Thursday's Olympic Talk -- Don't Crow, Democrats, Don't Crow

A commentator on air this morning said yesterday's election results spell the "extinction of MAGA." In my  view, just the opposite is true. 

MAGAs may hunker down and hide, but white male MAGA's resentments nay only worsen. 

Resentment of elites' disdain. Resentment of urban vakues over those of rural and small towns. Rsentment of disrespect, of being ignored. Resentment of women in power. 

These results only exacerbate MAGA's resentments and their sense of being left out. And such resentments give fuel to populists and would-be authortarians. Populists and charismatic men with easy answers will burn that fuel.

The challenge for Democrats will be to fix things in ways that respond to MAGA complaints. 

• How do you address health care costs while being MAGA sensitive? By funding rural hospitals and expanding medicaid in the name of Christian, Bhuddist, and Muslim oblication to care for the needy. 
• How do you deal with corruption? By passing legislation that prohibits stock trading by public officials and mandating they put all their assets in blind trusts; by probiting Federal no-bid contracts.
• How do you deal with being denied a voice? By banishing Executive Orders. By protecting the filibuster. 
• How do you deal with their feeling of not being heard? Of being dissed? By forming advisory committees; by holding not rallies but listening sessions, aka town halls, where speakers are the community and the senator or representative is the audience. By facilitating unionization. By underscoring in actions and not just talk, the rule of law. 
• Indict and try corporate leaders and bankers who transgress; who cause harm to the environment, to children, to students, to the elderly. Put a Chinese Wall between the Dept. of Justice and the Executive.
• How do you deal with affodability? By rasserting control of tariffs and putting the Dept. of Commerce and Executive Branch into an advisory role. Restore SNAP. Focus on costs that effect both urban and rural households: foremost, energy -- heating oil, electricity, gasoline, diesel. 

And don't crow. Make MAGA reduction, Democrats, an equal priority to your solution of socio-economic problems.

My 17th Mid-term

Finally! Election Day. Release from all the polls, predictions of results, the horrors unleashed if so-and-so is elected and the disasters to befall us if so-and-so is not returned to office. The hysteria, the crassness, the mean-girl nastiness of this mid-term hasn’t been seen since the first half of the 19^thC. (and no, while I am old I don’t go back quite that far. I read avidly of it.) The worst of it, from the President of the United States down, legitimizes religious bigotry. Don’t we have a right to expect more from POTUS? Where, oh where is Jed Bartlet when we need him?

The first mid-term in which I was qualified to vote was 1958 (yes, I are old,) during the Eisenhower administration. Ike was getting old; the recession of ’57-’58 wounded Republican candidates; right-to-work anti-union laws were a hot issue; and Sputnik had just put a dent in America’s self-confidence. I do remember all of that. Democrats gained 49 seats in Congress and 15 in the Senate – OMG, wouldn’t the Democrats kill for that outcome today!

But truth to tell, I didn’t vote in the ’58 mid-term; I was in basic training (MOS: auto mechanic. What can I say? Army logic) I had failed to apply for an absentee ballot, besides which I was a resident of no state. So, the first mid-term in which I voted was ’62, as a resident of Minnesota.

The big issues going into the '62 mid-term were the recession of ‘60-’61 and the Republican and Southern Democratic Representatives slow-walking Kennedy’s New Frontier and civil rights initiatives. He was getting nowhere. But on October 22, just 15 days before the election, we learned the Soviets were installing missiles in Cub-er; the airwaves talked of nothing else. Though the crisis was de-fused by Kruschev on the 28^th, the election on Nov 6^th became singularly a vote of confidence on Kennedy’s foreign policy chops.

Today’s mid-term is my 17^th. We are by far at our most polarized, most disrespectful of one another, most crass and vulgar of any of the others.

“Most important in your lifetime!” screamed over and over. What I wish for is a mid-term NOT the most important in my lifetime. And perhaps for a return to gathering with neighbors in the middle school, checking in with Nancy Ericsson, keeper of the voter roll, being given a paper ballot, stepping into a booth, closing the curtain, filling or punching it out, and being given an “I VOTED” label to stick on one’s jacket. And for seeing xxxx who we see at school board candidate meet and greets: "that dope. I know who he'll vote for. Idiot." ("Dope" and "idiot" are neither vulgar nor bigotry, though I admit somewhat disrespectful.)

I voted by mail, legally -- for in Washington State we have no other choice. We vote only by mail on all elections, from Presidential down to town council. Trump signed an Executive Order making voting by mail illegal, Too bad, Donald, you don't get a vote here, by mail in or person.

In pre-mail days, I often was greeted by shy Nancy, a brilliant Vassar and Chicago-trained physiologist, married to Lowell Ericsson, our equally shy precinct Capt., both deeply eager to get everyone, regardless of party, to exercise their franchise. They had faith in our Democratic-Republic. Some among us have lost that faith and begun to embrace the less stressful path of abdicating responsibility and delegating it all to some guy who has all the answers; it’s happening all over the world.

Perhaps today’s turnout will restore some of that Ericsson energy, commitment, and confidence in our system. Perhaps. I hope high turnout is not driven by hatreds but, rather, by serious concerns and awareness that we need in Congress good, thoughtful people of decency and common sense. I hope.

Where Did Halloween Come From and Where Has It Gone?

I awoke as usual aroung 4:00 and could see out our four picture windows that we were enshrouded in fog. Appropriate for Halloween, spooky and dark. So where is Bela Lugosi? 

'Tis the night before All Hallows Day or, in these modern times, all Saints Day. A hallow in early English was a holy person.

The end of harvest season, the earlier onset of darkness, the failing of the light, the symbolic delineation ‘tween life and death, seemed to Celts and Romans the right time to commemorated their dead. Thus, the end of October morphed into two days of remembrance and paying honor, one for dead saints, one for the dead souls of the unsaintly like us. All Saints Day. All Souls Day. Further South, it’s Dias de los Muertos, the Days of the Dead, hence ghosts and skeletons and skulls, oh my.

