Hello everyone,
If you’re receiving this email, there must be a reason. At face value, that reason is probably that you are in my contact list, perhaps from emailing me or following along with my many adventures at some point in the past. Existentially however, it seems likely that the ineffable powers that control this rock we’re on as it hurtles through space may have wanted me to say hello. So hello! And thanks for reading this far.
As the title hints at, this post is unapologetically self-indulgent. You know me. Yet there are so many seemingly critical updates I feel compelled to share. Sonja has managed to tolerate my eccentricities for eleven plus years now, Titus loves reading and turned nine last month, powerful little Zooey is seven-going-on-seventeen, and I appear to have suffered a minor stroke sometime in August. That may be the first time I’ve written that down–I didn’t like it. Nevertheless, as you can read for yourself, there are a lot of updates to share. Onward.
Tonight is, of course, the VP debate. In inviting a few friends over, I framed it as “Hey, wanna meet up and watch a high school teacher emasculate the kid who definitely paid smarter kids to write his essays for him on national television?” Tim Walz is from my hometown of Valentine, though Valentine was 87% for Trump in 2020, and as a friend of mine pointed out it in the LA Times last week, though most in Valentine would surely say to Tim “Welcome home” and buy him a beer, he’s unlikely to flip Cherry County. I console myself by donating to candidates I like and voting in the Blue (actually very, very purple) Dot.
On the subject of my hometown, today is October 1, and I’m pleased to announce that registration for the Valentine Marathon is officially open. I decided to start this race for many reasons, not least to encourage people to visit my hometown, to help support the economy, and to raise money for a great cause. The Valentine Marathon is, first and foremost, so much more than a marathon. As you probably know of me, my philosophy on running is simple: everyone is a runner but some people don’t realize it, and if you want to become a runner all you have to do is go for a run. For that reason, the race includes distances ranging from a 50K ultra to just one mile, my hope being to involve as many people as possible. It also vexes me when any business says “a percentage of proceeds go to charity” as the vast majority of the time I find the percentage to be pitiful and the charity suspect. So, as the boss, I made the decision that for every mile a person runs, be it one or thirty-one or anything in between, one dollar will go to charity. Find me another marathon donating $26 from every entry to charity. I’ll wait. And the best part is the charity is the Valentine Community Schools Foundation, which gives rural kids (like me) college scholarships and dual enrollment credits while in high school. In addition, I’ve signed up to be part of 1% for the planet, so additional money from this race will be donated to Rails to Trails. Please check out ValentineMarathon.com and consider registering for the race. If you’re still on the fence, there will be beer and beef at the finish line and here’s a discount code: VALENTINE10
In other running-related news, I set a lifetime PR in the half marathon at the Heartland two weeks ago with a 1:37:21, and got second in my age group and ninth overall among men at the Monument Marathon last weekend in Scottsbluff. Meanwhile, the coaching-sized hole in my heart has been filled with guiding runners who are disabled, usually blind. I’ve got a couple of different gentlemen I run with right now who need my eyes to run almost as much as I need their company and conversation. I’ll be guiding one of them in the Des Moines Marathon in a few weeks, and I’m raising money to support Achilles International by running New York in November, my second of the six world majors. I’d be grateful if you wanted to chip in, and you could do that here:
Writing, too, remains a passion, and one that I attempt to make time for every day. Last year, my book on the Napa Valley, The Rise of Napa Valley Wineries: How the Judgment of Paris put California Wine on the Map (I, of course, gave it a much better title, but publishers always have the final say in these things) was released. It won a few contests, got honorable mention in several others, and I’ve enjoyed reading excerpts from it in various settings. Two of my oldest friends even showed up to hear me unexpectedly at the public library in Napa last year. It’s been a fun journey. Next month I’m flying to the Bay Area to be interviewed on television about the book.
