Writing space at Five Points in Davenport Iowa. 1980.
This excerpt from my personal journal was written on May 30, 1982.It reflects what I felt after a three day retreat in Northeast Iowa near Guttenberg, Harper’s Ferry, and Galena, Illinois.Most significant in this piece is the first instance of a decision to follow the path of short, written pieces like daily journal entries, and later, letters to the editor, newspaper articles, and blog posts in my writing. This decision was key to what I became as a writer. I couldn’t get rid of all the male pronouns without changing the meaning, yet I wrote it intending it to be gender neutral. It is lightly edited.
Shall I go on writing? There are so many things in the world to be done, yet I go on writing. I think a majority of people in my generation would “like to be a writer.” That is, they would like to deal with images. But a writer cannot deal solely with images. He must address the realities of his and all the people’s situation.
The writer must be socialized into the culture of which he writes. As a member of a culture, a writer has a vested interest in his culture. He seeks the continuance and survival of the vital elements of his culture.
Too, he seeks change. Not only change that is the essence of a day’s spontaneity but change in terms of his conception of both the past and the present. Although a person can have misconceptions about the nature of the world, the meaning of the world, he is required to act based on this knowledge.
In every case, this is far less than a science of action. In fact, the notion of science we share is obsolete. There is science only insofar as we can all agree on what that is.
But shall I go on writing? Yes, at least in the pages of this journal. For it is one of the things that has sustained me for so long I cannot give it up yet. Nor shall I. Yes. I will go on writing. I’ll fill the pages of this and many another book like it. For this is the path I’ve chosen. (Personal Journal, Iowa City, Iowa, May 30, 1982.)
Canadian Geese swimming in a shrinking pool as the lake freezes.
When I retired in April 2020 I didn’t stop working. No one stops working, ever, unless they are disabled or derelict. The work I do is to make productive use of my remaining time on Earth. During the holidays I slack off and take it easy. That’s finished as the new year has begun.
When I say “the holidays” I mean from Thanksgiving through January 6. I would add the Memorial Day, Independence Day and Labor Day weekends. That is enough holiday celebrating for me. Now that I’m back to work, it’s time to reorganize.
My days begin with what I call wake up chores. Depending on when I wake, I read right away, exercise, dress, take care of personal hygiene, make coffee and catch up on overnight news. I use my mobile device for the news part, although I put limits on how long each day I use certain programs.
Once finished with chores, I head downstairs to my writing table.I finish recurring tasks on my pre-printed list and get down to the first shift of the day. Most days that is writing. If I’m lucky or efficient, that starts by 4 a.m. I break around 5:30 a.m. for breakfast, followed by exercise as soon as the sun begins to rise and I’ve got my new words.
The regular work schedule this year has me writing and editing my memoir as first priority. I’m still getting organized and the goal will be to add 1,000 words per day to the 61,000 I carried over from 2024. These will likely be edited down with new words added. There is research and revision so I don’t yet know how much time it will take. I’m guessing about four hours each day. From my experience, that is a good amount of time wrangling words.
I’m not sure how this writing will impact my bloggery. While my posts don’t count toward my daily goals, they do get me thinking about language and that benefits my memoir.
There is open water on the lake with a bright day ahead. Time to get writing!
After my post-masters degree tour of racism in America I decided to stay in Iowa City. My reasons were not complicated.
I had to decide whether to be in a relationship with someone, and Iowa City was a regional social hub offering a large pool of potential friends and mates. The rest of the state seemed a primitive agricultural landscape, desolate and barren of intellectual engagement. As a young Iowan possessing two degrees, of course I chose to live in Iowa City.
Having established my desire to write, Iowa City seemed an excellent place for that. It offered a broad intellectual life, not to mention being the home of the writers workshops. I expected to find other writers of varied skills, along with what it took to support a writers community.
Work was available. The money I banked in the military would soon run out. I needed a job to pay monthly bills. I had no idea of supporting myself beyond the next rent payment. I could live paycheck to paycheck indefinitely, working a job that would leave energy each day for writing. The idea of long-term employment with decent benefits had already begun to fade from American society as Ronald Reagan was inaugurated as president in January that year.
