Tag Archives: Mark Baumer

On Not Doing Sports

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“Doing sports” was always a big thing in the Baumer household. Mark had a WIFFLE® Ball Bat in his hands not long after he learned to walk. He’d later grow into an outstanding hockey and baseball player, doing the latter sport well enough to play in college, win accolades for his accomplishments, and have a hand in leading his college mates to a spot in the Division III College World Series in 2006.

On Mark’s final walk, we communicated less about sports than at any time in our relationship. I knew he still followed the NBA to some degree. While he’d never played basketball beyond elementary school in a structured fashion, he’d become enamored by “the Association,” even joining a Golden State Warriors fan board back in the mid-2000s during his undergraduate winters at Wheaton.


[Come on! Do Sports!!]

Mark brought me back to basketball. I’d played in high school for the woeful Lisbon High Greyhounds. As one of the team’s tallest players at 6’3”, I often found my nights on the hardwood matched up against the other teams biggest and usually best, offensive player. I couldn’t jump, wasn’t particularly fast, but I did have an aggression and a “mean streak” that lent itself well to pummeling opponents who possessed greater skills. Of course, this also meant I was usually in “foul trouble,” and regularly on the wrong side of the officials. I’ll simply add that my basketball career wasn’t as distinguished as my time on the baseball diamond. There, I could “throw that speedball by you, make you look like a fool boy” as Springsteen sang in “Glory Days.”

Once Mark moved back east from California and settled in Providence, we began an annual thing together: we’d pick a team we both wanted to see the “hometown” Celtics take on and we’d order tickets and plan a rendezvous in Beantown. I think we began this sometime around 2010 when Mark joined Brown’s Literary Arts program, in pursuit of his MFA in Creative Writing. Continue reading →

Songs From the Car Seat

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I have two laptops. One that is my “travel” computer. It’s one of Lenovo’s Yoga Ideabooks, perfect for use on-the-go. It’s the very same version that thieves in Providence snatched after smashing the two side windows of Mary’s RAV4, the night before Mark’s celebration of life at Brown. My insurance money allowed me to buy another one.

On that laptop is a very long attempt at writing a review of Thursday night. I completed it on Friday afternoon after trekking to the JFK Presidential Library and Museum, as Mary and I had decided to spend an extra day in the city before boarding the train north for home, on Saturday. While she caught a catnap before we headed out to a romantic dinner in the city’s North End, I was banging out a review that I guess will never see the light of day.

It was Valentine’s and Mary and I were in Boston to see Car Seat Headrest (CSHR). Actually, I was the one who wanted to see the “next big thing” in indie rock, but being such a good sport, she decided to take me up on my offer of a second ticket and hit the rock show with me, even though she could care less about the indie music I’ve loved for forever: that’s the kind of girl that she is and has always been. I’m sure that quality is also why Mark loved his mom like he did.

Today is Sunday, three days after Thursday. We thoroughly enjoyed our time in an urban environment very different from where we live in Maine.  Amtrak’s Downeaster made this trip especially enjoyable.

Back from Boston (from the Prudential Skywalk)

Our time in the big city was fun. I think the reason we had such a good time is because we left the car back in Brunswick. Being able to experience a city without the hassle of driving in city-style traffic lessens the stress. That and not having to find parking is a plus, too. Of course, it helps to be in an urban environment that has a stellar public transportation system. I know the locals love to bash the MBTA, but for someone like us who live in a small town with minimal public transportation options, being able to embark on public rail to crisscross the landscape of a major American city was a plus, and kind of fun, too. Continue reading →

Studying History Part I

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I have been time-traveling this week. History and historians allow all of us the privilege of looking back from where we came as a country and as a people. Thomas Jefferson has just been elected president and the Federalists are “barking” about it. Isn’t it true that the Federalists have always been a political scourge on the nation?

Thomas Jefferson in history.

Jefferson, our third president, wasn’t a perfect man. Is any leader without blemish or fault? History does inform us that his election represented a “victory for non-elites,” those non-Founders who represented the majority of Americans in the fledgling republic. Those damned Federalists once again were lamenting Jefferson and how his election represented a “slide down into the mire of democracy.”

