Monthly Archives: September 2023

Packin’ Up. Gettin’ Ready to Go.

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“The best journey takes you home.”

–Ursula K. Le Guin (1929-2018; American novelist and essayist renowned for her contributions to science fiction and fantasy literature; from her 1969 novel, The Left Hand of Darkness.)

Every now and then, a Silly Notion finds its way inside my head and takes up residence there. Try as I will, it won’t move out, even when I threaten it with eviction notices.

The Silly Notion that I can’t get rid of now is that I might be happier if I were to move away from my mountaintop oasis and find myself a lower-maintenance oasis downtown in a fabulous city somewhere. This Silly Notion has been living quietly in my head for a long, long time. I’ll give you an example.

In the fall of 2019, my late partner and I spent a week in Brattleboro (VT), where I was the keynote speaker at the Brattleboro Literary Festival. I had been to Brattleboro many times before, but it was Allen’s first visit. He fell in love with the mountains and the river and the funky downtown, a little San Francisco rolled up into a few blocks.

When it was obvious that our Brattleboro love was a shared one, we had some serious conversations about packin’ up and movin’. I was a little surprised that Allen–a Floridian–would even consider such a northerly move, especially Brattleboro’s average snowfall of 56 inches. However, I didn’t even have to bring up that topic. Allen settled the whole discussion when he gave me his coy, twinkly-eyed angelic smile that only he could give:

“Sure, we’ll move to Brattleboro, but we’ll have to airlift our gardens if we do.”

I laughed. We had had similar conversations before, and I had heard Allen’s response before when we visited Asheville (NC), Charleston (SC), and Savanah (GA). He and I loved the downtown vibes of small cities.

Obviously, we loved our mountaintop oasis more. Obviously, too, I still love it more because I’m still here, but that Silly Notion of moving is still in my head, too. Here’s what’s really funny. The notion is so silly that it actually thinks that I could sell my mountaintop home rather quickly. Hmmm. On reflection, I probably could. One of my neighbors told me once that if I ever sold, he’d like first dibs on my upper lots.

“I doubt that I’d ever sell just a part of my property. If I ever sell, it will be a total package, and I come with it.”

I guess he didn’t like my on-the-spot, standing-up proposal because he didn’t accept. Too bad. He would have gotten a damned good bargain.

I imagine, however, if I approached him now with the opportunity to buy–knowing that I’m no longer part of the deal–he might give it some serious thought. He should. If he didn’t, I’m sure some city slicker would, just as I did when I became a DC refugee. City slickers would love my Shenandoah Valley heaven. They could trade their car horns for my bird songs and their traffic jams for my stargazing escapades. My serene landscape and tranquil nights would woo even the most urban soul. Plus, and I’m not boasting, my oasis has one of the most commanding views anyone could ever hope to find in this part of the Shenandoah Valley.

§   §   §

Selling my home, then, isn’t the challenge. The challenge is straightforward: where would I go? I have lots of options. So that I don’t show my leanings and inclinations–Scorpions like me, after all, like to keep people guessing–I’ll talk about them in alpha(betical) order.

Asheville, NC.: I’ve been to Asheville countless times, and the idea of living in that vibrant city is enticing. It might be wonderful to return, immerse myself in its artistic culture, and walk around the neighborhood where Thomas Wolfe lived. I could stand on the Square where Grover stood in Wolfe’s “The Lost Boy,” listening to his thoughts:

“Here,” thought Grover, “here is the Square as it has always been–and papa’s shop, the fire department and the City Hall, the fountain pulsing with its plume, the street cars coming in and halting at the quarter hour, the hardware store on the corner there, the row of old brick buildings oil this side of the street, the people passing and the light that comes and changes and that always will come back again, and everything that comes and goes and changes in the Square, and yet will be the same again. And here,” the boy thought, “is Grover with his paper bag. Here is old Grover, almost twelve years old. Here is the month of April, 1904. Here is the courthouse bell and three o’clock. Here is Grover on the Square that never changes. Here is Grover, caught upon this point of time.”

Aside from the literary appeal is the culinary one. Cúrate’s thriving treasure troves of Mediterranean food and wine would beckon me for regular lunches. I could take in art exhibits at the Asheville Art Museum, shop at all the funky shops, and enjoy chocolates at French Broad Chocolate Lounge. The sound of street musicians and the sight of quirky art installations would inspire and heighten my own bursts of creative energy. Add to all those joys the high of hiking Mount Mitchell and DuPont State Forest.

Let me check out some condos. Wow! I would have lots of options–to rent or to buy–but I am gobsmacked by the amazing condo that I just stumbled upon. It’s in downtown Asheville, above Ben and Jerry’s, near parks, shopping, dining, and all the action. 2 bedrooms. 2 baths. 1,130 square feet. OMG. It has a cozy balcony with views of Pritchard Park and Haywood Street, a working brick fireplace, gorgeous hardwood floors, and tons of windows with mountain breeze. It’s my reinvention dream come true. Say whaaaat? $749,000, plus monthly condo fees! Hmmm. Next time, I’ll look at the price first before my soaring hopes get sore.

Even if I could find a less-expensive condo (and I’m sure that I could), I wonder. How long would the initial creative rush of downtown Asheville continue to nourish me?

Brattleboro, VT: I did as I said that I would do. I looked at the price first: $279,000! I’ll tell you more about that gem after contemplating the treasures that Brattleboro offers. Those who know me well know that I love Brattleboro. I’ve been visiting there since the 1970s when I started my research on Mary E. Wilkins Freeman, who launched her acclaimed literary career while living in Brattleboro and captured the spirit of the town beautifully:

“Oh how wonderfully beautiful it was in Brattleboro. I used to walk to the head of High Street, and stand and look at the mountain in winter. The beauty in Brattleboro made a great difference in my life.” (To the Citizens of Brattleboro, Vermont, December 14, 1925. Letter 461. The Infant Sphinx: Collected Letters of Mary E. Wilkins Freeman. Edited with Biographical/Critical Introductions and Annotations by Brent L. Kendrick. Scarecrow, 1985.)