In the pre-internet days, relationships were in person or they were difficult. A long-distance relationship involved telephone calls and letters. We made our life where we lived and it took a year to discover what was possible in Iowa City. It became my year of being a writer.
In undergraduate school I saw writers come and go in the shared house on Gilbert Court where I lived. The pattern was simple. Find a place to live and write, find enough income to pay bills, and then go on living with a view toward producing a book of poetry or prose. It was no different when I finished graduate school.
When it came time to get my own apartment, I found a small one with a kitchen while most students were out of town on summer break. When I toured the apartment, a tenant still lived there. I deduced she was a writer of some kind, “a writer’s workshop type.” She had photographs of writers on the walls, and many books by workshop alumnae in a peer cabinet in the living room. My quick analysis of her book shelves was she displayed types of books I tried to avoid. My future landlady had had a run in with her, and described her as a little backward. I didn’t care much about all that drama. I was ready to move in and get started with the next iteration of my life.
The apartment on Market Street had six windows. It helped me feel more in touch with the world after living in a windowless basement with my friend Joe. I felt in union with events going on around me in the vibrant county seat. I felt a power living in the old part of the city, and I was in its midst. It took me two days to settle in.
From a logistics viewpoint, the pieces of a life were coming together. What I realize now, and didn’t then, was I needed something to write about. That flaw made it difficult to get words down on paper in the time before we knew what Reagan and his coterie were up to.
This is a draft of the first chapter of the second part of the author’s memoir.
Just as a concertina began the musical Carnival! — slow, isolated, and alone — the path to writing again is picking up the rusty squeezebox and getting started. As I renew effort on this important project, I will be joined by a full orchestra with instruments, players, and settings while engaged in a jamboree of my life in the post-Reagan era. Everything that will fit in 250 pages, I will.
I learned a lot finishing the first part. Blending the past with the future, in terms of the time line was important to style. My omniscient narrator’s voice has the ability to span my entire life at once and I did. Anything else would be fakery. In the chapter on Joan Didion, I began with my discovery of her writing in while I lived at Five Points after military service, and blended my experiences with her writing through her death in 2021. By weaving the whole story into a single chapter, I both told the history and previewed what her writing meant to me. I can’t imaging splitting this story up. So it was with other topics.
The length of part one was about right at just less than 250 pages in the final book. I should keep part two a similar length despite the fact there is more to tell. Exercising disciple in sticking to a narrative is important for the research, and for the writing. I decided to hang the narrative on a timeline based on where we lived, beginning in Cedar Rapids, then Merrillville, Indiana (the Calumet), and returning to live in Big Grove Township in Johnson County, Iowa. Because the Big Grove section is so much longer, more than 30 years at present, I subdivide that with three breaks: my retirement from transportation in 2009, taking work at the home, farm and auto supply store in 2015, and the onset of the coronavirus pandemic in 2020.
The second layer is tracing the history of trucking industry deregulation. This includes the Motor Carrier Act of 1980, signed into law by President Jimmy Carter, Ronald Reagan’s reaction to the PATCO strike, and Bill Clinton’s NAFTA. The impact on American society of these things was broad and deep. My career in transportation positioned me to be in the middle of it as it unfolded. Plenty of books have been written about this. I want to write my story. I have been driving Interstate 80 to Des Moines the last few months. It is remarkable how truck traffic has changed. There is a story behind that.
The third layer is a broad brush approach to our family life in Iowa and Indiana. Ours was not a typical family life, beginning with our vegetarian food culture. We also thought differently about everything from politics to education to banking and finance to transportation to recreation. I hope this layer will be particularly meaningful to our child.
The fourth layer will be the impact of climate change on our lives and on our life in society. A changing environment, warmer temperatures, extreme weather, and public service, including my six years on the county board of health, all play a role.
The fifth layer is how my writing and intellect progressed. If I planned to focus on writing when we married, such focus diffused in the existential struggle to provide for a family. We divided labor in a somewhat traditional way, with me being the primary wage earner, and Jacque working at home during the early years. This had consequences for my writing and for our living. We had a good life, yet there were challenges.
