I like to go to the post office on Sunday mornings these days. The self-service facilities are great, there are few others there at that time, and I don’t have to stand in line to mail a package anymore. This morning, as I was getting out of my car in the post-office lot, there was a rather pleasant-looking young woman, standing on the sidewalk, waving at me and trying to get my attention. She was probably 20 years old, nicely dressed, but shivering in the cold and wind, nervous, and seemed to be near tears. She timidly asked if she could have some change, as she was trying to get enough together to afford a bus ticket to Salem. She kept saying that she’d never done anything like this before, and that I must “think her weird.” I asked her what the story was, and she said haltingly, in a very quiet voice, that she’d been living up here in Portland for about three weeks, but that her boyfriend had just kicked her out, so she needed to get back to Salem. She said that she thought she’d try asking people for money to see if she could get the sixteen dollars together to pay for the Greyhound to take her south (and “home,” I inferred).

She looked afraid and vulnerable; she was trembling. I very rarely open my pocket or wallet to strangers on the street, but this seemed like a good cause if there ever was one. I had a $5 bill in my wallet, so I extracted it and handed it over to her. She asked if I wanted it mailed back to me, but I said no, wished her luck, and told her to “be safe.”

As I was in the post office, I immediately got to thinking that I should have done more. It was cold out there today. What should I have done? Offered her a ride to the bus station? Paid for her ticket to Salem? Well, yes, to both of those (after) thoughts. I finished up mailing my package, went back out into the lot to find her, but she had disappeared.

I am kicking myself for not thinking faster: for not taking the risk of offering more, and more complete, assistance. Why didn’t I? Why did I hold back? Well, my own fear would appear to be the only answer. I feared the unknown: in terms of getting involved with someone for twenty minutes that I didn’t really know and could turn the tables on me, or enlist me in some kind of bigger “con.” Are those OK reasons?

An editorial in The Oregonian today discussed the recent death of the “CIM” (Certificate of Initial Mastery) for public K-12 schools in Oregon. The “CAM” (Certificate of Advanced Mastery), of course, never, really, had a life. Both of these initiatives were products of school-reform legislation passed by the Oregon Legislative Assembly in 1991 (as the “Oregon Educational Act for the 21st Century”) but, from the beginning, faced impressive amounts of resistance from a number of constituencies: politicians, educators, parents, and students alike.

So, here we are, fourteen years later, admitting the failure of these proficiency-based approaches to student learning…at least as they have been implemented here in Oregon. Susan Castillo, our current State Superintendent of Public Instruction, indicated yesterday that the CIM and CAM embraced “...high standards, strong accountability for student performance and creat[ed] a relevant learning experience…” (The Oregonian, December 10, 2005, p. B4), and vowed not to abandon those goals. What she plans to propose to the Oregon State Board of Education and to the legislature, in the place of CIM and CAM (if anything), remains a mystery.

Really, folks, even after years and years of effort, the CIM and CAM never had a chance in this state, despite the superhuman efforts of so many who wanted to see them succeed. The Proficiency-based Admissions Standards System (PASS) of the Oregon University System (public higher-education’s response to lower-ed’s reforms) was, in my opinion, always similarly doomed. Why? Well, timing might be one response, but lack of leadership, funding, and commitment are really the answers.

In 1991, when the initial school reform legislation was enacted (it has been amended in every legislative session since then), Oregon voters had just passed Measure 5, the property-tax limitation initiative, in the 1990 election. When I moved away from Oregon in the summer of 1990, I knew of no one who gave Measure 5 a chance of passing. But, come that November, it did. And, in terms of the political and economic landscapes of the state, Oregon has never really been the same. Certainly Oregon education, at all levels, has quite dramatically changed since then.

We are idea rich and dollar poor. Well, truthfully, we're probably idea poor as well. The “no new taxes” mantra of the first G. Bush, has been translated, by Oregon voters, into “no taxes.” Period. It seems the citizens of this state expect government, and the education systems it supports (K-12, community colleges, public universities), to do their jobs with less and less. But, to the point here, Oregon passed school-reform legislation at the very time that we were beginning to seek ways to implement Measure 5, and there just has never been enough money to do the job. School reform really wasn’t (and isn’t) that bad of an idea. It’s just that it takes resources, and, of course, leadership. The likes of Norma Paulus, Stan Bunn, and Susan Castillo, our elected State Superintendents since 1991, simply put, have been prime examples of poor educational leadership.

Oregon: we deserve better. We need resources. We need leadership. We need an enlightened public.