Jefferson’s election was a “victory for non-elites. For Federalists, a slide “down into the mire of democracy.” He embraced “the politics of the masses.” He sought to convince the country that government answered directly to the people—this would lead to unity (national cohesion/union), not division (anarchy). Continue reading →

Show Me Your Bona Fides

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Small acts to remain sane in a world of madness, with mad men trying to burn it all down.

  • Music
  • Healthy food (for me and my house, it’s plant-based: thank you!!)
  • Books
  • Poetry

I could have left poetry off my list and had a perfectly-bulleted trifecta. That wouldn’t have done justice to James Tate and his strange book, The Ghost Soldiers.

Poetry as a means of remaining sane.

I use “strange” in a laudatory manner. This is unlike most of the poetry I’ve ever read. While not a connoisseur of this element of literature, I’ve read more poetry over the last year than the previous 50+ years of being a reader. Poets are also a different animal than the other writers I fill my reading for pleasure time with. Continue reading →

Building On Your Foundation

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I had a gig that I loved. Of all the various “straight” jobs I’ve had, I felt that this one was as close to being perfect as I’d ever find. I felt uniquely qualified to carry it out. Then, a governor was elected, a man with an angry spirit much like Mr. Trump’s. He knew nothing about workforce training and because he was stupid (but thought he knew more than anyone else), he cut the budget for training in Maine. He continued his assault on the state’s training infrastructure for eight years.

Once I found out the job I enjoyed and was good at was going away, I figured it was time to craft my personal brand. That’s how the JBE originated in 2012.

I considered a host of various templates and ways to message what I wanted to say. I made sure I included a blog as part of the new WordPress site I built and plugged into the world wide web. Ultimately, I settled on the idea of “reinvention” because in 2004 and 2005 that’s what’d I was doing—reinventing my way of doing things. By 2012, I’d gotten pretty good at it. Writing was an essential skill I utilized then and still do.

I read Alvin Toffler in high school and I came back to the noted futurist during my period of retooling. It was Toffler who “gave me” the tagline of “learn, unlearn, and relearn” as a means of understanding what learning was in the context of creating something brand new—again, that idea of reinvention.

Besides Toffler, there were others. I became a fan of the likes of Seth Godin, Daniel Pink, and of course, I was already a fan of Mark Baumer, perhaps my biggest cheerleader relative to the need to embrace new ideas and doing it with gusto and with a certain kind of fearlessness. Continue reading →

Food Follies

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Christmas was better this year than I have any reason to think it should have been. December and January will never be celebratory months for the obvious reason that my son was killed in January, his birthday is the week prior to Christmas, and it’s hard to be “happy for the holidays” when such a significant person in your life is stolen away.

I’ve been a fan of Maine’s alt-weeklies dating back to my teenage years when finding a copy of Sweet Potato was always a priority when journeying to Lewiston (or Portland) so I could read the latest Jim Sullivan feature, something that along with slinging fastballs by mystified high school opponents, signified a rite of passage for me. My own formative attempts to “do journalism” graced the pages of a former Portland monthly, the late, great Portland Pigeon, back in the mid-aughts, right around the time my first book hit the streets.

If anyone pays attention to these kinds of things, the state of Portland’s alternative press ain’t what it used to be. It was actually still pretty damn solid as late as 2014 and possibly a little after that. Then, two jackasses from Massachusetts knew better: they decided that our local alternative journalism landscape needed more competition—totally unaware that the city’s limited number of businesses weren’t likely to be able to keep two weeklies afloat—not to mention that there aren’t enough eyeballs to warrant spreading out their advertising dollars between competitors. What had been a really solid weekly, the Portland Phoenix, has never been the same, since. I was reminded of this debacle yet again when I grabbed their year-end “best of” issue at Shaw’s in Freeport. I don’t know why, because it’s been months since I last bothered to pull an issue off the rack, the few times I’ve been able to find it in my travels.