Woven into these layers is my history of working on political campaigns, travel for business, gardening, and learning to live in the post-Reagan society leading up to the 2016 election.
Nothing is cast in concrete. This post is a start. Off we go! Now where did I put my concertina?
Portable greenhouse with roughly 700 plants started from seeds.
This week was hit or miss regarding weather. Some days were drop-dead gorgeous with ambient temperatures in the low 70s and blue skies filled with large, cumulus clouds. Other days it rained and rained and rained. Conditions were never that good to get the garden planted because there was too much moisture in the soil. The portable greenhouse is filled with seedlings ready to go into the ground.
Feeling Alone in the Universe
There is nothing like looking at the sky to make us feel alone in the universe. The sky was exceptionally cloudless Saturday night when I was out to watch for the aurora borealis.
Northern lights, or the aurora borealis, were visible around the area, just not near where I live. I explored the neighborhood to find a place with a broad expanse of unobstructed sky so I could attempt to view them. I stayed up late to witness the phenomenon, yet my naked eyes couldn’t see it.
The forecast was “very likely geomagnetic storming will persist through the weekend as several additional Earth-directed Coronal Mass Ejections (CMEs) are in transit to Earth’s outer atmosphere…” It sounds scary, yet it Earth doing what it evolved to do.
Instead, I looked at the stars on a clear spring night and contemplated the meaning of being alive. It was more blessing than curse.
Hall of Fame Awards
My friend Bill invited me to join him at the 2024 Johnson County Democrats Hall of Fame Awards event in Coralville. He was being inducted for his long political activism as business manager for an electrical workers union. I was happy to sit at his table during the event.
I flipped the program and saw the list of past Hall of Fame honorees printed on the back. So many friends were inducted. A significant number of them died since their induction. I wouldn’t normally go to an event like this, yet am thankful for the opportunity.
Trump Trial in New York
I’ve been following the Donald J. Trump trial for election interference. He was indicted under New York law for falsifying documents to avoid publicity about an affair with a woman who made adult films. My standby code of living is if you are male and don’t want people to know about an affair, keep your pants zipped. It seems clear from the trial the 45th president has no regard for the rule of law. A highlight this week was when his lawyers asked the judge to lift the gag order so he could respond to the woman with whom he had the affair. The proper venue for doing that would be for him to give testimony in the trial, the judge ruled. The prosecution is nearing the end of making their case.
Immigration
I have more to say about immigration. I started re-posting two of my old articles about it on Saturday. It turns out I wrote a lot of them since beginning this blog in 2007. Around 2010, I worked with a group of clergy to get the City of Iowa City to declare itself a sanctuary city for undocumented immigrants. That’s the opposite direction our current government is pursuing. Never mind that the city did not adopt such a policy. It has been a bug-a-boo among Republicans for a long time. Immigration is something about which everyone has an opinion yet few are willing to resolve its problems.
Kitchen-Garden
With my spouse gone for the week my cooking has been different. I made pizza, a casserole, sandwiches with French-style bread, and tacos my way (which is spicy). I cooked through this phase and am ready for her to return this week. On Sunday I bought a pint of Ben and Jerry’s Cherry Garcia ice cream from the local grocer and ate it for dinner.
Jack Daniels Whiskey
I have a fifth of Jack Daniels Old No. 7 Tennessee Sour Mash Whiskey in the house. I’ve had it for many years and it is half gone. This week I poured some over ice and sipped it until the ice melted and the liquid was gone. The main benefit, other than a brief, fleeting, alcohol buzz, was that I slept through the night for seven straight hours. I did enjoy waking with the realization I slept through the night. Whiskey has gotten too expensive to buy, so I plan to make this bottle last.
There are a lot of moving parts in my current life with the biggest being to get the garden planted. After plot three, there are four more to go. It seems like a much bigger job this year compared to last. I’ll keep at it.
Lilacs planted shortly after moving to Big Grove Township in 1993.
The week began with delays getting into the garden. Life’s exigencies required attention and garden work was pushed back. There was also rain. There is time before last frost, but not much of it.
