For What I Am Not Going to Vote

 A friend asked me for whom I was voting. I told her my vote was as private as the color of her underwear – no, not really, but that’s what I later thought of having said. Upon reflection, I will tell you what I’m not voting for.  

I’m not voting for a felon to become President of the United States, an office I respect and honor, one whose occupant I was raised to look up to. As I grew older, I came to see the occupants as humans flawed in their ways, but still deserving respect as exemplars of public service, earning respect for shouldering the awesome responsibility of the worst job in the world. I believe, moreover, in the rule of law and cannot countenance a felon in that role.

I’m not voting for a person who objectifies people, as in viewing casualties of war as “suckers”; as in labelling heroes “losers”; as in objecting to the funeral expenses of a murdered US servicewoman, “a fucking Mexican”; as in saying of beautiful women that “When you’re a star . . . you can do anything. You can grab them by the pussy. You can do anything.” As in calling immigrants who have the courage to leave home and struggle to come to America “vermin.”

I’m not voting for a person who admires flagrant autocrats such as Vladimir Putin, Viktor Orban, Kim Jong Un, and Xi Jinping, all of whom are openly hostile to our democratic ideals and to our role in the world.

I’m not voting for a person who views Roy Cohn as a role model; yes, that Roy Cohn: hypocrite, amoral, manipulative, self-absorbed.

I’m not voting for a person who fails to win the respect and allegiance of his staff, people who filled key positions of trust and accountability and who now testify to that person’s lack of trustworthiness and leadership capability.

I’m not voting for a person who is a serial liar, who tells the big lie over and over, as in who won the 2020 election, and little ones again and again, as in whose inaugural crowd was larger, his or his predecessor’s.

I’m not voting for a radical willing to throw over the systems and institutions that have served us rather than, as true conservatives do, work to improve them increment by increment.

. . .

And I suggest you don’t either.   

I Can't Make Up My Alleged Mind . . .

 . . . for whom to vote for President. Should I vote for Shiva Ayyadurai, independent, or for Claudia De la Cruz and Karina Garcia of the Socialism and Liberation Party, or for Crystal Ellis, Independent, or for Rachele Fruit and Dennis Richter of the Socialist Workers Party, or for Kamala Harris and Tim Walz of the Democratic Party, or for Robert Kennedy and Nicole Shannon of the We The People Party, or for Joseph Kishore and Jerry White of the Socialist Equality Party, or for Chase Oliver and Mike ter Maat of the Libertarian Party, or for Jill Stein and Robert Ware of the Green Party, or for Donald Trump and JD Vance of the Republican Party, or for Cornel West and Melina Abdullah of the Justice for All Party? OMG, what to do? 

Perhaps Washington State has carried representative democracy one step too far: we have more candidates than electors! (Twelve.) 

Crystal is a nice name for a President. And I've always liked equality; equality is good, too. 

Oncorhynchus: Latin (?) for hook-nose

The Oncorhynchus have returned, an encore of sorts for the species, though not for the beautiful individuals who struggle to arrive and then die for the cause. 

Don’t we all in our own ways, struggle to survive, to arrive, and die?

Issaquah Fish Hatchery

Last Wednesday, a beautiful Indian summer day, three friends and I visited the Issaquah Fish Hatchery where 16,000 Oncorhynchus – better known as “Chinook” here in the Pacific Northwest where Chinookan was the common language of our First Nations clustered around the Columbia, or “tshawytscha” in a Russian-tainted Lushootseed, the language of Vancouver and Puget Sound, or “black-mouth salmon”, or “Kings” or "Tyee" --

Waiting to move up. These are about 30", 25#'s.

where they were waiting to have eggs stripped and sperm spread in order to start anew their cycle of life and death and renewal. Hundreds more were pooling below the dam and weir, waiting to leap and fight their way upriver. It’s been a strong run this year. These guys left four years ago and now they’ve reappeared like magic. Some will make it over the spillway to freely breed; most will struggle up the ladder and into the hands of men and women dedicated to the species’ survival. Future generations of chinook for future generations of humans to wonder at, to worship, to feast upon, to nurture.