Every time that I’m in Brattleboro, I explore the streets where Freeman lived and walked. If I moved there, it would be a real boost to my ongoing Freeman research. Aside from that perk, Brattleboro is a delightfully charming town. I always refer to it as Vermont’s own Asheville. It’s artsy, and it has a bohemian vibe with free spirits roaming freely. It’s nestled along the Connecticut River with Mount Wantastiquet rising up on the other side.

But, whoa! You’re not going to believe the gem of a home that I found there. Picture this: a charming pergola, a delightful stone terrace, and enchanting gardens. It’s like stepping into a world that beautifully blends Old-World charm with the vibrant vibes of downtown living. And here’s the real treat–not one, but two porches that would allow me to admire those picturesque gardens and stonework. But the icing on the cake has to be the view. I can soak in the breathtaking Wantastiquet ridgeline and witness the moon climbing up the mountain just as Freeman did:

“The memory of the moon rising over the mountain causes the same surprise, the old leaping thrill of wonder at unexpected loveliness. […] I cannot now rid myself of the conviction that it was a special moon, rising nowhere else in the world. Its glory would fling out its road before it, then the first gleam of celestial fire would show over the mountain summit, and an elderly woman, for whom the good of her soul the old remained new, would call out: ‘there it is, the moon.'” (To the Citizens of Brattleboro, Vermont, December 14, 1925. Letter 461. The Infant Sphinx: Collected Letters of Mary E. Wilkins Freeman. Edited with Biographical/Critical Introductions and Annotations by Brent L. Kendrick. Scarecrow, 1985.)

This place really might be a dream come true. Oh. My. Yes. If I moved to Brattleboro, I would become a citizen of Vermont. I’d be a Vermonter, and I wouldn’t have to keep waiting for my friends or benevolent groups or the governor himself to bestow honorary citizenship.

My Freeman research would keep me enchanted, just as it has for five decades. But I wonder. How long would the other creative rushes of Brattleboro continue to nourish me, especially during the heavy snows of winter?

Savannah, GA: I must confess. Of all the places that my Silly Notion keeps making me think about, Savannah seems to have the least charm. It’s not as if I don’t like the city. I do. I’ve stayed there on several occasions, once at the awesome Planter’s Inn, in the epicenter of Savannah’s historic district and just a stone’s throw from River Street and the Savannah River. Another time, I stayed in a gorgeous historic home facing Forsyth Square, an enchanting urban oasis adorned with centuries-old oaks, cobblestone paths, and a mesmerizing central fountain. Living there, I could explore each of its historic squares, enjoy its coastal charm, and feel a sense of timelessness.

As for finding a condo there, I just stumbled upon an extraordinary gem. Actually, it’s an absolute dream. How about a 3-bed, 2-bath waterfront unit with exposed brick, hardwood floors, and iron detailing. The real showstopper? It overlooks the majestic Savannah River! The open layout is bathed in natural light. But wait for it… the price tag? A cool 1.1 million! Gasp! I forgot to look at the price first.

Well, I need not wonder whether Savannah’s charm would see me through the long haul. It’s a certainty: I won’t be going there. Now, all that I have to do is make the Silly Notion in my head understand my decision.

Washington, DC (Capitol Hill): Capitol Hill is awesomely significant to me. After all, I lived there for a quarter of a century, working at The Library of Congress, in whose hallowed, marble halls I grew up and became a professional. It was at the Library of Congress that I got turned on to research and decided to pursue my Ph. D. in American Literature. After I earned the degree, I returned to the Library of Congress, where I enjoyed a glorious and life-changing career.

Even though I’ve been away from DC for about as long as I lived there, when I return for daytrips, nostalgia and belonging wash over me. Even after the passage of so many years, when I visit the iconic Eastern Market, many vendors still remember me, and I am reminded of the neighborhood’s small-town, vibrant community spirit. Living at the heart of a dynamic city, where history, culture, and politics converge always made each day an exciting journey for me, and I am sure it would do the same once more.

Wait! Wait! Here’s the clincher that might just make moving to DC a no-brainer. I’ve just uncovered a condo conveniently situated right across the street from the prestigious Hart Senate Office Building and various other Senate offices. Natural light pours through oversized, brand-new windows. The modern, white kitchen features granite countertops, a gas range, dishwasher, and microwave–perfect for whipping up my culinary masterpieces. The updated bathroom is a retreat with its soaking tub shower, a stylish vanity, and a generously sized window with lots of sunlight. The entire unit has been tastefully updated, freshly painted, and boasts new flooring throughout. But here’s the kicker: no full bedroom! Where in the world would I catch some Zs? Holy smokes! But it’s only $385,000. Trust me: I know how to bloom wherever I’m planted. I see an outlandishly elegant Murphy Bed in my future.

Without a doubt, DC is as close to home as I can ever hope to be. I know that living there again would stimulate me intellectually, culturally, and socially. But I wonder. Would all of its parks, the Botanical Gardens, the Tidal Basin. Rock Creek Parkway, and the National Zoo give me the soul food that I get here on my mountaintop oasis when I do my down-and-dirty gardening?

§   §   §

Well, let me say simply what Scarlet O’Hara would say:

“I can’t think about that today. I’ll have to think about that tomorrow.”

Right now, I have to think about other things. Clearly, I have some idyllic cities calling out my name. It’s equally clear that I’d be able to find a buyer for my mountaintop paradise.

But I’ve moved several times in the past, and I know what I have to do to prepare my home for the market. I realize that it will be a wild ride, so I need to start thinking and planning.