This weekend, my brother-in-law Dave (in Rochester, MN) had to have emergency surgery. As I write this, late on a Sunday afternoon, he’s apparently out-of-the-woods and on his way to making a recovery. But, of course, every incident such as this only serves to remind us of the fragility of our existence. It certainly reminds me, anyway.

And, regarding this existence: I’m always questioning about how to make the most appropriate use of the short, short time I have here on Planet Earth. For example, has my decision to be an educator been a sound one? Am I as healthy as I want to be? Am I happy doing what I’m doing and where I’m doing it?

I remember admitting and saying out loud, a couple of years ago now, that I feared that I had chosen the wrong path. Although, academically, I am trained to be a chemist, counselor, or administrator (and actually, now, I am all three), I have long held second thoughts about giving up on the pursuit of photography and/or writing as career choices. My passions certainly lie in those areas, and I believe I am highly skilled in them as well.

As I was leaving the employ of the Oregon University System’s Chancellor’s Office in 2004, I was spending considerable time on weekends doing my own “wandering around photography” (as I call it). I showed off my work to a select few local professionals (mostly the lab folks in Eugene, OR), and they were always impressed at the quality of the work that I produced. I was very happy with it too, but remembered what a struggle it was to try and make a living doing photography (as I had tried in the late 70s, early 80s).

I would love to have more time to engage the passion I have for photography. Although I have skills in many areas, including those of my formal education, I spend a lot of time dreaming about having more time to roam around and take pictures. I’m hopeful that a stable employment situation for me will allow me to continue my life as an educator and to fill the other parts of my soul: as an artist.

I just finished reading Borrowed Finery by Paula Fox. The book is a memoir -- a series of short vignettes, actually -- by the now-aging Fox, author of several novels and children's books. From my perspective, Fox's early life was amazingly difficult, as she was early-on placed in an orphanage and then shuffled in and out of a variety of other living situations...all the while maintaining distant and strained relationships with both of her parents. And her parents! Her mother was cold, detached, unloving. Her father was slightly more emotionally available, but also highly dysfunctional and alcoholic. I find it amazing that Fox survived at all.

I have a 'round-about connection to Fox. (Am I allowed to claim that?) The daughter that she gave up for adoption, and speaks briefly of in the last chapter, is Linda Carroll. Linda is a therapist in Corvallis, Oregon (where I lived for twenty years), and someone I have known for more than a quarter century now. Well, not only have I known Linda a long time, I rank her as just about the most influential person I have ever known in terms of my own growth as a human being. Really, Linda's impact on my life has been profound. She was the one who helped me through a very difficult time in my post-divorce period...and, through the years, has always been at least one step ahead of me developmentally, ready to guide and teach.

Richard Bach has observed that "rarely do members of the same family grow up under the same roof." Linda, ever since our first meeting, has felt as if she is part of my family on this planet. So, I was very interested to read about the growing-up experiences of the person who gave birth to her.

Linda has her own extremely interesting biography...having been given up for adoption, of course, and then finding Fox not that many years ago (the mid 90s) in order to attempt the never-established mother-daughter connection. Further, Linda's own experience as a mother includes having given birth to singer-actress controversial-figure Courtney Love. (And, to extend the story, Courtney's daughter is her child with tragic-rock-figure Kurt Cobain.) Linda's book talking about her life and relationship with Courtney is due out in a couple of months, so I know I'll be among the first to read Her Mother's Daughter.

I was a married person in my 20s, but I have lived most of my adult life single and alone. For the most part, this has been ok. Although this is not the way I planned things, it's the way my life has turned out. I do know that I would prefer to be alone than to spend my life in a bad relationship. So, I've said, my "aloneness" is entirely voluntary and acceptable...and that I'm not really lonely.

Well, who am I kidding? Sometimes the truth stabs at my heart during the most unexpected times and places...for example, watching the movie Shall We Dance?. Beverly Clark (played by Susan Sarandon), at one point, offers this analysis about why people get married:

We need a witness to our lives. There's a billion people on the planet ... I mean, what does any one life really mean? But in a marriage, you are promising to care about everything. The good things, the bad things, the terrible things, the mundane things... all of it, all of the time, every day. You are saying "Your life will not go unnoticed because I will notice it. Your life will not go un-witnessed because I will be your witness."

My truth is: I am seeking someone to be the witness to my life. I want to share the joys and pains with another and to end this emptiness. Life is difficult enough without having to go the distance alone.