Presently, I’m working on two other books, and have a third that is rather up in the air at the moment. The third, Don’t Forget Your Cape, is a collection of essays I wrote to pre-service and young teachers. I was offered a publishing contract and my friend Taylor Mali even offered to write the introduction, but I’ve run out of patience with bad publishing deals so I’ve yet to sign it and, truth be told, I’m considering self-publishing or maybe even starting my own press. My other two books in the works right now are massive projects. The first is the synthesis of a year-long study on genocide education that I conducted, surveying more than five hundred American teachers. Routledge is currently considering it and I’m optimistic they’ll bite; I hear good things about working with them. The other is a collection of essays about the incredible people who live and work in Oakville, a tiny town in California, and publication for that project is thankfully already taken care of. I’ve been working on those essays for eighteen months now, have conducted scores of interviews and flown back-and-forth between Omaha and the Bay Area more times than I can count. I hope to have The Oakville Chronicles done in about another year.
Last week, I was privileged to conduct a poetry workshop with undergraduates at the university where I teach. The department chair has become a friend and was kind enough to invite me. She referred to me as a “celebrated poet” and I resisted the urge to ask “by whom?”. It was a blast workshopping poems with some talented young people. One of the things we spoke about was where poetry comes from, our inspiration. A few nights ago I was sitting in a hotel hot tub with four members of the Lakota tribe who live on the Pine Ridge Reservation. We were chatting about life, and I was reminded of a poem I wrote recently.
“Emphatically”
We would like to begin by acknowledging that
the land on which we gather once belonged to
people whom we know almost nothing about,
whose actual names we struggle to pronounce,
most of whom our government slaughtered en masse,
and that while there isn’t a snowflake’s chance in hell
of any of us writing them into our own legal will
we thank them for their hospitality and
stewardship of this sacred, precious land.
The Kenyon Review recently rejected that one (c’est la vie) but I have submitting poems to a few other magazines on my to-do list for today, so I’ll probably fire it off at another periodical. I know it’s edgy, but I like it. I’ve never cared much what people said was important to them. Just tell me how you spend your money and your time–and to whom you’ve willed your possessions–and I’ll know exactly what’s important to you. And to the landowners out there, will your land to whomever you like (mine will go to my children), but if it’s not an indigenous tribe, spare us your disingenuous land declarations. (You may recall that I’ve never seen a soap box that I didn’t want to stand on. Stepping down now.)
In the realm of viticulture, in addition to writing about wine, I’ve started making it again as well. In the same vein as the marathon project, Ethic Wines are going to be a brand of quality wines from which a set amount–I’m hoping for $5/bottle or more if I can make the numbers work–will go to charities that are explicitly named on each bottle. I am working through samples and marketing plans right now, and am in the process of developing an app which I hope will engage consumers and help them track the amount of money they’re donating, encouraging them to circle back to Ethic over others. When I told someone recently that I hoped to donate more money than I made, they replied simply “That’s a bad business model.” I paused for a moment. I guess in terms of brass tacks, they’re probably correct, but as I see it I’m 43 with questionable health and as convenient as it would be I don’t believe I’m going to get another shot at living life without regrets. So, as worm food, I want to spend as much time with my family as I possibly can, do as much good as I possibly can, and enjoy the hell out of my life while I still can. And that involves raising tons of money and giving it away, so as far as I’m concerned my business plan is just fine.
Also in terms of philanthropy and wine, I’m pleased to report that thanks to an incredible board of directors and some well-selected partners, the vinNEBRASKA Foundation is thriving. I’ve been the President of the Board for several years now, and if you’re not already acquainted please check out vinNEBRASKA.com right away. Over the past three years, we raised $1.3M for Stephen Center, and we’re now partnering with Completely KIDS for the next three years. We also put on the Women of Wine Symposium, offer scholarships to college students and aspiring wine professionals, and do all we can to support small businesses in the restaurant industry. Pretty cool stuff. The next chance to get involved is November 16 at our third annual “Bring on the Bubbles” event. It’s going to be excellent, and $75 of your $125 ticket goes straight to a charity of your choice (there’s that “bad” business model again) while the rest goes to our scholarship fund and covers expenses. You can buy tickets at the link below, and I hope to see you there!