Walk around block milestone

Sunday morning, I had my own survival arrival: my first walk around the block since contracting pneumonia in Carcassonne in May and being hospitalized in Clinic Universidad de Navarra, in Pamplona. That trek up the gentle slope and down again around my little block was a triumph. I didn’t get to shoot sperm at eggs – those days just a distant memory – but no less satisfying. Time is all I have to invest now.

Mt Rainier (I don't put a period after it because it's still alive.) 

Every couple of years we also get wonderful views of lenticular clouds forming over, formed by, actually,  another icon of our region, Mt. Rainier. 

Lenticular Cloud created by Mt Rainier

The highest in the Continental US, but reports The Times, shrinking, as I: I have lost 3 ½ inches; Rainier, 11 feet! Where I stood, on Columbia Crest in 1988 is now no longer Rainier’s highest point. Just as global warming and man’s depredations have taken it out on Chinook, we’ve caused the ice cover on my mountain to shrink and nearly driven our third icon, the Southern Orca, to extinction. (Once you’ve climbed Mt. Rainier, it becomes “my mountain.” Cameron’s and Grant’s Dad, Rob Janes, crested it six times!)

Extinction

My line, The Wallers, who migrated to New England in the 17thC, is nearly going extinct, too. Only one Waller grandson and his mate can extend the name. I don’t mean to put on pressure; the Waller and Taylor genes flow on in Stoners, Helms, Dorseys, O'Donnells, and in great-granddaughter Wallers. And Ancestry keeps reporting that they’ve found 2^nd and 4^th and 6^th cousins I’ve never even heard of. Who knows how far the tangles of our DNA stretch?   

Boeing, Starbucks, REI

That plant in front of Rainier and its lid is where the infamous Boeing 737 Maxes are assembled, on the shore of Lake Washington. Boeing is the fourth icon of the Puget Sound region, badly wounded by mis-management and its Board of Directors' feckless lack of accountability. (See May 27th, below.) 

Boeing is not alone: Seattle icons Starbucks and REI have hit rough patches, too. But nobody has yet been killed by a latte or a merino tee.

Microsofties are still transcendent.

New aquarium and waterfront park. New glass.

Seattle is getting a new waterfront and a new aquarium addition. And for my recent birthday, I gave my self a new piece of glass by Preston Singletary, one of the Tlinglit people: his take on Oncorhynchus, no less – just to close the loop on this rambling rumination. 

Salmon Chief by Preston Singletary

So, ‘til next time, that’s all from the Northwest for today.

PS: Tap a picture to see it larger.

Illness and Age: Happy Birthday, Fletch; Happy Birthday

 All my life I have been chided to “act your age.” Born on a September 11^th, I was always the youngest in my class. By the blessings of Taylor and Waller genes, I have been youthfully limber and have a relatively flat belly; while not much of an athlete, I had good reflexes and agility; and I still enjoy a Taylor, full head of hair. So, I've grown accustomed to being seen as “youthful.”  But since having contracted pneumonia in May, making a very slow recovery, and having turned 90 this September, I suddenly seem to be doing it – acting my age, that is -- and it’s the shits.

The symptoms are increased wobbliness – I’m using a walking stick on occasion, which belies youthfulness and exposes the new nonagenarian.  The legs get heavy and breath very short upon the least exertion. Suddenly, I am acting my age indeed. As a nurse friend of Ann's counseled her, "recognize that he has a 90-year-old heart in a 90-year-old body." Thanks. Happy Birthday.

l to r: I, Ella J., Tonya A., Amy S., Corriell S.,
Jeff S., Steve W., Grant J. 

