instensely for our future, we've lost loved ones.

We'll be gone until August. Not because we're rich, or snooty or anything ('cause we're not), but just because we can. To be among the pines, and the eagles, and the loons, I mean, we'd be nuts not to be up there as much as possible. Family members have planned trips up to visit, so that should keep us (especialy Jodi) from getting too homesick, and some little projects (including a 3 credit class I'm taking via mail) should keep us occupied for a time (unfortunately...). But, yeah, we're pretty much gone. And that's way cool with me.

So that means the rest of the world will be put on hold for a while (no phone or television, or newspapers, or internet access), and we can reconnect with a slower pace, ourselves, and with each other.

I hope your summer is enjoyable, too.

It's JUNE!!!

2010-06-06T09:58:00.006-05:00

For those of you who aren't kids or teachers, there is no way to adequately express the joy that it is finally June. Not that I don't love my students, but we're all ready for some new faces, some new challenges. As a teacher, this is the week one crams in all the stuff that you haven't quite gotten to yet--which is a pity because the kids really stopped paying attention once the temperature hit 80 degrees. Fourtunately, the teachers in the next grade at my school are VERY good, and I'm sure they'll fill in the gaps wonderfully when my kids are theirs...

As for me and my wife, we'll be heading up to our tiny cabin (actually more accurately a cottage, but cabin sounds more up-northy) that we just bought last year on Upper Springstead Lake (about a 4 hour, 15 minute drive from here). There, I will push the boundaries of laziness amidst the pines, the loons, and the eagles.

I mean, after all, it is June...

Sad News

2010-05-21T06:22:00.002-05:00

Terry won't be coming up to the cabin, after all. He died yesterday morning. Rest in peace, cousin.

Hope

2010-05-16T08:32:00.012-05:00

I went to see Terry.
As I've mentioned earlier, my 51 year old cousin, Terry, the guy I used to spend a couple weeks a summer with, has cancer. About a month ago, I got word that the cancer would claim him in a year or so. He was going to start chemo to ward off what I guess they consider the inevitable, but he had an obstructed bowel, which shortened the life expectancy from one year to, well, one week.

His wife put out word to people to feel free to come visit. So I (and I'm pretty sure a million people he knew from the bar he and his wife run, people he helped in local fundraisers, people who appreciate his easy manner and enjoyable stories) stopped by their house. He wasn't giving up--"There's always hope," he said. But it didn't look promising.

Terry was hooked up to a machine that immediately pumped out any liquid he took in (because the bowel was not doing its job). His twin fifteen-year-old daughters hung out texting/watching tv/whatever on the other side of the living room, his wife filled in visitors onTerry's situation in the nearby kitchen.

And Terry and I talked. About anything and everything. We talked about his pain (he decided to be off his morphine so as to be alert), how relatively at peace he was with the situation ("What are you gonna do?"), we talked about his kids, we talked about my job as a teacher. And, yes, we reminisced about the summers we shared growing up--just hanging out in the village park, me listening to my older cousin spin some bullshit tale about the girls he knew; times I couldn't wait to relive each summer. Honestly, that's kind of what our visit was like, despite the tubes in Terry's nose, or the appearance of Terry's bones seemingly barely covered by his skin, it was me, and it was Terry, and all was right with the world. And when we talked about the tiny cabin on a quiet lake even further up north that my wife, Jodi, and I purchased last year (the sale went through, sadly, about the time Jodi's wonderful mom passed away unexpectedly)--one with pines, and loons, and eagles--Terry was hopeful he'd come up to see it this summer. I said that'd be great.

Now, a week later, his body is functioning a bit better (something his wife said the doctors had termed a "pure miracle"). Thankfully, the lower intestine is doing a little of what it's supposed to be doing, and the timeline for his passing has been pushed backed a while, until, in the absence of any more "pure miracles," the cancer comes to finish the job.

But maybe at least it bought us one more summer. Maybe Terry will make it up to our cabin. Instead of sitting on the village park merry-go-round of our summers as kids, maybe we'll sit around the campfire and he can spin some bullshit tale, only now it'll be about some fish he'll say he caught. And maybe, just maybe, there's another "pure miracle" out there, so we could have some summers after that.