https://vinnebraska.com/sparkling-2024/
The other thing I’m up to right now in the wine industry is Gudgel Ranch. You might remember the 2018 Gudgel Ranch “Bar 25” Cabernet Sauvignon that my friend Tom and I put out. It was 95% Spring Mountain Cabernet Sauvignon, 5% Stag’s Leap Petit Verdot, and 100% baller wine. Well, that’s been a while, so my dad and I got to talking and we’re starting it up again. Soon, you can visit GudgelRanch.com to learn more. The wine is currently in barrel, being made by my friend Jean Hoefliger, and should hit the Nebraska market in late November or early December. I’ll write when it is available to let you know where you can get it.
I desperately miss teaching, if I’m being honest, and I’ve been very tempted to return to the classroom in Omaha Public Schools. That said, I also enjoy being a college professor, and the time it frees up for me to spend with the kids is priceless. For the time being, I’m likely to remain at the small university where I teach, and where the leadership has empowered me to do some cool things like work with colleagues to plant a sapling on campus that was taken from the tree that grew behind the Secret Annex in Amsterdam, the one Anne Frank wrote about in her diary. I also got to lead a trip of students to Amsterdam last year and am planning to do so again over spring break. I’m privileged to get to support a number of talented scholars who are pursuing their doctoral degree, and I teach an undergraduate course in the spring called The Holocaust Through Literature and Film, so I’m staying busy with meaningful work, even if I do miss the joyful, erratic, quirky, endearing nature of teenagers from time to time.
And this brings me to my wonderful family. As I said, Sonja and the kids are great, though Sonja’s health is even more of a concern than mine is at the moment. More tests are scheduled and she is, without question, the strongest person I’ve ever met. No matter what we learn, I know she’ll take it in stride and we’ll get through it together. Not long ago, we lost my Uncle David to a long battle with Alzheimer’s disease. As is so often the case, the memorial, with the eastern slope of the Rocky Mountains serving as a backdrop, was a beautiful if too-short opportunity to be reunited with so many of my family members. Not long after, my father was in the hospital, and while he’s out now Sonja and my desire to spend as much time with him and my mom as possible was rekindled by the experience. That’s the thing we all know deep down: that time marches on, and that every last one of us has been dying since the day we were born. I used to think being a marathon runner meant that I was immortal, and of course that was foolish. I guess that’s why I sat down to write to you today. It doesn’t seem prudent to put something so important off any longer.
The rose bushes that Sonja and I planted on the south side of our house last spring and the one before are thriving despite the drought, and often we have the stunningly aromatic scent of fresh Pope John Paul II roses co-mingling with whatever Sonja or I happen to be making for dinner in the evening. Last night, while we feasted on “breakfast for dinner” Sonja avenged a recent loss to Titus in Ticket To Ride, a favorite board game of the family, while Zooey crooned along with Michael Stipe in her lovely little voice, misinterpreting the lyrics as “Everybody burrrrrrps,” much to my delight. After dinner, we read from Man of the Family, the second in Ralph Moody’s series that begins with Little Britches, before putting the kids to bed. Sonja and I concluded our evening in Middle Earth with Rings of Power before reading quietly until we nodded off. Having finished Gore Vidal’s Empire series, I’m currently reading The Princess Bride. In all things couldn’t be better at Casa Gudgel. Today, after I get done with grading and some other tasks, I’m going to go for a run, and when I get back I think I’ll prune the rose bushes and maybe see about making something for dinner. I hope you’ll visit us sometime. Until then, thanks for reading, take good care, don’t forget to vote, consider donating to Achilles, go for a walk or a jog even if you don’t think of yourself as a runner, and I hope to see you very soon.
Warmly,
Mark
PS: There’s probably something somewhere you can click to unsubscribe, but please don’t. I have so much more to tell you.