The Great Stuff Purge: I’ll start with the hardest part first. After all, I have kept everything forever. Now I wonder why. Who on earth cares about all of my canceled checks from the first one until I shifted to electronic banking? Who on earth cares about all of my tax returns going back to the first one heat I ever filed? Who on earth cares about all of the personal letters and cards that I have ever received? Those are only three categories of things that I’ve kept forever. I need to get rid of all that stuff. Then, I’ll tackle my loft, chock-full of Shenandoah Valley collectibles bought at auctions down through the years. OMG! I just had a marvelous idea. I acquired most of that stuff at Laughlin Brothers Auctions! I’ll sell it back to those guys. Then my loft will be empty, and I can convert it into a Zen-like meditation room. Dark hardwood floors. Light-colored walls. Wall-mounted light panels made of Himalayan salt. Meditation cushions. It will create a perfect ambiance, especially with an Anjali Namaste Mudra Buddhist Monk statue standing at top of the stairs bidding a prayerful welcome to the inner sanctum. What an asset that will be when the house hits the market. (I know. I’m brilliant. Thank you, for reminding me.)

The Deep Clean Extravaganza: This won’t be too bad because I’ve been deep cleaning since the Covid Pandemic started. I’m sure that you remember how “My Imaginary Guests” helped me keep my home spic-and-span clean. But I’ll arm myself once more with a mop, a feather duster, and a metaphorical superhero cape (purple, of course), and I’ll tackle dust bunnies and cobwebs with unmatched determination.

The Decor Remix: Honestly, I like my decor exactly as it is. It’s a perfect mix of antiques and modern–old and new. My guests always feel at home, so I imagine prospective buyers will, too.

The Garden Magic: I have been working diligently to restore my gardens into the pristine beds they once were. If I time everything just right, I can have the house ready for showing by mid-May 2024, when my peonies will be in bloom, ready to steal the heart of anyone who takes one look.

The “Fix It” Finale: Luckily, I fix things when they need to be fixed. Just yesterday, I had the plumber expertly snake my sluggish kitchen drain. It swirls around effortlessly and melodiously now. In a week or so, my new double wall ovens and my new stove top will be installed. I’ll probably go ahead and replace my inefficient electric water heater with a space-saving, more efficient, on-demand, gas water heater. The major fix-it, however, will be the road. Right before the house goes on the market, I’ll have crush-and-run put down so that prospective buyers will have a smooth ride up. I want the first one up to want to stay here forever!

Photoshoot Mania: I love to take photos, but I’ll need a professional photographer who can make my home and the spectacular surrounding views blush with flattering lighting and expert angles.

Baked Goods Invasion: Nothing makes a home smell better than freshly baked bread and pastries. I’ll be baking every day that my agent plans to show my home. I may even leave a gift basket of goodies on the kitchen table.

§   §   §

I believe that’s it, but bear with me while I give the above pre-sale preparations a quick review. I don’t know what you think, but I think I have laid out a wonderful and workable plan.

“Would you two just knock it off! I’m trying to think.”

I guess I had better explain. You know all about the Silly Notion that lives in my head. However, I haven’t told you about the Sensible Notion that also lives in my head. Usually, they coexist peacefully on opposite sides of my brain, but right now, they are having a major squabble. Geez! I can’t get any peace at all.

Silly Notion: Butt out. This is my brilliant idea, and you have absolutely no right whatsoever to show up now.

Sensible Notion: Of course, I do. Remember: I have exclusive life rights. All you have is a towering stack of eviction notices.

Silly Notion: Scoot over. I don’t want you encroaching on my side of his brain.

Sensible Notion: Well, excuse me. I’ll graciously give you all the space that you want. Fortunately, I don’t require much space. With just a smidgen, I’ll work my magic and make him forget your delightful silliness and return to his senses.

Have you ever heard such a racket in all your life? I can’t enjoy a moment’s silence even within the domain of my own brain. I think that I feel a headache coming on. Oh. No. I think it might be a migraine.

Whew. It was neither as bad nor as lingering as I initially feared. An apple cider vinegar cloth applied to the temple always works wonders.

As I reclined on my sofa, allowing the vinegar vapors to perform their enchanting alchemy, I suddenly had an epiphany. It was yet another option, perhaps even more dazzling—if such a thing be possible—than the ones that previously danced around in my head, demanding to go on stage right here in my blog!

Let me explain. I will charge ahead with The Great Stuff Purge, The Deep Clean Extravaganza, The Garden Magic, and The “Fix-It” Finale. When I get all of that done, my mountaintop oasis will be transformed into a pristine paradise, so incredibly paradisical that I wouldn’t dare entertain the thought of moving.

But wait, here’s the pièce de résistance. Since I won’t be moving, I won’t have to fork over a hefty commission to a real estate broker. Instead, I can squirrel away those substantial savings and treat myself to several weeks (or maybe even a full month) each year in my cherished duo of cities that will forever hold a special place in my heart: DC, and Brattleboro. Who knows? I might even sprinkle in some vacation time in Asheville, Charleston, and Savannah.

Who says I can’t have the best of both worlds? I certainly can. My plan lets me live in my luxurious and enchanting mountaintop world for most of the year and, for a month or two each year, I can savor the richness of my favorite metropolitan worlds. You bet. I had to do some hefty packin’ up and gettin’ ready, but I ain’t movin’ nowhere (at least, no time soon anyway).

The Teasing Sound of Silence

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“Silence is the element in which great things fashion themselves together; that at length they may emerge, full-formed and majestic, into the delight of life, which they are thenceforth to rule.”

Thomas Carlyle (1795-1881; Scottish essayist, historian, and social commentator, known for his influential writings on history, society, and culture, especially his essays “Sartor Resartus” and “On Heroes, Hero-Worship, and the Heroic in History.”)

Shhhhh. Quiet, please. I need to talk. I’ve gone and gotten myself into a mell of a hess this time. Here I am writing about “silence” simply because I took the time to look at my draft posts, and I came across one rather stupidly titled “Silence.”

“Say what?” I screamed before turning my Smartphone face down on my bed to hide the odious text that I was reading on the screen. Screaming was perfect because it broke the silence. Well, you’d scream, too, if you detested silence as much as I do. It grates on my ears. I suffer noise far more readily than I suffer silence.

So here I lie in bed, working on a post whose essence I deplore. But write the damned post I must because I have started it, and I will finish it, ever mindful of what my parents told me over and over again, never giving me a moment’s silence:

If a job is once begun,
Never leave until it’s done.
Be its labor, great or small,
Do it well or not at all.