There's always hope.

My Cousin Terry

2010-04-16T21:31:00.000-05:00

My cousin Terry and I are about 15 months apart in age, and when I was growing up, he was my companion in the summers when I went to up north Wisconsin to stay a week or two with my dad's mom. We'd ride bikes, swim at the community pool. We'd hang out in the neighborhood park thinking we were cool, just talking and staying out until maybe ten o'clock. And even though I knew that he was pretty much full of shit as he'd talk about this girl or that girl, his heart was always big, his desire to share, to connect with me, was always endearing. And when I left for the summer, I couldn't wait to get back up there, to hang out with my cousin, Terry.

Our lives, though, went different ways: Terry bounced from job to job, seemingly snakebit by what I couldn't always discern if they were real or exaggerated health claims--it always seemed he was dying--or get-rich-quick plans or persecution by employers or those around him. I went to college, had some problems, but ended up as a teacher in my home state. We each married above our status, so to speak, to wonderful women who love us, whose every action affirms that everyday.

But Terry and I drifted apart, which I guess was no big surprise. Our interests were different, as were our lives. But when we did see each other, a couple years ago at the funeral of his father, Uncle Dean, and then shortly thereafter, at that of his mother, Aunt Bev, the conversation was comfortable, authentic. We shot the breeze as sincerely and as easily as though we were back in the village park as kids, pretending to be cool. He discussed some serious health problem in low tones, as he had throughout his adult years. I nodded, and knew he was actually going to be okay. And I felt that which I had missed, that easy conversation, that genuine connection. As we parted, the vague agreements to keep in touch, however, never materialized. The only address I had for his Christmas card came back undeliverable, so, regrettably, it was out of sight, out of mind.

My sister called me today. She was talking to Terry's sister, and, it seems that Terry, my cousin who always seemed he was dying, now, sadly, really is. And it is all too real. There's cancer in his bones and in his liver. They go to the hospital on Monday to discuss what steps can be taken. They: his wife, his twin fifteen year old daughters.

So I'm going to give him a call. There's nothing I can say, really. Just as there was nothing to say, really, at the funerals of his parents. And I don't know if there's any reason he'd want to hear from me, but I want to. I don't know what I'm hoping for. I guess maybe I just want that easy carefree conversation as though we were hanging around that park, maybe sitting on the merry-go-round, a warm, comforting summer breeze, watching the sun go down, and knowing it was time to be going home.

I'm just sorry we missed so many summers.

Making a Stand and Picking up Garbage

2010-03-10T19:21:00.000-06:00

As you can tell, I've entered another post. Although my life was happy even without the updating of this weblog, I needed to make some comments about, well, garbage.

I guess I've got to start with a question: when is a piece of trash not a piece of trash?

My nephew is at Illinois State University and, instead of partaking in the Bacchanalian rituals of Spring Break at some southern beach (as I did years ago), he, and many colleagues, are on Alternative Spring Break, helping people and making a difference in the world. This year they're in Mullens, West Virginia--a small coal town ravaged by floods and a changing and unforgiving economy-- alongside proud Mullens community members, working to clean the debris that has cluttered the town (please check out the link here).

My nephew wrote about litter, wondering if it's from apathy, or maybe laziness. It could be that the litter, the lack of caring for one's surroundings, stems instead from despair. From what I've seen, I've found they have a strong correlation. The simplest caring word or action can sometimes be enough to turn the tide to hope from hopelessness. And the actions by these caring college students (and those in similar programs throughout the country), just may provide that hope.

Along those lines, I've wondered what it is that I can do to make a difference. In my classroom, I promote to my elementary students something I do daily: pick up one piece of trash (of course, I mention it should be dry and not dangerous). One of my students said, "Wow, if everyone in the world did that everyday, I bet we'd run out of trash pretty quick."

I bet he's right. And I bet a cleaner street--or a cleaner school or a cleaner parking lot--could produce a ripple effect: increasing neighborhood pride, better community spirit, fostering an intrinsic feeling of good for doing the right thing--something no one would even ever know you did. And who knows, that could spawn a whole lot of other good things, within a community, and within oneself.