How not to write about food. (Portland Phoenix)

Continue reading →

End or Beginning? (2018 Recap)

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Shit!! I made it through another year!! Barely, on fumes, with my low fuel warning light flashing on my figurative dashboard. But, I’m here at the end of another romp through the Gregorian 12-step.

I’m edging closer to pulling up alongside yet another sad anniversary of losing my only son, maybe the best person I’ve ever known or ever will know. I don’t expect to meet anyone like him again and that’s something impossible to ignore.

Riding shotgun on a two-member team that’s managed to make it through the worst of stretches a life can parcel out, I’ve also weathered abandonment, lies, and the usual failings that humans are genetically predisposed to deliver. Fuck it, though! There’s something celebratory in all this darkness and mourning. At least approaching it in the spirit of the age-old wisdom that co-worker Wilma Delay dispensed back in my Westville Correctional Center days: she told me, “Baumer, sometimes you gotta’ laugh to keep from crying.” I sometimes wonder what became of ole’ Wilma. She always made more work for me with her predisposition to never moving off her sit-stool and more-often-than-not assigning herself the task of setting up the evening’s prisoner’s meds, which meant she had to do little else. Her co-workers picked up the slack. But I believe her heart was in the right place.

I remain flummoxed by the speed that grief allows a grieving person to spiral downward. One minute, you are coping with the shitty stick you’ve been handed and the next, you are contemplating a painless way to end it all. I’m not messing with you. It’s that fucked-up at times. I don’t anticipate it will ever get too much better than that in all honesty.

But again, here we are—another new year goading us into resolutions and pronouncements, sent out into the great unknown. What’s one to do, save for going along, with some remote hope of getting along.

Wrapping up 2018, here are the things and people that helped bring the year to a tolerable close:

  • Books and writers
  • Music
  • A new understanding of family
  • A few true/blue friends
  • Better physical health and the return of some measure of fitness
  • A sense that despite all of the brokenness and tears, Mark’s parents are doing the best we can be doing in terms of honoring his memory.

Continue reading →

Three Minus One for Christmas (Mourning) Mix

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It’s hard to celebrate and feel joy when you’ve lost someone. Because of that, Christmas is an especially hard season for us.

Compounding the sadness of grief and loss for those mourning a loved one’s death during this time of the year is that there is a veneer of cheer and happiness all around. I’m not sure if this a cultural manifestation unique to American holidays seasons like this one, or something else. I’ll let you do the intellectual heft on that. All I know personally is that it’s sometimes too much. This Christmas is a bit better than last year, which was nearly unbearable. Friends and family have made overtures and we’ve been able to be part of this year’s holiday in a way that would have been impossible in 2017.

Back in the 1990s, when I was doing my radio shows on WBOR, 91.1 FM, Brunswick, Maine (a station ID, btw, for the FCC), I loved putting together playlists. Figuring out how to “stack” music and create a mood for three hours (or during those holiday break “marathons” that I’d sign-up for, sometimes lasting six hours or longer) was something I worked hard at. I also loved making mix tapes back then, also. It’s not that long ago, but to explain mix tapes and queuing records to youngsters fixated on the latest passive video game experience is an exercise in futility. I know, I’ve tried.

Fortunately for people like me, who still love radio where disc jockeys get to program their own music, there are still places to find throwbacks to an all-but-disappeared era of over-the-air music. I’ve been grooving on Christmas music that isn’t the usual over-played crap that all the commercial stations have been playing since Thanksgiving. My favorite stop for the past week has been a longtime favorite of mine, WFMU. Whether it’s been rocked-up versions of old holiday standards, or some really weird holiday-themed music (like Culturecide), or big band versions of all the old-time “hits” from the 1930s, 1940s, and 1950s (think Spike Jones and the Maguire Sisters), good ‘ole ‘FMU has supplied variety and a diverse selection.

Parading santas to lighten the mood. (courtesy of Zzzzzzero Hour with Bill Mac on WFMU/Dec. 24, 2018)

Continue reading →

Birthday Blog-Mark 35

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December 19 will forever be Mark’s birthday for me (and his mom). It’s a day that will always be sad now that he’s gone. It once foreshadowed Christmas for his parents. He was the best Christmas gift two young parents could have received far from their families, in Indiana, during that bitterly cold month in 1983.