And so, as darkness gathers, the evening of the day before All Hallows Day, today, becomes hallow’s eve – Halloween. In the Middle Ages in Europe, the indigent would beg for food on this day, offering in compensation to pray to the household’s saints and for their dead. And soon came masks to obscure the identity of the supplicants.

This morning’s fog brought to mind SeaTac and my days of business travel. They couldn't have picked, said my associate John Calhoun, a foggier spot in King County on which to build an airport. According to climatological records, in  November and December Seattle fogs up only two days a month on average. That can’t be right; I ran into foggy November morns a couple of times a week, it seems. At least that’s my recollection of trying to fly out of Seattle to LA or Chicago or Hong Kong or Seoul. “We’ll load up and take off as soon as it clears” said the chipper gate agent, “don’t go far.”

So that explains all the symbolism and masks and costumes, but tricks? Where in hell did tricks come from? If a Medieval household did not respond, did not give alms or food, it would be bedeviled, that is, cursed and tormented. Trickery afflicted the stingy.

When I was a kid in the 1940’s (yes, I are old) we did tricks. Soaped windows. Rang doorbells and ran. Elaborately, I would notch the rim of one of Mom’s empty thread spools, rap string around the spool; use a 10-penny nail as an axle, and holding the spool against a window pane, pull the string hard thus spinning the ratcheted spool against the glass and making a hell of a racket. Then run like hell.

Our tricks were tame compared to the earlier generation’s. Dad recalled dismantling a Model T and re-building it atop its garage. Tipping over outhouses. Using purloined dynamite caps to derail the rickety trolly car that ran along Booth Bay Harbor.

A few years back, we occasionally saw TP'ing trees, but even that appears to have faded away. Today’s kids seem focused solely on treats. They offer blank looks when asked what tricks they threaten. Sugar and chocolate prevail. Thus has Western civilization become enfeebled. Alas!

Today, here, Halloween is just a commercial opportunity. (By contrast, in Mexico, especially rural Mexico, families still spend this night picnicking by candlelight on the graves of departed loved ones.)

Costumes and masks and candy are big business. Tariff-inflation and climate-change chocolate prices have hit; candy sales are off 7%. Costume sales appear just slightly off; I guess moms and kids just love dressing up. Ann is offering salty snacks, (she always knows better than you what is good for you) bags of Cheetos and Fritos and potato chips. No wonder we get so few neighborhood kids.

I carved a neat pumpkin this year, one of peeled translucent areas the light shines through. Still lots of meat left from which we make pumpkin pie and Jack-o-lantern Soup.

So, here I am – a foggy Halloween. I wish some kid will soap our windows.

Olympic Talk -- Maturity or Immaturity -- Which Do You Choose?

Olympic Talk 10/29/26

(These are eight-minute speeches that, were I still delivering talks at the Olympic Club on Thursdays, I might have given. My public speaking skills are deteriorating: my voice is reedy and flat, my gestures wooden and unconvincing. But I still like scripting speeches and have things to say. So, in my dotage . . . call me Speechwriter.)

Maturity or Immaturity: Which Do You Choose?

Last night Ann and I went to the Opera to watch Salome have John the Baptist beheaded. And then, to give his head a big, wet kiss. It was a Richard Strauss Opera – all recitative and in German, to boot; nothing lyric about it. You don't go home from a Strauss opera whistling a melody.

The Oscar Wilde version of the tale from the Books of Mark and Matthew, is dramatic: a pubescent teen teetering on the brink of adulthood, pursued by lecherous Herod the Great, her stepfather; obsessed with John whom Herod has incarcerated, wielding her royal position and new found sexual power to wreak vengeance on John for . . . for not looking at her. She hates John; she is obsessed with John; she loves John. She demands his head on a silver platter and King Herod complies. A story of inability to control impulses, of teen-age ego-centrism, of immaturity encased in a mature body.

How do we judge maturity? When we say someone is immature on what do we base our judgement? Physical traits of course; does she or he show body development that makes us think “infant” or “child” or “teen” or “adult?” Salome (of the seven veils) is fully adult on this standard.

But on judgement and behavior? She is clearly immature, unable to reason, unable to control her impulses, acting out utter, unreasoned vengeance for an imagined slight.

What behaviors are generally seen as immature? Tantrums, of course. One of my grandsons is a clinical family therapist. He, thinks I am overly self-controlled and recommends that I have a tantrum once in a while:  lay on the floor, kick my feet, hold my breath until I turn blue, scream. In my decrepit state, by the time I struggled to get down onto the floor the need would have long passed, And scream? Me? These ancient vocal cords would twang in two.

But if I did throw a tantrum, would you not say "OMG, how immature?" Same with losing one's temper. What would you say if were to become so outraged here at the Olympic Club that I threw a ketchup-laden hamburger against dining room wall? How mature would that be?

Is seeking revenge for disappointment, for a minor slight, is hounding a person, mounting a vendetta against a group, or trashing a whole nation with vulgarity, is that rational behavior of a mature man or more than a bit irrational?

Is compulsively telling fibs the behavior of a mature person or a sign of irrational immaturity?

The ability to postpone gratification, to act appropriately is used in tests of maturity. A rational, mature person can reason, can choose to wait for a better time or for a more appropriate way, or to accept frustration while the immature man-child may not be able to control his  impulses. He wants it now! He wants his own. He wants it all and doesn't care how it looks to others. Why is it among the first words a toddler learns is "mine"? "Mine, mine!"

The immature often lack self-confidence. They often plaster over their lack of confidence with tough talk, violent and vulgar language, bullying, and – of course – getting others to echo their fibs and tough talk.