Four Grandkids: Max, Ella, Molly, and Corriell.
The other five were in France, Toronto, Brooklyn, Midland, and Rochester

The Clan Rapt (?) by Fletch's Version of Sinatra's
It Was a Very Good Year

Ann organized a wonderful, family birthday celebration – eighteen of us. Ann is my strength. Ann and I are still seeking answers. What has caused this sudden change in Fletch? What, if anything, can be done to re-build his balance and stamina? And most important, how regain confidence that we can go, we can be, we can do?

Do what? Go to summer school at Cambridge again next summer; take another OAT trip, perhaps to Aquitaine or to Normandy and Brittany or perhaps a Road Scholar outing to Germany; get back to weightlifting and walking in the woods near our home; finishing the marble bas-relief, The Cellist; snowshoeing once more in Sun Valley.  

Oh, I’m still mentally active, reading voraciously, giving Olympic Club talks. writing and volunteering for Pratt; working on the profile and history of the Chamber Society. What I’m not doing, though, is being physically active and on the go. While it’s distressing, . . .

. . .this, too, will pass.

Happy Birthday, Citizen Carter; Happy Birthday

Had James Earl Carter not been President, we’d still be reading today that a remarkable American has become a centenarian.

This young man from tiny Plains, Georgia aspired to stretch out into the world while staying rooted in cotton and peanut country. 1n 1942, he appealed to Georgia Congressman Stephen Pace for appointment to The US Naval Academy (which Ann and I visited last year with my niece and nephew and their spouses) and was graduated with distinction in 1946. After two years on surface ships, he applied for submarine duty, serving as electronics officer dealing with a new SONAR array development. He rose to become engineering officer, and eventually Exec Officer of SSK-1, the Barracuda.

Later, when nuclear sub development was undertaken, Carter sought entry, was interviewed and selected by then-captain Hymen Rickover, and was assigned to the Naval Reactor Branch of the Atomic Energy Commission to assist “in the design and development of nuclear propulsion plants for naval vessels.” (Carter joined in November of ’52; my Dad had left the AEC that previous June.)  

Carter was slated to become engineering officer on the Seawolf, one of the first nuclear subs. But in summer of ’53, his father died, leaving a struggling peanut farm. Lieutenant Jimmy Carter resigned to attend to family affairs and returned to Plains. In ’46, he and Rosalynn Smith, another Plains born and bred, had married. Now in civilian lives, Jimmy studied agronomy and Rosalynn studied finance and accounting; he grew and harvested, she managed the books. It was a partnership that lasted.

Jimmy and Rosalynn became stalwarts of the local Baptist Church, where Jimmy taught Sunday School over decades, well into the 21^stC. Along the way, he

·       `` Revitalized his family peanut business.

·       `` Served as chair of the Sumpter County school board.

·       `` Gradually became a committed civil rights activist and an anti-segregationist Democrat.

·       `` Was elected to the Georgia Senate after successfully challenging a fraudulent election and winning the     court-ordered re-election.

·       `` Ran for and became Governor of Georgia, defeating Republican and Democratic segregationists.

·       `` As Governor Carter, he re-designed state government, consolidating over 300 separate departments        into 22, created youth development programs, education programs for the incarcerated, and equalized    state support for education between rural and urban areas.

·       `` Helped found, fund and promote Habitat for Humanity.

·       `` Fought for just and fair democratic elections elsewhere and formed a process for monitoring and            reporting on foreign elections, especially in Africa and South and Central America.

·        `` Wrote twenty-two books, one jointly with Rosalynn Carter (about which both said with a laugh that       they’d never make that mistake again.)

Of course, Jimmy Carter did become our 39^th President, a presidency buffeted by Iranian revolutionary hostage-takers, OPEC’s embargo-inflation, born-again Christian idealism, and implacable Republican, real-politik hostility. (Barbara and I took our eldest, Frank, to Washington and stood on the white House lawn to see Carter greet Prime Minister Morarji Desai.) 

And, as an ex-President, Carter made the most of opportunities to play an elder statesman role on the world stage.

Happy Birthday, Citizen Carter; Happy Birthday.