Dental Care
Tuesday began with a dental appointment. My dentist sold his practice to a large dentistry operation in 2017. I don’t like outlasting medical practitioners yet as a septuagenarian it happens more than I want. The new group, a large company based in Waterloo, seldom treats me with the same practitioner whether it be hygienist or dentist. Each appointment offers a different vibe and I don’t like it. I mean, I’m used to dentists practicing on their own or with a partner or two and not a constantly revolving carousel of practitioners. I don’t know their business model, yet I suspect the pay is low and the assembly line style of operations yields a lower cost for the owners. It is not patient-centered care.
Trip to Des Moines
It rained on Thursday, making it a good day to take my spouse to see her sister. The rain let up west of Williamsburg and water was standing in Iowa’s neatly rectangular planting areas. Looks like farmers had been in the fields and maybe planted some corn. As we progressed into Des Moines, the state capitol construction scaffolding had been removed from the smaller domes. It was an uneventful trip. The longer I drive, the more I like that.
District Convention
The First District Democratic candidate for Congress was not present at Saturday’s district convention in North Liberty. Iowa political districts are designed around the congressional seat and I have an old-school expectation of hearing from the candidate in person, and getting a chance for a brief side-conversation. I have become a dinosaur. It was not to be.
Absent the candidate, I’m not sure what, besides necessary elections to the state and national conventions, we accomplished. The morning was consumed by a presentation from a third party grassroots group, and an explanation about why we would be using ranked choice voting for the elections. We would likely have saved time if we had skipped these presentations and gone directly to voting.
The third party person gave a presentation that divided campaign work into three buckets: Grassroots groups who would do much of the work around getting voters to the polls, county parties responsible for centralized communication, fund raising, and party organization, and candidate campaigns, which work mostly on their own to secure votes needed to be elected. This division is both useful and problematic.
Do people need something to do in a political campaign? Beyond making sure one is registered to vote and casting a ballot, one can get involved with campaign work, if interested. When Iowa lost first in the nation status after the computer application debacle in reporting results to national media in 2020, we also lost funding from the candidates who spent heavily in the early states to garner attention for their campaigns. Likewise, because Iowa Democrats are in a significant minority, expenditures from the president’s national campaign are not expected. There is work to be done, yet it isn’t clear how such work should be described and assigned to mostly volunteers.
Endemic to the current party structure is a misdiagnosis of key issues to a campaign. More than anything else, politics has gotten local. In Big Grove Precinct, the electorate is divided. During the 2020 presidential election, Donald Trump won over Joe Biden 671 votes to 637. In 2016, Trump beat Hillary Clinton 575 votes to 529. Barack Obama won here in both 2008 and 2012. My precinct has a divided electorate and has recently been won by both Democrats and Republicans. While new people moving to our area lean Republican, the key issue is how does an organizer build a Democrat majority at the polls, recruiting votes regardless of party?
A speaker at the convention looked around the room and suggested the dominance of white-skinned, grey-haired delegates is the problem with the party. Whatever. Had rain not been forecast during the convention hours, I would rather have been working in our yard. The trouble, as I experienced recruiting a replacement for my position on the county central committee, is literally no one is willing to do the work to provide steady volunteer work for local Democrats. That’s a much different problem than skin tone and hair color among people willing to show up on a spring Saturday.
My problem at the end of this week was it was May 5 and so much work remained to get the garden planted. We may have had the last frost and I simply don’t realize it. I am determined not to be distracted during the upcoming week.
A walk on the state park trail is respite from working at home. These days I take the auto off property once or twice each week. The rest of the time is spent working at home or walking on the trail. A person needs sunlight and bird songs for many reasons. It is as close as it gets to feeling a part of nature.
We need respite.
A high school student came to the door seeking cans and bottles to return for the deposit — a fund raising project for the school band. We don’t consume much that comes in containers that can be redeemed for a deposit. I went downstairs and found a case of empty ginger beer bottles and turned them over.
I also found a case of Mexican beer with 15 bottles left from last summer. On hot days, I’ll ice down one or two to drink when I work up a sweat. This is enough to last into June.
These April days are slipping through my hands and there seems to be little to do about it. The garden seedlings are too many for the available indoors space and I haven’t been able to muster energy to assemble the new, portable greenhouse. Been feeling a bit punk, and that’s not helping either.