Age can impact mature judgement and action. In Cincinnati, I worked a few years for a family of brothers who were headed by the eldest, in his late-seventies. As we encountered problems, he would became increasingly erratic, child-like, immaturely insisting his was the only way. And yes, he threw tantrums – and even, once an ashtray, at one of his brothers. When admonished: "Albert, don't get angry" he responded gravely, pounding the conference table on every word, "I am not angry; I am merely, … being …  emphatic."

~~~~~

So, to the question: maturity or immaturity – which do you favor? In whom, the man or the man-child, the mature or the immature, do you place your trust? Which would you choose as investment manager? Which would you choose as God father of your child? Whom do you choose as leader? Whom do you choose to follow?   

The Rains Have Returned

 

The rains have arrived.

They are late this year.

Time for cocooning by the fire,

with Dvorak sonatas,

woolens, Kinda Blue,

Bill Evans and Monk,

a hot toddy,

and you.

 

This morning, I awoke as usual around four. Raindrops on the roof made the Johnny-call all the more urgent. The rains and grays apparently have arrived. For some of us Seattleites, those with a touch of melancholy in our soul, t'is time to woolen-up and settle-in.

For others, Sun-yearners, those drops on the roof signal time to flee to the tennis courts and greens of the desert. That’s how Barb and I wound up owning a home in Medina and a townhouse on a seventh fairway in Palm Desert.

Our seasonal separations surfaced more basic incompatibilities; the divorce followed a few years later. After the pain numbed, it all worked out. She found sun-loving companions; I found Ann.

By the fire and in the early dark. time to borrow into a book or better, into an author’s series of tales that take one away. That’s why Seattle is annually #1 in US per capita book sales. My current escape has been Anthony Trollope’s Palliser Novels, often called his Parliamentary Series.

It was Karen Lane, that remarkable Francophile, my successor as President of the Horizon House Board, who mentioned being in an Anthony Trollope reading club. Trollope! 1860s! That old fossil? “Yes, try him. He’s wickedly funny and cynical, and ever so pertinent today.” In high school English, I had been made to read Trollope’s Barchester Towers; what a drag, as bad to callow teens as Moby Dick.

A couple of years ago, I re-read Moby Dick: what a delight! Earlier this year, I found Barchester Towers listed in the Kindle library. In deference to and in memory of Karen, I thought perhaps it’s time, these three-quarters of a century later. Again, what a delightful revelation! This wickedly funny and cynical tale of the politicking in a CofE bishopric, the back-biting and lobbying and editorializing over the selection of a new Bishop for Barchester is as relevant to todays party politics (or university politics or corporate politics) as if written last week. My high school English teacher was right in literary judgment though in error when judging the capacity of teenage males. Karen was also right, and I’ve become a Trollope roadie.

So, suffer my ruminations as the rains, delayed no doubt by El Niño, finally return to our Pacific Northwest. Bundle up, light the fire, and find a good book. And don't fprget the toddy.

The Pungency, The Poignancy of Memory

I am not attending the Olympic Club these days, my luncheon speakers’ club, even though my mobility has improved enough to enable me to do so. I’m not sure I know why I have opted out. Today, a Thursday, brings my choice to mind because this is the weekly meeting day of the Olympic Club.

I don’t miss giving speeches. My public speaking skills have deteriorated over time; as with so many things, I must ruefully acknowledge that I am not so good as once I was. My gestures are stiff and unconvincing; my voice reedy and flat, without inflection. 

But, still, I have things to say and I enjoy the discipline of keeping a speech to eight minutes, (OK, truth be told: that always was hard for me to do. More often than not, I overran my time and suffered the time-keeper’s clanging censure.)

This morning I awoke with this notion: why not retreat and become a speech-writer? Prepare and script an eight-minute speech and post it on Northwest Ruminations? So, here is the first of what may become a Thursday feature on NWR: Olympic Talks.

Olympians: if these scripts trigger thoughts you'd like to use, feel free. Or, if you'd simply like to deliver one of these as practice for reading a speech (itself a skill to be practiced) or to lift parts of one, I'd be honored. Feel free.

 Olympic Tallks, 10/22/26

The Poignancy, The  Pungency of Memory

My purpose, in this talk, is to get you to reflect on the power of memory.

I had stayed overnight at Peter’s after another late-night, Senior-bash, still celebrating our graduation from Sidwell. It was a warm, bright Bethesda morning, the kind of morning that forewarns Washingtonians that it will be a scorcher. Peter and I saddled up his old Plymouth coupe and drove over to Chevy Chase to call on Mary -- his girl, my dear friend, our classmate Mary.  

Our plan -- no, a mere notion -- was to drive around a bit and hang out and see what the day revealed. Perhaps we’d pick up Barb, my girl, also a Chevy Chaser. I had never before been to Mary’s, so was more than a bit awed as Peter pulled up before an imposing brick Colonial Revival home, tall and stately, just the sort a decorated Rear Admiral might own seven years after the War.

A somber gentleman answered the door. He politely but firmly turned us away. “The family has suffered a tragic event” said he “and is unable to receive visitors. Thank you for coming.”  I still don’t know who he was; a friend of family? Perhaps from the Navy Dept.? Perhaps a funeral-home person? He was firmly tight-lipped about the “event.”

We soon pieced together that Peter and I had arrived about an hour after they had scraped up the Admiral’s body from the drive out back of the house beneath the third-story window out of which the Admiral had dived headlong: another belated casualty of WWII.

We now call such PTSD, a glib, too-comfortable label we’ve used to paper over tragedy, as if by naming it, we’ve denied it wrenching at our gut. 

End of summer: we callow teens went our ways, I to HamiltoSn, Mary to Smith, Peter to Princeton, Barb to Skidmore. Mary was not invited to Barb's and my wedding. By then, she had dropped away from our circle. I never saw Mary again.

But the chagrin of arriving at the wrong place at the wrong time has never left me. The feeling of shameful inadequacy, the somber firmness of the man at the door; the warmth of the sun, the sound of the Plymouth; these details and images I cannot leave behind. They haunt me to this day. I trust they always will.

This was my first confrontation with the reality of Loss. Of Grief. Yet there was no confrontation; it was all second-hand. Pungeant, none-the-less. I would have to wait years to own grief and loss of my own.

Do childhood or teenage memories haunt you? Are they pungent? Are they poignant? Do you treasure them or wish to be rid of them? Do they come unbidden from a secret somewhere mysteriously triggered by an unknown what?