Well, I don’t know how well I’ll do it, but I will do my best to write my way out of this mess. Don’t worry. This will be a fast read: I, who knows nothing about silence, will be forced to speed things up when I start gathering my thoughts about silence because I have so few thoughts about the subject. You’ll reach the end sooner than you expect. When you do, listen carefully. I might burst forth with the Hallelujah Chorus. If I do, join me and we can make a joyful noise together.

Fortunately, I had captured enough notes that I recall what prompted me to start the idiotic draft in the first place.

My electricity went out. Unexpectedly. Silence washed over the afternoon soundscape of my domestic sanctuary. My refrigerator, the unsung hero of my kitchen, stopped serenading me with its constant hum. My ceiling fans ceased their purring and hushed their constant chatter about my secrets. My bedroom air conditioner no longer piped its melodious duet of “whoosh and hush.”

I wasn’t using my dishwasher, but if I had been, it would have stopped belting out its “splish-splash” just as I would have stopped chiming in with “I’m taking a bath,” both as if to wash away my culinary blues. I wasn’t using my washer and dryer either. But if I had been, they would have paused their spinning, tumbling symphony of cleanliness. As for my television, I have one that’s never on, but I can still faintly remember the mysterious hum of its digital dreams.

By now, you surely understand the sudden and imminent danger that surrounded me: all of my usual household sounds had been silenced.

All, thank God, save one. In the very moment of my most silent despair and in the hushed stillness of my living room, my grandfather clock came to life as the hour hand gracefully settled upon the number two. With a solemn, almost reverent demeanor, it stirred the silence with a deep, resonant chime. I had been rescued. The God of Noise had heard my silent prayer.

I sat there wondering how long I’d have to put up with this sorry state of near silence. I didn’t have to wonder long because it was 95 degrees outside, and my house was becoming unbearably hot inside. I decided to go outside and sit by my Koi Pond.

As I was walking out, I automatically turned off my kitchen lights. Silly me. I had forgotten that they weren’t on. Still, I could hear the tune of the see-saw switch. I’ll bet you didn’t know that light switches make noise. I didn’t either until Charlie Pluth released his “Light Switch.” If you don’t know that song, get to know it. As you listen, lean in and be super quiet. You’ll hear light switches being turned on and off. It’s awesome, so much so that Pluth documented the sounds on TikTok. Check it out for yourself and hear what I’m talking about.

After I turned off the lights that weren’t on, I stepped the few steps that I had to step to get from my kitchen to my Koi Pond. There I sat, poised in the pose of Rodin’s The Thinker, forever contemplating silence. I started thinking about how I could make the best of a bad situation even though it was a double-whammy combo of record-setting temps and deafening silence.

No problem. I decided that I would just sit there and think about everything that I had ever read or heard about silence. Immediately, I started crooning a poor rendition of Simon and Garfunkel’s “The Sound of Silence.”

Hello darkness, my old friend
I’ve come to talk with you again
Because a vision softly creeping
Left its seeds while I was sleeping
And the vision that was planted in my brain
Still remains
Within the sound of silence

[…]

“Fools”, said I, “You do not know
Silence like a cancer grows
Hear my words that I might teach you
Take my arms that I might reach you”
But my words like silent raindrops fell
And echoed in the wells of silence

I loved that song as a 1960’s young idealist. It reminded me of the consequences of remaining silent and complacent in the face of social issues. Despite my lackluster vocal talents, I sounded far better than I expected, and even if I didn’t, my singing broke the silence.

“What about silence in literature?”

“Excellent question. I was worried that no one would ask.”

I can think of many examples, and since you asked, I will share a few. For novels, I’ll start with Herman Melville’s Moby-Dick. Silence is personified by Captain Ahab’s obsession with the enigmatic white whale, and his monomaniacal pursuit of it creates an atmosphere of foreboding silence as the crew hesitates to speak openly about their fears.

Then we have one of my all-time favorite novels: The Catcher in the Rye by J. D. Salinger. I read it in high school. I had never heard the F-word. In my youthful innocence, I was surprised at encountering such explicit language in print. I didn’t hear the word, of course, since I was reading silently, but I still put my fingers in my ears so that I wouldn’t hear myself just in case I started reading out loud. Then I dog-eared that page for future ready reference. But I digress. Here’s my point. Poor Holden Caulfield’s inner silence is a prominent theme in the novel, as he often feels misunderstood and unable to express his emotions.

As you might expect, I thought of a third novel, too, while contemplating silence. It’s One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel García Márquez. Silence in this magical realist masterpiece often signifies the unspeakable, as generations of the Buendía family grapple with their own secrets and tragedies, unable or unwilling to communicate their true feelings.

More novels came to mind, but for now, several plays are waiting in the wings, ready to make their grand entrance. Samuel Beckett’s Waiting for Godot enters first. I read that play in college. One passage often takes center stage in my mind, just as much now as it did then when I equated silence with existential waiting:

VLADIMIR: “What are we doing here, that is the question. And we are blessed in this, that we happen to know the answer. Yes, in this immense confusion one thing alone is clear. We are waiting for Godot to come—”

Another play, also from my college days, remains a favorite today. Eugene O’Neill’s Long Day’s Journey into Night and its exploration of the haunting silence that follows years of conversation in the Tyrone family:

MARY: “You can’t imagine, can you, what that silence can mean after all these years of having someone talk to you every day and then suddenly stop, and yet that silence, still saying something but what you don’t know yet—”

For the third act, Lillian Hellman’s Children’s Hour came to mind. Silence is a central theme in the play as it grapples with the consequences of a malicious lie that silences the lives and reputations of the accused:

MARTHA: “I do not like the silence. I will go on talking until you answer me.”

More plays bubbled up in my mind, but those three will suffice, thereby allowing me to briefly mention one short story that yelled riotously for attention.

It’s not Melville’s “Bartleby, the Scrivener,” with Bartleby’s repetitive “I would prefer not to” showcasing the power of passive resistance and the silence of non-conformity. It could have been “The Lottery” by Shirley Jackson. The entire story screams of the eerie and unusual quietness of the townsfolk before the annual lottery. But it’s not.

