About Bruce McDonald

I was an Air Force pilot, then an international subcontract negotiator for an aircraft manufacturer. After a fulfilling, though hectic, career in industry I asked the question, "What next?" The answer, for my wife and me together, was the Peace Corps. As it always does, the Peace Corps enriched our lives beyond measure. "A Breeze in Bulgaria" tells the story.

Things I Learned in 2017

Whoo, what a year! Not just politics, everything. The news is unrelenting, one big deal after another. Even the Christmas letters we’ve received from friends have been filled with national news and commentary as well as the expected family doings.

Still, I love Christmas letters. We’ve been receiving cards and letters from people near and far. In many cases they’re from friends whose paths have shifted away from ours, but whose stories and concerns keep dear relationships alive. Most are printed like news bulletins but crafted with loving effort to tell of family events and travels, accomplishments of children and grands, job changes, sad passings, joyful births. A lot of care and reflection goes into these. It’s a generous thing to do, and I love being on the receiving end when I get them. I haven’t reciprocated in mailing out my own Christmas letters. I have, though, taken up a “Peace on Earth” theme about this time of year in this blog, turning my monthly article for December into a Christmas letter of sorts. 1 Peace does seem like a Christmassy topic, since we too seldom acknowledge peace as a concept at other times. Way too seldom. This is my Christmas letter for 2017.

The year got kick-started with a presidential inauguration, the largest celebration in history according to one account, and I learned that many of my friends were glad about that and many were not. In connection with that event and all that has followed from it, I learned that whether one agrees with a friend or not, a friend is a friend.

It was a big year for fifties in our household. There was the 50-year reunion of Stormy’s college class in the summer, and mine in the fall. We learned that friendships forged in youth are strong. Actually I think we already knew that, but being together with good old friends after years and years of being apart served to underscore the point. The same point was driven home again in another reunion, not quite 50 yet for my Pilot Training class but as we’ve observed before, “The older we get the better we were!” Trouble with an old pilots’ reunion is your arms get tired.

2017 marked the 50-year point for our wedding anniversary too. Family and friends were generous with congratulations, as if achieving that mark had required a mighty effort. Sure, there were times… after all, if no difficulties had ever been faced and overcome it would be a shallow celebration. Speaking as the luckiest man I know, however, I can say it’s not the years that make a marriage. It’s the days.

Continuing the 50s theme, the suburban neighborhood where we live put on a 50-year celebration marking that number of years since the first lots were platted and construction began. I went around to some of the original homeowners and interviewed them about what it was like to establish a home out in fields and farmland. I got a kick out of talking with the old folks. They had stories, and some had photos. I learned that if I had been here then, I would not have chosen this neighborhood. I like trees. Before there were any here, I would have said no thanks, something’s not right. Probably from having to move every few years in my young adulthood, I don’t have the patience to wait for a tree to grow.

I learned that there is a link across time and distance that is stronger than one might imagine. One such link took Stormy and me to the far-off land of Australia, where we were met as family and experienced warmth and a sense of belonging that made new memories to treasure for a lifetime.1 We have quite a collection of memories such as these.

In June we took a trip east for Stormy’s AAUW convention, where I had lots of free time to be a tourist while she got convened. The monuments in Washington, DC are still inspiring and instructive to visit, even for one who has done that many times. At the Vietnam Wall my fingers traced the cold letters naming old friends and classmates. I went to the DAR museum and library and looked up names of long-dead ancestors in dry, yellowing books. At the Holocaust Memorial Museum I was shocked that they did not acknowledge the heroism of Bulgarians who saved Jews in their country from deportation. (They said that the King of Denmark stood up for Jews in his country, and was the only leader to do so.) My father’s spirit cracked a grin, watching over my shoulder, as I heard myself say, “I’m gonna write ’em a letta!”

Korean War Memorial, faces on the wall

I stood in awe at the ghostly sculptures that make up the Korean War Memorial, and the images of soldiers’ faces etched onto black marble. My reflection startled me as I saw myself standing among them, in honorable company. An old man stared back at me as I stood among soldiers suspended in long-ago youth, never to grow old.

I saw the White House. It looks like a fortified embassy compound in a vaguely hostile country. Damn shame, not that it is that way, but that it has to be.

I learned some new songs, at least the tenor part, with a group of people I like being around. It’s a point to be made, I think, that if I were to sing my tenor part as a fiercely independent and proud individual you might not even recognize the tune. It takes other voice parts to make a choral arrangement. If one voice tried to dominate, “knowing” that only that particular part is right, and then another would feel obliged to do so, and so on, until the whole effort devolves into a screaming match. We’ve seen that happen, haven’t we? Not in my choir, for sure, but you know where. The world. Everywhere, almost.