I spent part of Thursday morning unraveling loose threads that inhabit family lore. Here is how that passage ended.
Family lore is William worked in Mine 74 and in the Cherry coal mine. Other family lore suggests he didn’t mine coal but had an office job from a young age.
Inconsistent and incomplete tales are part of a problem with family stories. It affects how an author writes a modern narrative. In a later chapter, I present two very different stories authored by Mother in the form of a letter and email about the day I was born. We must consider such stories and proceed based on conflicting information, even when both versions cannot be true.
My view at this writing is Grandfather’s declaration of being a miner on the 1910 and 1940 U.S. Census records, my personal experiences with him, explanations from family about how he came to have black lung disease by inhaling coal dust in the mines, and the government awarding Black Lung Benefits based on his health, confirm he worked in the mines. I proceed on that basis.
We tell stories about our lives and repeat them. They harden and become the stuff of legend within a family. Just as Mae told and retold the story of her aunt and the piano, Mother told and retold the story of Grandfather being a communist. By focusing on family lore, and hardened stories, we tend to reduce how much we know about parts of our lives we didn’t directly experience. Expanding the universe of knowledge about our lives is the goal of this book.
Despite feeling punk, behind in the garden, and lacking energy, it felt I got something done. The idea in this passage is to weave explanations about complex and conflicting stories in the autobiography, one in each chapter. It is an improvement in the narrative that is possible. The purpose is to give the reader a guidepost on how to interpret what I write as they read it. I’m not aware of anyone else who writes this way. Will see how it goes.
I will soon need to get outside again for brief respite.
Photo by Jessica Lewis ud83eudd8b thepaintedsquare on Pexels.com
Garden vegetables overwintered: cilantro, spring onions, kale, collards, and garlic. The garlic grew where it was planted last year, so I will pull it before tomatoes go into that spot. Main crop of garlic is about 12 inches tall. The last order of tomato seeds, cucumbers and squash arrived via USPS on Saturday. The shift from indoors to outdoors work is evident this week.
Electricity Outage
On Tuesday a big storm rolled in and took the electricity out for a brief moment. It was enough to risk losing the edits I was making on my autobiography. Luckily, my computer saved my then current work in the browser and I was able to restore it, rename it, and proceed on. Losing a day’s edits is unwanted, but a writer can recover from that. Luckily, because of technology I don’t understand, I didn’t lose anything when electricity failed and the CPU and screen died.
Optometrist
This week I had my annual appointment with an optometrist for a diabetes screening. It is remarkable how many tests and the diversity of equipment they used for this exam. With a special camera, the attendant took a photo of my retinas. There was almost no change to note year-over-year. I’m clear for another as far as diabetes is concerned until the next appointment in 2025.
The optometrist has been mentioning cataract surgery as a future possibility for the last few years. The thing is, while I experience some vision deterioration, the amount of change does not affect everyday activities like reading and driving. If doc recommends it, I am going to delay until there is some kind of actual problem. The annual screening is fine.
He wrote a new eyeglasses prescription, which I will not fill because I like my current glasses and the improved vision they provide.
Robotic Approach to Health
I had a robo-call from my prescription drug insurance company. The machine left a message on my mobile device. When I called back, it was a robotic reminder I needed to fill my prescription, accompanied by warnings about following doctor’s orders. The pharmacy had some kind of robotic reminder system that previously prompted me to refill my prescription. The reason I didn’t refill was my nurse practitioner quit when the university bought the private hospital system. He hasn’t been replaced. When I called the temporary clinic the next town over to discuss, they asked me how many pills I had left. Because of the robot, I had plenty to last a couple of weeks. When I get down to five pills, I’ll phone so they can reauthorize.
In the meanwhile, I met with a group of pharmacy students who suggested an over the counter drug instead of what I was taking. I have been thinking of stopping the prescription drug and self-treating. Did the robots know, and hence their concern?