Instead, it’s a story by Flannery O’Connor, “A Good Man Is Hard to Find.” The story’s climax, where the Misfit and the Grandmother engage in a fateful conversation in the woods, marks an ominous final silence.

As for the last literary genre embracing silence–poetry–I immediately thought of Amherst’s recluse, Emily Dickinson, and her famous quatrain etched in my mind forever. It seemed especially poignant, as I grappled with having been plunged unexpectedly into silence:

Silence is all we dread.
There’s Ransom in a Voice –
But Silence is Infinity.
Himself have not a face.

Needless to say, I can’t have a poetic reverie about silence without including a poem by Robert Frost. The one that popped into my head, first, is so appropriate for my home in the woods. It’s his “The Sound of Trees.” Listen as he teases in the first few lines:

I wonder about the trees.
Why do we wish to bear
Forever the noise of these
More than another noise
So close to our dwelling place?

[…]

They are that that talks of going
But never gets away;
And that talks no less for knowing,
As it grows wiser and older,
That now it means to stay.

The third poem that spoke to me in my silence was by Kay Ryan, one of the most powerful voices in today’s contemporary poetic soundscape. Her poem “Shark’s Teeth” suits me well because of the interplay between silence and noise that it explores.

Everything contains some
silence. Noise gets
its zest from the
small shark’s-tooth-
shaped fragments
of rest angled
in it. An hour
of city holds maybe
a minute of these
remnants of a time
when silence reigned,
compact and dangerous
as a shark. Sometimes
a bit of a tail
or fin can still
be sensed in parks.

The poem suggests that noise, in its relentless and pervasive presence, has taken over and devoured silence, leaving only small, sharp remnants. The poem evokes terror, not in a literal sense but rather in the metaphorical notion that silence, once a prevailing and powerful force, has been reduced to fragments and is now as elusive, scarce, and sharp as shark’s teeth.

Ironically, as I sat in the stillness of a torridly hot afternoon contemplating various literary nuances of silence, a single drop of water fell from the lower most rock of the Koi Pond waterfalls that had stopped cascading. It landed with a delicate and shimmering grace, creating a mesmerizing ripple on the pond’s still surface. The concentric circles expanded, radiating outward like echoes, breaking the silence, and bringing me out of my reverie.

In that instant, I realized that I had tapped into a powerful and personal paradox. I found myself both repelled and intrigued by the multi-faceted nature of silence.

Silence may grate on my ears, but I came to realize that it can be a space for reflection, contemplation, and understanding. Just as a great poem or short story or play or novel holds within it the power of silence, so, too, does our everyday existence. Maybe–just maybe–it is in the pauses between our words, the stillness before our actions, and the quiet moments of our introspection that we can truly have glimpses into the essence of life.

A Eulogistic Tribute to Alderson-Broaddus University

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Legacy is not leaving something for people.
It’s leaving something in people. 

–Peter Strople (b. 1958. motivational speaker, author, and entrepreneur.

Sometimes, significant historical moments are not known, valued, and understood until time has passed, and future generations look back, reflect, and measure.

Consider, for example, the founding of Massachusetts Bay Colony (1630). More specifically, think about April 8, 1630, when 140 or so Puritans left England on the Arbella, the flagship of the fleet led by John Winthrop, as they sailed away to the New World, seeking religious freedom and hoping for a new life. To be certain, they sailed forth with a clear mission: to establish a colony within the area of New England, “being in the bottom of a certain bay there, commonly called Massachusetts, alias Massachusetts Bay.”

To their chartered mission, Winthrop added a much-needed vision, articulated with great clarity in his sermon, “A Model of Christian Charity,” delivered to the ship’s passengers. In his sermon, he emphasized the principles of Christian charity as well as the importance of unity, selflessness, and community in their endeavor. One passage from the sermon is quoted often:

“The Lord will be our God, and delight to dwell among us, as his own people, and will command a blessing upon us in all our ways. So that we shall see much more of his wisdom, power, goodness and truth, than formerly we have been acquainted with. We shall find that the God of Israel is among us, when ten of us shall be able to resist a thousand of our enemies; when he shall make us a praise and glory that men shall say of succeeding plantations, ‘the Lord make it likely that of New England.’ For we must consider that we shall be as a city upon a hill.” [bold emphasis supplied]

Today, as I look back upon the voyage of those early pioneers and Winthrop’s powerful vision, I am impressed by a profound symbol: “a city upon a hill,” a beacon of hope and light.

Today, in my mind’s eye, I turn my gaze to a different “city upon on a hill,” one that will always stand as a testament to the enduring pursuit of knowledge, character, and community. The city is in West Virginia. There on a hilltop, above the Tygart River and above the town of Philippi–I see Alderson-Broaddus University, whose spirit and pride are commemorated in song:

Far above the winding Tygart
With its banks of green
Stands our noble Alma Mater
Fairest ever seen.

Swell the chorus!
Let it echo
Over hill and dale;
Hail to thee, our Alma Mater,
Alderson-Broaddus, hail.

In our home among the mountains,
With our little town
May we ne’er forget the memories
That still gather ‘round.

Swell the chorus!
Let it echo
Over hill and dale;
Hail to thee, our Alma Mater,
Alderson-Broaddus, hail.

Alderson-Broaddus–a shining “city upon a hill”–boasts a rich Christian heritage cherished by generations of students, faculty, and staff.

Initially, however, it was not located upon a hill. It traces its roots back to 1871 when Reverend Edward J. Willis, a Baptist minister, founded Winchester Female Institute in Winchester, VA. In 1875, the institution was renamed Broaddus Female College in honor of Reverend William F. Broaddus. In the following year, it relocated to Clarksburg, West Virginia.