This year we learned that not everyone agrees with our personal views, the things that we know in our hearts are right, no question, no argument. Views on old bronze statues, on football game ceremonies, on healthcare, guns, taxes. There’s more, but after all it’s a symphony isn’t it? All the parts are needed lest the song ring hollow.

At this time of year the songs we hear are mostly familiar ones, and overwhelmingly about peace. That’s a good thing to focus on.

Mind if we sing our way out? It’s one of my favorites, I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day. 2

I heard the bells on Christmas day
Their old familiar carols play
And mild and sweet their songs repeat
Of peace on earth good will to men

And the bells are ringing (peace on earth)
Like a choir they’re singing (peace on earth)
In my heart I hear them (peace on earth)
Peace on earth, good will to men

And in despair I bowed my head
There is no peace on earth I said
For hate is strong and mocks the song
Of peace on earth, good will to men

But the bells are ringing (peace on earth)
Like a choir singing (peace on earth)
Does anybody hear them? (peace on earth)
Peace on earth, good will to men

Then rang the bells more loud and deep
God is not dead, nor does he sleep
The wrong shall fail, the right prevail
With peace on earth, good will to men

Then ringing singing on its way
The world revolved from night to day
A voice, a chime, a chant sublime
Of peace on earth, good will to men

And the bells they’re ringing (peace on earth)
Like a choir they’re singing (peace on earth)
And with our hearts we’ll hear them (peace on earth)
Peace on earth, good will to men

Do you hear the bells they’re ringing? (peace on earth)
The life the angels singing (peace on earth)
Open up your heart and hear them (peace on earth)
Peace on earth, good will to men

Peace on earth, peace on earth
Peace on earth, Good will to men.

Bulgaria to Australia

It’s been a long time. Thirteen years since Stormy and I left Bulgaria. The way time is speeding up for me as I get older, though (I try not to think of it as circling the drain), it doesn’t seem very long ago at all.

For a while, back then, I was a teacher of the English language. I loved that work. My love of language and teaching was enriched not just by being in a distant and unfamiliar place, but also by being part of the sweeping economic and social changes in early 2000s Eastern Europe. It was a shifting frame of reference applied to an unknown starting point while taking on a new vocational challenge.

In that off-balance and constantly surprising situation, I was fortunate to have two sources of support that were inextricably tied to the environment. At school, I could draw from the energy and eagerness of my high school students. On the home front, I learned from friends and neighbors that “everything begins with friends.”

A few years  ago, when I wrote the first in this series of blog articles, a young woman who had been in one of my English literature classes wrote a comment expressing her appreciation for my part in her education. Melted my heart. We stayed in touch. A former student became a special friend.

That girl, now all grown of course, now lives in Australia. That, for her, was the fulfillment of a longtime dream. Far away in the Land Down Under, she is up to her ears in young-family things like Baby’s first accomplishments in each category, children’s birthday parties, juggling work and childcare schedules while both adults work full time, and walking the dog. Busy, involved, doing the things that people want to do. It was totally unexpected, then, that she should reach out to me as a friend and offer to host us for a visit. Australia! Could we really go there? Would Australia have pizza?

Well, yes to all! Our flight, featuring the lowest fare I could find, went through Beijing. A little long but hey, China! We planned for a “layover tour” in Beijing since we were to have a few hours there. Just before boarding in LA we got a call saying the tour operator had advised we call it off. Big convention in town, they said. Streets would be jammed, with blockages in unpredictable patterns. Once we were aboard, reading an English-language copy of the China Daily, we learned what it was: a big deal, the National Congress of the Communist Party of China. “China Will Erase Poverty by 2020 Goal, CPC Says” and “Political Reforms Have Been Historic, Spokesman Says.” Sounds great, too bad we weren’t invited. Move China higher up on the bucket list. Next time.

On to Australia! There is a lot to see, and the most impressive is simply the vastness. Flying in on a clear spring day as we made landfall southbound from Darwin, I thought at first it looked like the arid plains of West Texas, but soon I realized one big difference: where the American West is latticed with section lines, highways, and cultivation of all kinds, in the Outback of Australia for vast stretches there are none. No mark of man. We cruised over a huge desert area with miles-long red and grayish streaks running north and south, then another stretch with long narrow alkaline lakebeds in the same orientation. Cattle or wildlife trails, following terrain and ending nowhere. Then after crossing a river that formed a clear boundary as if drawn on a map there was wind erosion, blowing sand patterns, a bone-dry bleached desert. Roads and paths went from none to scarce, then some dry riverbeds, then creeks and rivers with water. An hour north of Melbourne, a house, then some more, and then soon after I could start to make out huge, faint rectangular patterns of cultivated fields. From there on in the signs of human life and work grew more and more apparent and it became the city of Melbourne, an airport, Customs, and a friend waiting for us.