~~~~

I live in a house made of memory. A house furnished with hidden triggers. Don't you? Do not we all?

"Vintage Nature"

I just ran into this phrase on a retail web site I was visiting:

Please note that due to their vintage nature, some items may exhibit charming signs of age and gentle wear, adding to their unique character.

If the shoe fits, Fletch, wear it.

Taking the Gloves Off -- An Open Letter to the Clan

To the clan, all 41 of us:

For years in these Northwest Ruminations, I have pulled my punches so as not to offend the true believer among us, the true believer in the Apostle’s Creed or Trump or Evangelism or whatever. And I have sought not to offend those who do not like being lectured to (which includes all of us.)

But tonight, on this eve of finishing my 92^nd lap around the sun, and being elder of the clan, our current nonagenarian, I will take off self-constraints and tell you candidly what concerns me about us and this society that now belongs to you and your offsprings. And I will presume to tell you what you should do.

I’m not thinking about matters like global warming but, rather, about us as citizens of this 400-year-old experiment. Right now, it seems to me that we are f*****g up our system so badly (fouling, fiddling, FUBARing, use your own f word) that I am beginning to doubt Madison’s rebuttal – Federalist #10 -- to the argument that a democratic-republic cannot work in a large, dispersed, heterogeneous community. I still have hope that it can – and will again. I will tell you what I think you should do.

My first concern: we Americans have become crude and inured to behavior that would have drawn censure from my mother and probably yours. We turn a blind eye to vulgar flaunting of wealth, to seeking unethical advantage, to telling jokes about immigrants and anyone considered “other”, to turning away from people in need, to naked greed, to selfishness, to gratuitous violence – all too often committed by people who flaunt their Christianity -- too often, faux “Christianity.” For God's sake, let's all of us clean up our acts.

It is community we have turned our backs upon. In our exalting individual freedom, you and I have eroded our sense of and commitment to community; we have let self trump community. Time to re-build your community, however you constitute it. Get involved; take on a responsibility; volunteer to a committee, whatever.

Second, our understanding of the Declaration of Independence is scanty, at best. Thomas Jefferson’s sacred words in the declaration’s second paragraph, backed up by John Adams, Benjamin Franklin, Robert Livingston, and Roger Sherman representing defferent political views and values, are not mere cant but, rather, are directions. “All men are created equal” means that all must be respected and treated equally by us and all must be given equal opportunity to pursue their “safety and happiness.”

Next, I am concerned about how little is known of, and attention is paid to, The United Nation’s Universal Declaration of Human Rights, the crowning work of Eleanor Roosevelt (and a notable Cold War defeat for the Soviets.) We are a signatory to it, yet we have dishonored it again and again since 1948. It’s time to renew our commitment to it’s principals by adopting its articles as the platform of a pacificatory, progressive party. (Go and read it here.)

Next, I am concerned about our knowledge of and respect for history, ours and other countries’. From both there is much to be learned about evolving relations between citizens and their government.  Why did the Weimar Republic collapse? Why do ’cracies’ arise again and again: like Aristocracy? Autocracy? Kleptocracy? Have Democracies ever been made to work? (And don’t tell me about Athens: Athens, where women citizens were not even allowed in the Bouleuterion or to appear in court, much less to vote. Meanwhile, slaves cleaned, cooked and served Athenians their meals.)

We also must pay attention to current affairs; what can be learned from watching Erdogan, Magyar, Putin, Modi, General Sisi, Netanyahoo? (The pun is intended.) It’s a rare autocrat who has his/her people’s welfare at heart; perhaps Ataturk was one such, maybe mis-guided Netanyahoo. But history tells of the many others who were clearly lusting for power, as were Hitler and Stalin. Others sought to build Empires by annexing or conquering territory and imposing his or her governance, as did Napoleon and the Great Khan. Yet others had their own welfare at heart: riches, advantages for himself, family, and sycophants: the amoral kleptocrat model we see in charge here today.

Of course, the worst of all would be an egomaniacal, empire-building, narcissistic, kleptocrat desperate for adulation, and lusting after power and Greenland.   

History and current events teach that rule of law for all is one's protection from such ‘cracies.’ but only if the independence of the courts is protected. If the ‘crat’, the autocrat or kleptocrat or even the democrat, enjoys an overwhelming majority in the legislature, that majority can and likely would alter and weaken the courts which are proving to be our guardians. The lower courts, that is; we have a Chief Justice willing to emasculate the lower courts in his career-long quest to legitimize a Unitary Presidency. May this, too, pass.

We must have a balance of views in a legislature; no one has a monopoly on best policies, on the correct political view. Don’t just vote the label; look at the character of the candidate seeking your endorsement and your entitlement. Be a Gamaliel of moderation and respect for the law.

We need to exult Cincinnatus, teach his example, and search for another such as him or her among our party leaders. Vance or Rubio ain’t it; Newsome or Sanders aren’t it. Maybe Whitmer or Moore? Rahm Emmanuel, as attractive as he is, istoo angry to model Cincinnatus. Perhaps my man Corey Booker? Maybe.