In 1893, the institution embraced co-education and underwent another name change, becoming Broaddus Scientific and Classical Institute. In 1909, it moved once more, this time to Philippi. Other changes followed. Notably, in 1917, college-level classes were introduced, leading to a new name: Broaddus College and Academy. By 1926, the institution had expanded its offerings to include four-year degree programs. Following the challenges of the Great Depression, the Baptist Conference (sponsor of both Broaddus College and Alderson-Junior College in Alderson, WV) made a significant decision to merge the two institutions in 1932, giving rise to Alderson-Broaddus College.

Just as Massachusetts Bay Colony was a “city upon a hill” to Colonial Americans and their families who remained behind in England, so, too, Alderson-Broaddus College was the college on a hill, a beacon of light and hope to all of its students and their families from all over the United States and, eventually, from countries all around the world.

It became a beacon of hope and light for me in 1965 when I was a senior in high school, beginning my college search. I applied to the University of Richmond and to Marshall University (my first choices), as well as to Alderson-Broaddus College (my fallback choice). Ironically, Alderson-Broaddus offered me a scholarship package too attractive to resist, though I tried my best to do so. As if to convince myself that I would not pursue my education at my third choice, I decided to prove the point to myself by making a college visit.

I will always remember that summer day when we drove on campus and I caught a glimpse of Old Main, the college’s iconic, landmark building, constructed in 1909 as a four-story building with two wings. It was built of locally fired brick over locally quarried stone, paid for with monies raised by the citizens of Philippi.

I stood there on the hilltop plateau–in front of two canons on the site that marked the first land battle of the Civil War–looking below to the winding Tygart River spanned by a covered bridge and looking beyond the river to the little town of Philippi, seat of Barbour County.

As I stood there, beneath the expansive sky and surrounded by the serene beauty of the campus, a profound sense of peace and belonging washed over me. In that timeless moment, as the sun cast a warm glow upon the college upon a hill, I felt an undeniable connection. It was as if the very essence of the place whispered to my soul, assuring me that I had found my home.

Indeed, it was my home from the fall of 1965 until the fall of 1969 when I graduated cum laude with a Bachelor of Arts Degree, with a major in the Humanities and a concentration in English Literature. Just now, I nostalgically opened an envelope containing a copy of my transcript, released to me in February 1983. I had forgotten that I earned 125 semester-hour credits with a GPA of 3.48. I had forgotten that I passed my Comprehensive Examination with distinction. As I folded the transcript and returned it to its cacheted envelope, I noticed to the left of the postmark an affirmation (stamped in red, just as the words of Christ are printed in red-letter editions of the Bible) that captures with great power and brevity the guiding principle of Alderson-Broaddus:

A CHRISTIAN COLLEGE EXPERIENCE IS NOT EXPENSIVE–It Is Priceless!

I knew during my four years as a student at Alderson-Broaddus that I was being molded and shaped into the person that I was becoming. The transformation was taking place in every aspect of my being: intellectually, spiritually, socially, physically, psychologically, and even existentially.

Looking back–especially as an educator–I smile, saying to myself: “Of course. An education always transforms lives. Of course. At the heart of Alderson-Broaddus College were its faculty, administrators, staff, and students–always exemplifying the highest level of excellence.”

Looking at my freshman yearbook, The Battler, I see anew that the lives we lived on the Alderson-Broaddus campus were rich, robust, and celebratory. The “Foreword” touches my heart even today:

The spirit of A-B is many things–the beauty of our hilltop, the warmth of friendship among students and faculty, the tradition of Homecoming and May Weekends, the sportsmanship of athletic activities. But most of all, the spirit of Alderson-Broaddus is people, those of us who live and work and strive to reach the tomorrows of which we dream.

As I journey through the pages, pausing to look at all the photographs, memories come back as vividly and as alive as if I were reliving them now, all over again.

● Organizations. Student Government. Student Union Board. Men’s and Women’s Dorm Councils. Columns (newspaper) Staff. Battler Staff. WCAB (radio) Staff. Student Education Association. Student Religious Education Association (SREA). Kappa Delta Chi (KDX). Alpha Beta Nu (ABU). ZAG. Choir. Management Club. International Club. Megaphone Club. SMENC.

● Homecoming Weekend with the queen and her court as well as the student production of Jean Anouilh’s Antigone. Pageantry and parades and prizes.

● Faculty, Administration, and Resident Directors, all of whom I knew, several of whom mentored me as a Work-Study Student and as a Resident Hall Counselor, most of whom I had the privilege to study under in various divisions: Humanities, Business and Professional Studies, Natural Science, and Social Sciences.

● Students, by Class. Seniors. Juniors. Sophomores. Freshmen. So many of them, my friends, so close and so personal that they seemed like my very own brothers and sisters. Tucked in amongst the pages, an 8 x 11 glossy photo of me as a freshman standing proudly with my 32 fraternity brothers and our advisor, all of us wearing jackets and ties. We look as spiffy and smart now as I thought we did then.

● Sororities, Fraternities, and Clubs. Alpha Omega Delta. Chi Sigma Nu. Phi Kappa Delta. Epsilon Tau Eta Sigma. Lambda Omega Mu. Sigma Delta Nu. Circle K. Circle Ketts.

● Sports. Varsity Coaching Staff. Soccer. I-M Football. Basketball. Wrestling. Baseball. Softball. Ping-Pong.

● Activities. Freshman Week with Hazing, Capping, Talent Show, and Kangaroo Court. Sadie Hawkins Day. Crowning Miss Battler. Valentine Dance. Student production of The Fantasticks. SMENC sponsored Arts Series, featuring acclaimed pianist Bonnie Joenck, the Ballet Chafee Company, and The Bishop Players performing St. Joan. Christian Emphasis Week. May Day Royalty. Student production of Oscar Wilde’s The Importance of Being Earnest. Honors Convocation. Junior-Senior Banquet at Blackwater Falls. Senior Seminar. Alumni Banquet.