We had read up on the whole country before coming, a book by Bill Bryson called In a Sunburned Country. He enumerated at length the sheer number of things that would kill you – virtually all of the many kinds of spiders and snakes, lizard-like crawlies, toothed and fanged creatures including of course crocodiles. Our visit was not deadly. We did see the largest crocodile ever, in the Melbourne Aquarium, but he seemed to be napping.

Kangaroos! We saw them out in open fields, in shady gum tree groves, and in the zoo. These in the picture were in someone’s back yard enclosed by a wire fence, and they bounded right over the fence and away when they judged we were close enough.

Melbourne is about the easiest large city in the world to get around. Free trams, friendly people, lots of museums and parks, and I think we did it all. Walking along a rocky breakwater near the port, we saw penguins. Penguins, I tell ya, preening and grooming each other and making their wheezy cooing and clucking sounds to beat the band. Penguins! There were more in the zoo, the larger ice-loving kind, but right there in the rocks at the beach we saw penguins!

We came out ahead, as travelers often do, by taking some wrong turns. Each one resulted in an unexpected benefit: we saw a wallaby on one wrong-way hike, saw a rare kind of deer up in the hills from a dirt road that was not on our planned route, and when we ran off another road into its boggy shoulder, leaving the car hubcap-deep just off the paved surface, we met the nicest most cheerful people who hooked up and pulled us out. G’day mate!


The best part of the visit, though, was the family joy we were made to feel a part of. Slavka and her family treated us like bonus grandparents. To have that kind of welcome so far away from home in a part of the world we never thought we would get to go, well, it’s something to write home about isn’t it?

As I write this, poking at the tiny keys on my phone, we’re on our way back home. It’s been a fair dinkum fortnight. (I don’t know if they say fortnight. Two weeks anyway.) We feel like we did up Melbourne pretty well for beginners. The rest of this awesome country will just have to wait for the next trip. Always great to visit family, no matter where.

Protesting Injustice

OK, I’m wading in. I am a veteran of the United States Armed Forces and I say it’s no insult to me or to my service if a football player takes a knee during the National Anthem.

Let’s say I want to go down to the corner and protest Big Bank’s dealings with the King of Belgium. Who’s to say what form my protest has to take? I’ll stand on my head! That’ll tell ’em, yeah! There’s no law against standing on my head. There’s also no law that says you have to stand during the National Anthem. (Be careful if you look that up. There’s a lot of false information out there.) I may have to explain what my protest means, of course, if I want it to impress anyone. The knee-takers have done that from the outset, but not everyone listens. I really don’t care about football except when the Broncos are in the Superbowl, but the player who started this brawl spoke very clearly about why he did it.

“I am not going to stand up to show pride in a flag for a country that oppresses black people, and people of color,” Kaepernick said in a press conference after first sitting out during the anthem. “To me, this is bigger than football, and it would be selfish on my part to look the other way. There are bodies in the street, and people getting paid leave, and getting away with murder.”
    nfl.com/news

There is nothing unclear about that statement. To those who dislike it, I ask, “Is he wrong?” Is that oppression he speaks of a myth? Is justice equally applied to all in our Land of the Free? Think hard. If there is widespread injustice, should it be allowed to persist without comment, without concern, without protest, without anybody doing anything? Here’s one answer:

The General cites Charlottesville, and Ferguson, and the NFL as backdrop. Each one of those incidents is complex on its own merits, and each pertains to the problem in a different way. What they have in common, though, is that they are connected to the same thread of injustice. It is justice that America needs, justice for all.

fans waiting for the gameI stand for the National Anthem. I think it would be good if everyone did. It’s a fine custom and courtesy. Yet I can understand it when people do not. Now we have entire teams linking arms, standing or kneeling, and their protest is said to be a show of unity. Whether it is unity with the original protest about oppression and injustice, or unity in opposition to those who don’t like the original protest and continue to bluster and make threats about it, I can’t say. That hardly even matters at this point.

The guy who started this protest said what it was about. He does not have pride in America, and he says it. He also says why. He does not show respect. How many times have you and I been reminded that respect must be earned? (Answer: Many.) What will it take for this respect to be earned? (Answer: ___________ )