River-Rat Reflections: July 2010

Monday, July 26, 2010

65 YEARS YOUNG---AGAIN

Yesterday morning we headed up the White Pine Trail on our bikes to Big Rapids, where we spent the night. We arrived home today over the noon hour, 12:15 p.m---a total of 110 miles. It was a great time, though 30 miles of the trail is not paved and more than half of that is rough gravel. We passed through little towns on the way up and back. Here is John standing by a feed mill in Stanwood.

Saturday, July 24, 2010

65 YEARS YOUNG!
We were with friends this week and after taking us out on their boat they invited me to give water-skiing a try---after a 25-year hiatus. I got up on the first try with no mishaps and after a spin around the lake was back in the boat looking no worse for wear.

My Calvin Seminary Story

I began teaching at Calvin Theological Seminary in 2000--the first full-time woman professor in the school's 125-year history. In 2003, less than 3 months after Cornelius Plantinga, Jr. was installed as the new president, I was, without warning, removed from tenure track and given a terminal appointment. I have repeatedly asked that all the evidence be opened only to be blocked by a dishonest cover-up. When independent mediators were retained by the seminary board in 2005, they called for "retroactive pay to 2003," among other things. That report was buried. I finished my second terminal appointment on August 31, 2006, and shortly thereafter published my story.

A Provocative Poem

PEDESTALS

Thousands
cheer,
chant,
and clap
as one of their own
is proudly carried toward the
lofty pedestal.
The audience
urges him
up the stairway,
step by step,
higher and higher,
far above the masses
on the prominent platform.
The media is there
with lights,
cameras
and prime-time coverage.
Publishers huddle
around the base,
for they know
pedestal-people
sell well.
The crowds
on satellite hook-ups
hang on
every last word,
for he seems
so close to eternity.
Yet he feels
unsure,
unworthy,
afraid
and very alone . . .
But at that height
no one notices,
no one questions,
no one confronts.
And so,
in a split second,
the trap door swings,
the noose tightens,
the crowd gasps.
Undeterred, the mob moves on
to build more pedestals;
to encourage another
of their own
up the starlit steps.
But mostly
to wonder
why those
at the pinnacle
keep falling
from the heights.
© 1988 James N. Watkins