Aside from all of those yearbook highlights, something else looms in my mind larger than a giant. At the end of my first semester, I was waiting for the bus to take me back home. I had worked incredibly hard all semester, but deep down inside, I was feeling that perhaps I would not become the first in my family to go to college after all. I just wasn’t certain that I was college material. I had worked especially hard in my Honors English class, but I was even uneasy about its outcome. How’s that for a guy whose dream since the third grade had been to become an English professor? My honors English professor was well aware of my angst. As I waited for the bus, she drove by in her station wagon and stopped fast when she saw me there. She hopped out, gave me a hug, and told me that I had earned an “A” in the class. She did not care at all that she had been cleaning house and that she was at her disheveled worst. Her only concern was to share the good news with a more-than-anxious student. Little did she know—though, afterwards I made a point of telling her—that when she stopped that day to share the good news, she kept me (the son of a West Virginia coal miner and his wife, a fundamentalist preacher) from becoming a college dropout.

Several other moments loom large in my memory, too. Aside from the strengths of its academics and activities, Alderson-Broaddus required two off-campus experiences. I had the option of studying in Austria or in Mexico, but I chose to take another path by pursuing two internships, both in Washington, DC. I had never lived in a city before, and I was convinced that our Nation’s capital was calling me. My first internship was with the late Senator Robert F. Byrd (West Virginia). The second was in the Division of Two-Year Colleges at the former Department of Health, Education, and Welfare. As that internship came to an end, my supervisor suggested that the Library of Congress might be the perfect place for me to work as an editor. He was the one who nudged me to Capitol Hill to submit an employment application. Without his influence and without Senator Byrd’s recommendation, I would never have enjoyed my twenty-five-year career at the world’s premier research library.

After that career, I finally became the Professor of English that I had always wanted to be, teaching for twenty-three years at Laurel Ridge Community College (formerly Lord Fairfax Community College) in Middletown, VA. My Ph.D. in American Literature gave me the necessary in-depth subject matter knowledge. Equally important, however, I tapped into a golden nugget that I had mined as an undergraduate at Alderson-Broaddus. It was something that I remembered from Gilbert Highet’s The Art of Teaching, a book that I read in one of my education classes:

Know your subject; Love your subject.

Know your students; Love your students.

Those lines became the cornerstone of my teaching philosophy. The approach is a simple one, but it is honest and sincere, and my students respond affirmatively. It’s an approach that I owe to Highet specifically but to Alderson-Broaddus generally because of what I saw in the faculty there. In them, I saw traits that I believed effective educators should embody. They were student-centered and celebrated student successes. They were passionate about their disciplines. They never hesitated to be academically rigorous and to raise the bar high. They were effective communicators and listeners. I came to realize ultimately that although they might not have talked about Highet, they had impressed me because of their knowledge and love, of subject and student. I wanted to be like them. It is little wonder that Highet struck a chord in me.

Clearly, Alderson-Broaddus was a major influence in my life. Clearly, I am grateful for my four years being a part of that “city upon a hill,” my beacon of hope and light.

I take great pride in sharing my story of how Alderson-Broaddus touched me, transformed me, and helped make me who I am today. At the same time, I am joyed in knowing that similar stories could be told by every student who had the privilege of studying there, by every student who went forth and pursued their own careers in their own respective walks of life, by every student who went forth into their corner of the world, prepared and poised to be change agents in others’ lives.

Alderson-Broaddus’ impact is so profound and so far reaching that when the university officially announced its closing, effective Friday, September 1, 2023, because it lacked sufficient income to remain open any longer, I wept not.

Without a doubt, a long and heavy sadness fell upon me. But it was washed away as I recalled my four years at my alma mater, my “city upon a hill,” far above the winding Tygart. It was washed away as I reflected on generations of lives changed because they chose Alderson-Broaddus. It was washed away as I reflected on all the dedicated faculty, administrators, and staff who served selfishly, tirelessly, and with commitment.

Alderson-Broaddus has closed its doors, and its history has come to an end. However, the legacy of transformation, knowledge, and unwavering commitment to excellence will live on in the hearts and minds of every student who had the privilege of studying there. The city upon a hill has dimmed its lights, but its beacon of hope will forever shine in the countless lives it has touched and the countless futures it has shaped.

What If We Use Artificial Intelligence (AI) to Become Even Better than We Are?

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“Change is the law of life. And those who look only to the past or present are certain to miss the future.”

–John F. Kennedy (1917-1963; 35th President of the United States, serving from 1961 until his assassination in 1963; “Address to the Irish Parliament,” June 29, 1963)

Wait! Wait! Don’t go. Stop right where you are. Give me 15 minutes of your time. Fifteen minutes. That’s all that I’m asking. Let’s take that time to explore the exciting possibilities and ponder the extraordinary potential of Artificial Intelligence (AI).

You know, as well as I, that AI has become a buzzword that sparks curiosity, apprehension, and fear. It’s in conversations, headlines, and classrooms. We can’t run from reality: AI is shaping the way we interact with the world around us.

Perhaps, like me, you’re wondering about the implications of AI: how it might change our jobs, reshape our industries, and redefine our understanding of progress. Or maybe you’re questioning its role in our lives, with a mix of fascination and uncertainty.

I hope so. That’s exactly why I’m asking you to keep on reading. When it comes to AI, I’m certainly not an expert; however, I am well informed and try to stay on top of AI trends and new developments. Additionally, I have a reasonably solid understanding of human progress coupled with a steadfast belief in humanity’s innate goodness and in our willingness to step forward toward greatness. It’s from that vantage point that I want to explore some “what-if” scenarios. As I do, keep in mind the title of this post. It embodies my personal and profound belief: we can use AI to amplify our inherent goodness and to achieve heights that we might never imagine otherwise.

Let’s start by thinking about a few of history’s turning points, where human decisions shaped the course of our progress. Imagine a world where our pivotal moments were derailed by hesitation, skepticism, or outright rejection. More specifically, imagine five crucial junctures that would not have unfolded as they did if humanity had turned its back on progress. As we look at these historical moments, reflect not only on the significance of the moments themselves but also on the importance of embracing change.

The Agricultural Revolution: Cultivating Abundance Amidst Challenges

What if early humans had clung relentlessly to their nomadic lifestyles, reluctant to embrace the mysteries of cultivation? What if the Agricultural Revolution had been met with trepidation? Societies would have languished in scattered isolation. Communities and civilizations would have been stifled, leaving shared knowledge and progress out of reach.