We must remind ourselves and these faux Christians among us that He taught us to welcome the stranger.  This means the immigrant and asylum-seeker.  And how else to bolster the population and our labor force? Encouraging women to become home-makers and baby-makers may be denying us 50% of the nation’s brain power and productivity -- and isn't going to replenish our labor force. Remind yourself where your grandparents and great-grands were born.

Universal day care/preschool would release from home detention those women among that 50% who want to work and raise a family. Universal day care and preschool enriches children lives and prepares them for learning and for collaboration in our society. For becoming educated. Support enrollment in the Dolly Parton Imagination Library and in TK programs. (Don’t know what they are? Look them up here and here.)

With regard to education: are you educated? Have you read or are familiar with Sophocles’ Oedipus Rex; with Steinbeck’s East of Eden?  Fathers and sons: I think there are only nine stories of which Fathers and Sons is but one. Others are Road Trip (The Odyssey – I found the Fagels translation the most accessible, Kerouac’s On the Road, Tolkien’s Lord of the Ring); Love (Romeo and Juliet, Maugham’s Of Human Bondage, Pasternak’s Dr. Zhivago); War (Caputo’s A Rumor of War, Homer’s The Iliad, Crane’s The Red Badge of Courage, Tolstoy’s War and Peace); Inanity of Life (Carroll’s Alice in Wonderland, Heller’s Catch 22); Courage in Defeat (Hemingway’s For Whom The Bell Tolls, Heminway’s Old Man and the Sea, The Book of Job); Aging (Shakespeare’s King Lear, Stegner’s Crossing to Safety); Compulsion (Melville’s Moby Dick; Dostoevsky’s Crime and Punishment); Origins (Fuente’s Terra Nostra, The Book of Genesis, Silko’s Ceremony). Of course, the best of these fit into more than one category. If you haven’t read them, read them.

With AI taking on an increasing role in analysis and writing and coding, we’re going to need more philosophy and history majors asking why? Where do we want to go? And where have we been? We need to nominate and elect more senators like Patrick Daniel Moynihan, willing to work in either D or R administrations, to challenge and improve effectiveness, And we need more Richard Fenymans to ask the dumb or unaskable question. Ask the unaskable question of your Congressperson or at the next caucus.

We must restore and protect a level playing field in our political-economic system. Remember, even Adam Smith (not my congressman but the Scottish master of political-economy [what they called economics in those days.]) Even he, of Wealth of Nations and the Invisible Hand, called for government regulation of competition lest monopolists jigger the system and create uneven playing fields. Milton Friedman should have read Smith more carefully.

Well, I’m getting pretty heavy. I need to lighten up – Oh, and, yes, we need comedians to open our minds, perhaps even to lead us (Al Franken? Volodymyr Zelenski? Bill Maher? Dave Barry? The Monty Pythons? Why is it so many more comedians come to mind than politicians?)

Remember also that Progressive is not a dirty word. It was first popularized by TR, a Republican. And Conservative is not, either; it means honoring the institutions that got us here and protecting and sustaining our core values. By those definitions, I am a liberal conservative democratic-republican. But be wary of simplistic labels.

Also, be wary of religions, which too often come to believe they guard the truth, the correct way. Follow whom you will: the Buddha, or Jesus of Nazareth, or Muhammad, or Aristotle, or Zoroaster, or Johanan ben Zakkai, or Adi Shankaracharya or whomever teacher you choose -- but don’t follow religions. For myself, I do not believe in the Apostle's Creed; therefore, I am not a Christian. Perhaps an agnostic fellow-traveller is a better descriptor.

Welcome and worry over the artist; what is s/he trying to say to us, to get us to see? Better yet, express yourself in art as many of us already do. The joy of expressing yourself in art – whether designing jewelry or painting or drawing or making prints or sculpting – is a balm in these rash and raucous times.

Well, It’s getting close to my bedtime, so the old gentleman will close by presuming to tell you what to do (as I warned you at the beginning and despite you don’t like being so told:

•        Value (and willingly pay your taxes for) education, especially of the very young, and of adults who         think they are finished with school.
•         Welcome the stranger.
•         Value diversity; tolerate it even when it makes you uncomfortable.
•         Be wary of organized religions.
•         Behave in ways your Mom and Miss Manners would approve.
•         Visit and ponder over a history museum and an art museum.
•         Believe that all men and women are created equal and do as that belief demands of you.
•         Value the Universal Declaration of Human Rights.
•        Value marriage vows. Not married? Treat your partner as though you were (and behave toward s/he in     ways Miss Manners would approve.)
•        Believe that a "Democratic Republic is grounded on the sovereignty of the people” as John Ferland   says; and remember: we’re in charge. Vote.
•        And, especially, laugh. Don’t forget to laugh.

Good night.

“God bless us, everyone!”

C E Taylor

These sunny days on the patio with the sun fading southward somehow reminded me of my Grandparent’s place, Elhedo Lodge on Lake Moraine, near Hamilton, NY. I spent much of a sleepless last night thinking of Granddad C E Taylor. He used to tell visitors the lodge’s name was Onondagan, meaning welcome (but sometimes “in peace” crept into it; it varied from telling to telling.) None of which was true. The lodge was named for their daughters: my mother Eleanor, Aunt Helen, and Aunt Dorothy.

This was just one of CE’s many fibs and pranks and stunts. Like once a month playing 26 games of chess simultaneously at the St. Petersburgh Lawn Bowling Club. Or, at the St. Louis Worlds Fair, by stepping into and posing in a Madam Tussaud wax figure exhibit -- until an alarmed customer spotted the imposture and called the cops. Or, at the Chicago Columbian Exposition of 1906, by pretending to print paper blanks into $5 bills from a hand-cranked, pocket printer. Real $5s were hidden in the roller, so he was, in fact, legal. This time, it was a storekeeper who called the cops.