I mean it's just a piece of trash, right? But, really, it's not, you know?

Um, that's all, folks!

2009-11-11T17:42:00.001-06:00

No one reads this, let's be honest. The only viewers of the blog are those that accidentally stumble upon it,or maybe those surfers that may be related to me. So, I've also started to post stories, poems, etc. on a site called Fanstory.com. I've got a link listed below, if you ever want to check out my writing. Hope to see you there! --Curt

Put up or shut up

2009-10-24T11:54:00.001-05:00

It occurs to me that, um, no one is reading this. And, to be honest, thinking about/writing a blog does nothing to ignite or even encourage my creativity as far as writing is concerned. To be honest, it is little more that self-gratification. With that in mind, my blogging, if continued at all, will possibly include other things I've written (on the off chance that anyone even looks in), but will primarily exist as a personal log to provide accountability as to what else I'm working on. You know, here is my blog, the tree falling in the forest, and no one is around to hear it, so I guess, what's the point? If you are reading this, and you ever want to see new stuff (poems, photos, travel pieces about Wisconsin, whatever) please drop me a note so I'll know to do so. Otherwise, this will likely become simply a personal journal to document other things on which I'm working. Have a great day.

Geese flying south and other big events

2009-09-27T07:20:00.000-05:00

The geese are flying south.
I remember growing up, standing in the field behind our house, the browning grass around my knees, head back, watching the slightly imperfect V as the geese honked their way toward warmer climes. It wouldn't be too much longer that it'd be winter--just past trick-or-treat, and then get ready for sledding on snow days and snowball fights on the glorious mountain of snow where the plows piled it up in the neighborhood cul-de-sac just in front of McFadden's house and that of grouchy Mr. Rice. When the geese flew south, once or twice, as I remember, dad even took us out to Horicon Marsh--just over an hour from where I grew up in a blue-collar Milwaukee suburb--to see flocks, no, swarms of geese, blackening the sky, their raucous greetings or alarms or songs or laughter or whatever their honks are, creating such a giddy, overwhelming cacophony that I, too, couldn't help but giggle.
Now, forty years later, it's not the same.
I mean, the geese still go south, but it doesn't portend the same things, no trick-or-treating, and the snow means trouble for my rear-wheel-drive car. Even as a teacher, the snow days are filled with the minutiae of correcting papers or fixing something around the house. And, without getting too maudlin, in the big scheme of things, I, too, am closer to the fall than I am to the spring.
To be honest, though, it's been a hell of a summer. And fall really is a beautiful time. And the promise of the warmer climes is just around the corner. So maybe it's not so bad after all...
The geese are flying south.

Why Blog?

2009-09-22T21:15:00.000-05:00

E.B. White, renowned essayist and author of such children's classics as Charlotte's Web and Stuart Little, said this about essayists, essentially the bloggers of his time: The essayist is a self-liberated man, sustained by the childish belief that everything he thinks about, everything that happens to him, is of general interest.
Well, as far as me starting a blog, the "childish" part is certainly accurate.
Somedays I'll attempt to write something a little deeper, other days will be like wading in a dry creek bed. With some regularity, I'll basically reprint some things I've written over the years, whether it's a Christmas story about a narcissistic cat saving Christmas, or a trip I made to one of Wisconsin's fine tourist sites--perhaps a stop on the Underground Railroad or the mustard museum. Or maybe some non-sequitur of a poem such as:

Weekend at the Impressionists' Exhibit

Monet

today.

Tomorrow?

Pissarro.

I mentioned the dry creek bed, right?

Now to hearken back to E. B. White's definition, I don't necessarily believe that everything I think about is of general interest, but to be honest, I think my wife is a bit tired of hearing me tell it to her as she tries to read or do work on her laptop. And, too, alas, the cat couldn't care less. So, in essence, I guess these writings will act as the technological equivalent of me singing in the shower.

And with that, I start my blog.

My apologies to Mr. White.