Mushroom Hunters
While walking on the state park trail I encountered some neighbors I’ve known a long time. They were off trail and I asked if they were looking for mushrooms. Spring Morel Mushrooms are a well-loved delicacy in this region. He answered that was what they were doing. I stopped walking and we talked. The drought is too much for the mushrooms to grow, we agreed. When I hit the turn-around point and returned, they were both gone.
Another Edit Pass
I see an opportunity to improve the draft of my autobiography. When I started, my main concern was getting a story framed on a timeline. Now that it’s done, I want to emphasize my development as a story-teller. I hadn’t envisioned that when I began. I made some changes to the first chapter and now need to follow it through to the end. It was like something nagged at me. Now I know what it was. With gardening season here, I’m not sure how the new edit will be worked into the schedule.
I spent the last couple of days re-writing the end of part one of my autobiography. I am getting so close to finishing the narrative, I can visualize the printed book. Soon I’ll be proof reading for spelling and punctuation, setting margins, and picking a font.
It is the story I want to tell about my first 30 years. Some history, some background, some new writing, and many recycled passages from past writing. More than anything, the narrative is grounded in the reality that was my experience living through it. Writing chapter titles unleashed an avalanche that got this phase of the book finished six months earlier than I recently thought.
I can go into gardening season with the end of this project in sight.
Organic juice section at the grocer on April 7, 2024.
It was a punk week as far as weather goes. Rain and snow kept me mostly indoors. My exercise log shows more indoors workouts which are never as much fun as walking on the state park trail. I managed as best I could.
Women’s Basketball
Sunday I turned on the television and found ABC which was carrying the NCAA Women’s Championship basketball game. Iowa lost to the University of South Carolina 75-87. It was the first time I tuned into a college sporting event since I watched the Iowa football team get shutout by Washington, 0-28 in the Jan. 1, 1982 Rose Bowl. The moral of the story is I shouldn’t jinx the luck by tuning in.
Our high school class reunion planning group was talking about women’s basketball at our meeting this week. I suggested we find one of the women who were leaders in high school to lead the formal program we have planned. One person asked if we had a women’s basketball team. Perhaps there would be a leader from there. We didn’t. We graduated high school before Title IX was signed into law.
Editing the Book
I finished the final rough draft of the first 38 of 62 chapters in my autobiography. This thing may not drag on until summer. My conclusion is I have been over the text so many times, it has become the story. There were some chapters that needed work, but it is a much better draft than what I finished last year.
One lingering concern is including long passages from my journal in the narrative without editing. Some of that writing is a bit rough. When I started journal writing in 1974, I was not very good at it. My argument to myself is that it is better to show the work than sand off the edges in a new narrative. In part, that is to show my progress as a writer in a work intended to showcase my writing. The long passage I wrote in France was particularly rough, yet it serves as an example of how my journal writing started. For now, I’m leaving it in.
The other question is about passages written about long ago events since I started this blog in 2007. There may be a case to just rewrite these. At the same time, they capture a moment in time that would vanish should I re-write them. I left them in at this point.
End of Life Planning
I read Mary Ann Burrows new book, The Last Hurrah: A Living Workbook for a Happy Ending. The book is about end of life planning, but not the kind I expected. She defers to others the tasks of financial and legal advice and writes mostly about how to turn our last days into a celebration. If someone knows me, they know I am not a big one to celebrate moments or have a big to-do about life’s events. The biggest events in my life were our wedding and its two receptions, and our child’s high school graduation. We had gatherings for them. So many of my good friends have died already, I’m not sure who would be left and in good enough shape to travel for a celebration. I started keeping my own obituary a number of years ago. It is pretty bare bones, and that’s the way I like it.
Clear Organic Juice
I went to the grocer to find clear organic juice for my spouse. She wanted organic apple juice, which wasn’t available. In typical (for us) form, I started sending images of various ingredient labels and products. I offered to get non-organic apple juice. In the end, I phoned her and said, “I’ve been waiting in this juice aisle and am starting to get thirsty.” We gave up and I brought home boxed vegetable broth instead.
It was unsettling to be unable to dig in the garden because of inclement weather. The seed potatoes appear to be doing well, and the seedlings are growing. Here’s hoping the coming week find me spending more time in the garden.
Journey Home 
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