My Grandparents settled in Earlville, in the Mohawk Valley of upstate New York. The village had a circular, bandstand park in the middle of town. CE, having been apprenticed to a blacksmith, a professional carriage horse trainer, and then obsoleted by the adoption of the automobile, opened the town’s first car dealership, around 1906. He would take one of his Franklins, set the choke or spark or whatever, set the steering wheel, put the car in gear, and step out, leaving the car all day circling the park on its own at 2 or so mph. That got villagers talking about Franklins and, shaking their heads with a wry smirk, about “that there CE.”

CE occasioned much scoffing in 1919 after the local paper reported that he had gone to Norwich and paid an outlandish $25 for a ride in a barnstorming WWI aeroplane. The next Friday, a bi-plane circled over the village, coming lower and lower apparently preparing to land in a meadow just east of town. Everyone rushed out to see the plane. And there was CE in a ticket booth selling 20-minute rides for $5. The plane rides continued Friday through Sunday. Sunday evening, CE and the pilot split their considerable take and the aeroplane flew off to home.

Autos and airplanes came, but CE never lost his love of horses, his tandem and pair rigs, and especially harness races with their trotters and pacers towing satellite sulkies. Grandpa took me to my first horse races, harness races at Vernon Downs. Bewitchingly beautiful -- but CE wouldn't let me bet: "Your Grandma would skin me alive if she learned I taught a grandson to bet on the ponies." 

Granddad wrote and published short stories in magazines such as Field and Stream and Outdoor Life. Mainly, stories about his beloved hounds and retrievers.

CE inspired us, The Super Seven cousins, to pursue our curiosity, to use our imagination, to find the humor. He loved adventure tales. CE introduced me to Richard Burton's books which eventually led to The Seven Pillars of Wisdom and, perhaps, to my propensity to fall in love with the likes of Bilbo Baggins and Frodo and all the rest; with Capt. Aubrey and Dr. Maturin; with Luke Skywalker and the Force. CE always had a full head of hair, an outrageous sweet tooth, and a pocket full of butterscotches or horhounds. 

CE created a rich and full life for his beloved Alice and for the rest of us until a broken hip took him off at age 90. Foks tell me I favor him, and so I try to do.

Hatreds May Fade Away But They Never Die

Yesterday was the 30^th anniversary of the massacre of Srebrenica. It passed with no apparent notice here, though there probably were in Bosnian neighborhoods of St, Louis, Chicago, Toronto, Utica, and elsewhere in the Bosnian diaspora. Some say 8,6000; others, 10,000 Muslim Bošnjaci were systematically assassinated, rank after rank, by Serbian Orthodox troops under command of a fellow, but Serbian Orthodox, Bosniak, General Ratko Mladić. Mladić also commanded Serbian troops during the siege of Sarajevo.

Also yesterday, appropriately, came word that General Ratko (isn’t that the right name for such as him?) Mladić, 83, had died while still imprisoned in the Hague. Mladić, hiding in rural Serbia, was captured in 2011 by Serbian security forces (at that time, Serbia was seeking admittance to the EU, and needed to be seen as reformed  – but is still awaiting admittance.) He was tried by the United Nations’ International Criminal Tribunal for the Former Yugoslavia (ICTY) in The Hague, convicted in 2017, and sentenced to life in prison. (As you probably know, the US has rejected membership in and refused to recognize authority of the UNICTs and of the International Criminal Court, not only passively citing our sovereignty but also undertaking active opposition, which has included sanctions, legal barriers, and non‑cooperation. Jack Smith’s service in the Hague as an ICC investigator and later as Chief Prosecutor of Kosovo War Crimes trials, is in the eyes of he who shall not be named and of MAGAs his “treason” to the US.

When Ann and I were in Sarajevo in 2019, we visited the Srebrenica Memorial Center, another of Europe’s many grim memorials to man’s bottomless capacity for inhumanity to his fellow man. The Center should be a required stamp for any tourist visa holder or penalty upon leaving Bosnia of a healthy fee. The exhibits and photos are stomach-churning, searing themselves into one’s memory. Unlike Buchenwald or Treblinka, slowly fading into ancient history in the minds of young people, Srebrenica is still fresh enough to be relevant, still horrific enough to chill the blood.

Can such happen again? Of course. The only thing we seem to learn from history is how not to learn from history. And in the case of the Balkans, these land of honey (bal) and blood (kans), hatreds do not die. They may fade away but they never die. If the Russia-Ukraine War spreads, it may be Serbia that brings it to the doorsteps of NATO (i.e., Albania, Montenegro, North Macedonia, Croatia, Slovenia, Bulgaria, Rumania, and Greece) via its dream of Greater Serbia throughout the peninsula. It is Ratko we should remember and vilify in our memories that this never happens again.

For more on the Balkans, read Rebecca West’s Black Lamb and Grey Falcon, A Journey Through Yugoslavia, as relevant today as when written on the eve of WWII. 

Nous Somme Tous Canadien

 You’ve heard about Trump attacking Canada: fantasizing about it becoming one of our United States; trashing the tri-lateral trade agreement he signed with our two largest trade partners (yes, trade with Mexico and Canada are each larger than trade with China, and have been so for many years); and now putting punitive tariffs on Canadian products, claiming that our overall trade deficit with them and their attitude justify it. Take away our oil and electricity imports, however, and it turns out we have a manufactured goods trade surplus with Canada.

Trump is pissed at Mark Carney, first because of his speech at Davos calling for consortia of mid-sized economies to stand up to giants like the US, China, Germany and Japan; second, because of his rejection of Trump’s notion about Canada becoming part of or subservient to the US; and now, because he won’t roll over in Trump’s tariff war.