I posted last year on December 19 and thought I would again this year. This one from when Mark was 31 may be my favorite birthday post. I recall a saying that Mary’s late mom used to share: “Remember the happy times.” I’m holding on to those, today.

Mark was a vegan superhero. (protesting in front of Textron’s headquarters, Providence, RI, in 2016)

December and January have become bookends to a dark period for Mary and me. It’s that “season of anniversaries” that I mention to people I know and who knew Mark. That “sad season” actually commences just prior to Thanksgiving and then, it runs through the anniversary of his death on January 21. I’m not sure that February will ever be a joyous month, either. That is how passing through the landscape of grief, loss, and mourning goes.

Mary’s family has been great. Thanksgiving this year was okay. Spending time in Maine’s western mountains helped. Then, the first weekend in December, we returned to the place where we’ve spent a weekend in early December for years (we couldn’t do it, last year) taking part in the Tarazewich Christmas gathering. I believe this tradition dates back to 2007. Along a lake in tiny village named Woodstock is a “camp” filled with countless memories of Mark. That’s where we first met (and fell in love with) his girlfriend at the time, Gabi. That was the year she’d graduated from Wheaton (Mark was a 2006 graduate). We actually met her for the first time when she stepped out of the car in front of Mary’s sister and brother-in-law’s house. I’m sure it was a bit overwhelming, but she handled it with aplomb.

Memories of Mark are fraught with triggers. I never know what might unleash another torrent of sadness and grief raining down on my head and heart.

An Easter to remember. (Providence, RI, 2009)

We raised our son to be tough and independent in spirit and he cultivated a uniquely optimistic outlook about life and even adversity. I know he didn’t get that from me: probably from Mary.

He took childhood lessons to heart and revamped the curriculum with his own values, mixed with love and compassion, filtered through a poet’s sensibility, with the zaniness of a performance artist. I miss learning new things because of him. He taught me that you’re never too old of a dog to learn new tricks. With Mark, he was always learning. He loved sharing whatever was new with those circulating in his orbit, dispensed with his characteristic gentleness and yes, that wacky humor that at times would make his grumpy dad even grumpier. I’d gladly have him come up behind me and pat me on the head tomorrow, and I wouldn’t complain at all.

Mary and I launched the Mark Baumer Sustainability Fund to honor our wonderful son, the love of our lives. It’s now a 501(c)3 foundation that will live on to honor Mark, and help cultivate traits that were part of his philosophy of life—especially love, kindness, and taking a direct and personal responsibility in building a more gentle and humane world—one that honors and respects all people.

If you knew Mark and want to honor him on his birthday, then think about making a contribution to the Mark Baumer Sustainability Fund.

These are the things we’re about:

A mission-driven nonprofit.

Emotional Music

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I can be going through my day, oblivious to this season’s constant reminders of the second anniversary signposts Mary and I’ll be moving past in December and January. Then, a song comes on the radio, or in the sequencing of CD/album, or a Spotify playlist, and I’ll be wrecked. What is it about certain songs that hit me with the emotional equivalent of a ton of bricks?

Not only does certain music and more specifically, songs, affect me, but hearing people talk about their own loss also triggers emotions. Like several nights last week, driving home from tutoring, and hearing Mark Curdo winding down another day of Markathon on WCYY.

Yo La Tengo plays some amplified Hanukkah tunes. (Brooklyn Vegan photo)

As he closed out each day of fundraising, the later hour meant that the busyness of responding to phone calls and other communication had lessened. The solitude of the hour allowed Curdo to open up and speak about his own experiences with grief, or share his heart about the center’s work and mission to help those moving through the grief journey. One night, it was Curdo talking about Brendon Whitney, the talented Portland rapper (who rapped as Alias) and producer who died unexpectedly last April. Curdo was forthcoming about how his close friend’s death devastated him. Another night and the tears were flowing as I headed south on Route 1, headed for home. Continue reading →