The Printing Press: Illuminating Minds and Shaping Eras

What if society hadn’t embraced the printing press that dissolved barriers to knowledge? The press’s invention ignited an era where information flowed freely and transcended social strata. Books, once treasures of the privileged, became accessible to all, sparking an intellectual revolution. Minds across continents were illuminated, advancing science, philosophy, and governance. The printing press created a shared journey, where knowledge became the cornerstone of human advancement.

The Industrial Revolution: Illuminating New Horizons for Craftsmanship

What if we had shunned the Industrial Revolution? Craftsmanship would have reigned supreme. Without a doubt, rejecting mechanization would have preserved the traditions, but at the cost of mass production and accessibility. The world we know today, driven by innovation and assembly lines, would not have come into existence.

The Space Race: Reaching for the Stars from the Earth

What if we had not had the Space Race? The moon’s surface and the vastness of space would remain untouched, an uncharted frontier unvisited by human eyes, leaving us without the galactic perspective that continues to broaden our horizons and inspire future generations to reach for the stars.

The Digital Age: Connecting Vibrant Screens and New Horizons

What if we had resisted the Digital Age? Without the proliferation of technology-driven global connections, we would be deprived of the remarkable power of instantaneous communication and seamless information sharing. The democratization of knowledge that now empowers us and fuels innovation would be little more than a dream.

The AI Era: Enhancing Humanity’s Potential

Even if we don’t embrace AI, we have to own up to the fact that we’re living in the AI Era. AI is here, and it’s not going away. In fact, we’ve been using AI to enhance our lives for longer than we might realize and in ways that we might not even be aware. Let me share a few examples that come to mind:

● Search Engines. When we use search engines like Google, Bing, or Yahoo to find information online, AI algorithms work in the background to analyze our queries and to provide us with relevant search results.

● Social Media Feeds. When we use Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter, those platforms are using AI to curate our social media feeds. The algorithms analyze our interactions, interests, and behaviors to show content that might interest us.

● Email Filtering. When we use email services, such as Gmail, AI is working behind the scenes, learning from our behavior how to identify and filter out spam emails.

● Virtual Assistants. Voice-activated virtual assistants like Siri, Google Assistant, and Alexa use Natural Language Processing (NLP) to understand and respond to our commands.

● Online Shopping Recommendations. Amazon and Netflix use AI algorithms to analyze our browsing and purchase history.

● Language Translation. AI-powered language translation tools, such as Google Translate, use machine learning to improve the accuracy of translations over time.

● Autocorrect and Predictive Text. Smartphones and computers use AI to predict and correct words while we type. This feature learns from our writing style and vocabulary to suggest the most likely next word or correct spelling errors.

● Fraud Detection. Thankfully, financial institutions use AI algorithms to analyze transaction patterns to identify potentially fraudulent activities.

● Content Recommendations. Streaming services like Netflix and music platforms like Spotify use AI to recommend content based on our previous preferences.

● Ride-Sharing. Apps like Uber and Lyft use AI algorithms to optimize ride routes and match drivers with passengers efficiently.

Embracing AI: A Pivotal Moment in the Making

I understand that not everyone shares my optimistic view of AI’s potential. Many valid concerns and questions surround its integration into our lives. Some fear its impact on employment, privacy, or even its ethical implications. It’s crucial to recognize these concerns and engage in thoughtful dialogue about how we can navigate these challenges while harnessing AI’s transformative power for the common good.

At the same time, we stand on the precipice of another pivotal moment, as we find ourselves at the crossroads of embracing AI. What if we falter in the face of this revolutionary technology? What if, amidst concerns of change and job displacement, we hesitate to fully welcome AI into our lives? The ramifications of this choice could ripple through our future:

● Stifled Innovation: Refusing AI’s integration might curtail advancements in medicine, climate research, and space exploration. Innovative solutions to global challenges could remain elusive, postponing the progress our world desperately needs.

● Missed Opportunities: Resisting AI-powered automation might cause us to overlook the potential for industries to evolve. Economic growth could slow, and we might miss out on emerging fields that harness AI’s capabilities.

● Educational Gaps: Neglecting AI education could result in a generation ill-equipped to thrive in a tech-driven world. The digital divide could widen, leaving some without the skills to navigate the landscape.

● Narrowed Understanding: Without AI’s insights, our understanding of complex phenomena could remain limited. Breakthroughs in genetics, quantum physics, and climate modeling might languish without AI’s analytical prowess.

● Disconnected Societies: Refusing AI could hinder global connectivity. Language barriers, information silos, and cultural divides might persist, preventing us from truly becoming a unified global community.

AI’s Promise: Elevating Humanity’s Potential

On the other hand, embracing AI at this juncture opens doors to a future where we can be better than we ever imagined. I’m certain that we can use AI in many ways to help us become even better than we are, but four areas fascinate me:

● Medical Marvels: We can use AI’s diagnostic accuracy and personalized treatment plans to revolutionize healthcare. Diseases can be caught earlier, treatments can be tailored to individuals, and medical breakthroughs can accelerate.

● Sustainable Living: We can use AI to help us optimize resource consumption and energy usage. Maybe, just maybe, we can learn how to coexist with our environment harmoniously, hopefully lessening the impact of climate change before it’s too late.

● Creative Synergy: We can use AI as a tool in many creative endeavors, including art, literature, and music.

● Space Exploration: We can use AI to help us redefine space exploration and decipher cosmic mysteries. We can use AI to become explorers of the universe.

In the crucible of this moment, we must choose whether to embrace AI’s potential or turn away from it. The history of civilization is a testament to humanity’s willingness to embrace change and innovation. The road to a better world requires boldness, foresight, and the audacity to dream beyond our limitations. We’re standing on the brink of a future where we can develop and use AI’s extraordinary potential. I have a fervent hope and a deep-down desire that we will remember the lessons of our past and seize the AI opportunities that can propel us forward toward greatness.