You’ve seen the headlines and perhaps short news clips of Carney’s speech to Canada. But until you see the whole of Carney’s speech, you don’t grasp what a powerful leader he is. My Vancouver (BC) friend Bryan R sent me the tape of his statement to the nation and his press conference. Here it is; the first 23 minutes are his views and report on why Canada is withdrawing from the trade talks and retaliating, dollar for dollar; the rest is press conference give and take: https://www.cpac.ca/headline-politics/episode/pm-carney-speaks-to-media-after-suspension-of-canada-us-trade-talks?id=6b77d2c2-d09d-47fb-9bf1-7c88f3c2445c.

 Take a look. Compare the Canadian leader behind his podium with ours. Their leader is articulate, smart and resolute; he is self-aware and self-controlled; he knows what his goals are and how to use his tools (e.g., dollar for dollar retaliation) to achieve them. He knows how to deal with a playground bully.

 And think about our Iran war; first we fight to close the Strait of Hormuz, next to keep it open, now to close it again. We achieved regime change, and now we face a more determined and radical regime than before. Meanwhile costs, interest rates, and inflation rise. What kind of leadership is that?

 A US/Canada trade war makes no sense. It is a trade war nobody can “win.” It raises the costs of living and of making – of food, gas, electricity, clothing, booze and beer, cars, lumber (for building new homes,) steel and aluminium (I said I was a Canadien), dairy products, beef, and all sorts of products. It hurts US households more than it does Canadian ones, but it hurts both sides.

I am a loyal American, but boy – do I ever admire Mark Carney and what Canada is doing and stands for. Compare how they handle immigration with our ICE-tyranny. Would that Mark Carney’s example embolden Republican Senators and Representatives to stand up and take charge. 

In the meantime, one of our granddaughters, a student at Toronto Metropolitan University, is awaiting her Canadian work permit and intends to eventualy become a Canadian citizen. Another loss for America.

When is Enough Enough?

 When is Enough Retribution Enough?

Retribution: isn’t that just a nice word for revenge? Netanyahu’s campaign is being defended and rationalized as destruction of Hamas and justifiable retribution for 7/10/’23. His campaign is being attacked as genocide of Arabs in Gaza and the West Bank, an unjustifiable retribution for 7/10/’23.

In 1943, the Nazi regime in Germany had instigated war and, as some people knew, was committing war crimes against their Jewish citizens, other minorities, and political opponents. “Bomber” Harris and General Spaatz collaborated on “strategic bombing” of Germany, a campaign aimed at destruction of war industries and, moreover, at demoralization of civilians -- a campaign rationalized in part as retribution. The Russians felt it; the western allies felt it – the satisfaction of revenge.  Hamburg, Dresden, Frankfort, Berlin, and other cities we obliterated; in all, 1,080,000 civilian casualties resulted, 300,000 killed and 780,000 wounded, in the bombings of Germany. 

After the war, a comprehensive US Government assessment, the US Strategic Bombing Survey, concluded that strategic bombing “significantly weakened Germany’s war economy” but “did not break civilian morale.” The campaign against civilians was defended by some as a strategic necessity and attacked by others as genocidal retribution.  

Is there a difference between then and now? How do Netanyahu and Major General Asor, head of Isreal’s Southern Command, which includes Gaza, differ from Roosevelt and General Spaatz, head of Strategic Air Command in WWII? Are they war heroes or war criminals?

When and how do you stop retribution? How much killing is enough? The Israelis lost 1,195 citizens on October 7^th; they have killed 72,000 Gazans since invading to eliminate Hamas – and to exact retribution?

How does one cease retribution, to declare over and enough? Especially in a democratic republic where leaders draw their legitimacy from a majority of the electorate? If people want revenge, they must have it – unless.

Unless there is a leader, a movement, a spiritual wave that eschews hate and revenge.  Jesus taught love of enemy. The Buddha taught that hatred is never appeased by hatred. Muhammud taught that forgiveness is superior to retaliation; that violence is only justified against attackers and that violence against civilians and non-combatants, especially women and children, is forbidden. Rabbinic law replaces ayin tachat ayin, an eye for an eye, with compensation, measure for measure.

The best way out of retribution is to never enter into it. More easily said than done, obviously. Humans are wired for revenge – an eye for an eye appears in the Code of Hammurabi, in the Torah, and later in the Bible books of Exodes, Leviticus, and Deuteronomy. But the bloodbaths of the 20thC should have taught us that vengeance, retaliation, revenge doesn’t work. In the end, the vengeful are as wounded as their victims, if not more so, and the victims will spawn multitudes seeking their vengeance in turn.

Ghandi said “an eye for an eye will make the whole world blind.” Confucious said “before taking vengeance, dig two graves”. Netanyahu isn’t listening. The new ayatollah isn’t listening. Trump isn’t hearing. What other world leader will lead his people into vengeful victimhood, into the dead-end of retaliation? Who will have the strength of character to say “no, enough”?

You'll Never Guess What I'm Reading

A few years back, I was privileged to work on some tricky issues with a very gifted woman, my successor as President of the Board of Horizon House, Karen Lane Rahm. Aside from her various public service roles, she was curious and adventurous. (After she termed out of the Horizon House Board, she went to live in Paris for six months to polish her French and wrote charmingly of her explorations in a series of posts she called "Karen at Large.")

Somehow, one day, we talked of books and she mentioned belonging to an Anthony Trollope reading club. In my ignorance, I was astounded; I had read Trollope's Barchester Towers as a junior in high school, but assumed no one today bothered with that 19thC relic. I could remember nothing whatsoever about it and had only a vague sense that I had found it of no interest whatever. Callow youth.

Well, a few years ago, I undertook to re-read what I read or should have read those 75 or 70 years ago. I learned by these re-visits that my high school and college professors knew what they were about. I have re-read Moby Dick, Gulliver's Travels, Don Quixote, The Book of Job, Magic Mountain, You Can't Go Home Again and several others. (I also am now re-re-reading the Fagles translation of The Odyssey.) 

