The Blaisdell Blog

  We looked everywhere and could not find my sister’s wallet.   The house was one continual round of activity, the kind that surrounds a family celebration, and it was time to go to the bakery and pick up the cake.   We all know what those days are like.   Every member of the family is coming over.   The fatted calf is on the spit, tables are being set up under tents in the yard, and at least six coolers of beverages are already on the patio.   But where was that wallet?   The only person not involved in the search was my mother.   She had recently come to live with my sister as her declining health precluded her from living alone.   Mom sat at her place of choice at the kitchen table, sipping her bottomless cup of coffee, and telling everyone that they need to put things away in the proper place and then they wouldn’t get lost.   Her lecture on wise living was not helping.   My nieces decided to skip the sermon and go get the cak...

On Sunday the church was a sea of red.   It was Reformation Sunday and red is the traditional color.   Of course, if you are not a Lutheran, Reformation Day may not mean quite as much.   To the public, Martin Luther is often depicted as a brooding, personally troubled man.   The pictures of him show a square-jawed German with a grim mouth and a furrowed brow.   Growing up in a Lutheran home, I was sure he had been a brave but angry man, nailing his 95 Thesis on the door of the church in Wittenberg and starting a religious revolution.   Even his decision to enter the priesthood, a vow to St. Anne if she would deliver him from the fury of a sudden storm, seemed to be born of fire.                Luther, who was not a simple monk, but a highly educated theologian, is a frequently misunderstood revolutionary.   He profited from being the right man at the right moment.   Luther’s ideas came at...

  Nine thousand years ago a man died along the Columbia River.  About 40 years old, he stood 5 feet 7 inches tall and his 160 pounds were all lean, compact strength.  He was no stranger to injury.  In his life, he had skull injuries, 5 broken ribs and a spear point lodged in his pelvic bones.  In each case, he recovered, which means he had someone to care for him.  At the time of his death, cause unknown, he was buried with dignity.               He is called Kennewick Man.  He came to North America long before the peoples currently called Native Americans arrived.  DNA evidence proves he is not related to them.  If there is a real, “first” American, it is this man, most closely related to two far flung groups: Polynesians and the Ainu of Japan.  If you are a Native American, and think you have an historic right of ownership to North America, look over your shoulder....

  In 1971 I was a sixth-grade teacher.   At that time, I taught in a self-contained classroom.   That means I taught every subject: math, science, social studies, reading, English, spelling, handwriting, health and physical education.   That made for a very full day.               I set my reading instruction for the hour after lunch and part of that time was used for library reading.   One day, I noticed that a girl in the class was reading Are You There God, it’s Me Margaret by Judy Blume.   The book had been published the year before and was making quite a splash in the educational community.   I kept abreast of the Young Adult market and had read the book the previous summer.   I did not like it. I thought it was coarse, vulgar, and pandering.   But here was a good, solid student pouring over Are You There God… like it was written on stone tablets. When I walked by Annett...