Last year, I came across a reference to Trollope's Palliser series of novels, so in honor of Karen, I decided to explore why such a keen intellect as hers would be enthused by an obscure 19thC English novelist, one whose works on Kindle were listed at $0 or a buck or so. I downloaded and opened Phineas Finn, the Irish Member because it appeared to be about English politics. And, indeed, it absolutely delighted me with its sly wit and descriptions of the foibles, pretentions, and posturings of upper class England. I found myself chuckling again and again; Trollope is funny!

Now I'm hooked. I'm 2/3rds through Can You Forgive Her? (1865), which preceded Phineas Finn in the series. Four to go. 

I am sure that this admission will not surprise my buddies but merely confirm, for them, their assessment of Fletch, their weird friend. So be it. 

In the Present

In these fraught times, one side is promising something wonderful about the future while the other, something horrible. Or one side is blaming the other for something in the past and and the other in turn, finding something new to blame the first for. One side magnifies past sins of the other, while the other heaps blame upon the first. Both make grandiose promises about the future.

Past or future; we need to stop for a moment and call out something uplifting from the present that we all can share, especially this semiquincentennial weekend (who came up with that!) Let me suggest:                 

    Oh beautiful, for spacious skies, for amber waves of grain.

    For purple mountains' majesties above the fruited plains. 

    America, America, God shed his grace on thee

    and crown thy good with brotherhood from sea to shining sea.

Words by Katherine Lee Bates in 1895 and set to the music Materna, composed by Samuel A. Ward in 1892. 

America the Beautiful says it all to me, plus I can sing it. And it isn't rooted in conflict, in bloody Fort McHenry or any other conflict. No having to extol courage under fire. We've had enough of bombs bursting in air. 

Of course there are many who have doubts about that brotherhood stuff; I can think of a couple whose initials are SM and JDV. Invariably, such patriots consider themselves good Christians, i.e., good Catholics or good Protestants -- or good Buddhists or good Hindus or good Muslims or good whatevers, despite that their creeds endorse universal brotherhood. These folks have been steeped in suspicion of the other, in dislikes of strange names or odd (to them) hats or foods or worship. (We're suspicious of their foods until one of them opens a hot restaurant in town.) 

Well, I've wandered away from something many of us should be able to agree on here in the present: America has beauty inherent in her. 

Let's work together to make it manifest once again.

        PS Ann points out to me that over half of the USMNT are immigrants.

Underdogs

I watched my first World Cup game of this year’s tourney: Germany vs Cote d’ivoire. For a period and a half little Cd’I led one nil. Then Germany got their tying goal, and in stoppage time, their go-ahead score. It was a lovely and well-played game despite some German defensive sloppiness.

I looked up the two: Cote d'Ivoire isn't so little after all: 33 million folks. I had no idea. Germany, of course, the largest in Europe at 84 million.

I rooted for Cote d’Ivoire. I have an urge to add ‘of course.’  I suppose there are people who favor the favorite, but I would guess most favor the underdog. Consider that phrase, create an image of an under-dog: chilling isn’t it? A small dog on his back, a larger dog lying on top with a grip on the underdog’s throat. I know many cheer for the expected winner; many for the competitor given less of a chance by the bettors. Americans supposedly support the underdog out of a sense of fairness, of equalizing the match with their enthusiasm and cheers. The bettors usually know better.  Unless ‘you’ve got a dog in that fight,’ the American will cheer for the underdog. Good on us.

Germany got two goals from Deniz Undav, a Stuttgart sub born in Bremen whose family is Kurdish‑Yazidi, father from southeastern Turkey and mother, northern Syria. Thus, those hateful immigrants brought Germany its advantage. My bet is that most of Germany’s soccer fans are MGGA’s, perhaps members of AfD, folks who are intolerant of immigration just as are our MAGAs who stupidly don't connect dots.

(While the boom of my neighbor's practice shots-on-goal echo in my ears.) 

 

I

What Do You Know About SYSO?

Seattle is known for Microsoft, for its persistent growth, for Grunge and Kurt Cobain, for its suffocating traffic, for its Seahawks and dearly departed Sonics, for Starbucks coffee, for Dr. Frasier Crane – but not for SYSO. Would that the world’s attention be somewhat more encompassing . . .

. . .  for SYSO is one of Seattle's cultural gems.

The Seattle Youth Symphony Orchestra Program is the largest youth orchestra program in the world, renowned for feeding conservatories and music schools with a steady stream of students. Symphonies the world over have SYSO alum as players, principals, concertmasters, conductors and even composers. SYSO also is known for its traditional affinity for and recordings of the music of Gustav Mahler, something no other youth orchestra has tackled. SYSO has five performing orchestras, each with its own conductor, seven if training orchestras are included, more than any other youth symphony program.

I must admit that had it not been for our grandson, Max Janes, being Principal Trumpet in SYSO's senior Youth Orchestra, I might not have known of SYSO either. SYSO is a cultural gem hiding its brilliance under a bushel.

You might naturally assume, as did I, that SYSO is a division within the Seatle Symphony and run by them. Not so: SYSO is an independent not-for-profit organization, with its own board and management, its own staff, and its own fund raising. SYSO’s mission is “Empowering youth through excellence in orchestral education.” And it delivered this past year:

• 1300 students were enrolled
• from 256 Pacific Northwest schools.
• 32 concerts were given
• before 12,500 attendees.
• In addition, 270 more students received over 400 hours of instruction in schools.
• the senior orchestra toured Portugal, playing with orchestras and ensembles in four major cities.
• SYSO's total budget is over $2.6mm.

SYSO and its supporters (which includes our family) believe that participation is transformative. Students and graduates speak of developing leadership skills, confidence, improved school performance, discipline, collaboration, community, and joy.

Recently, Ann and I attended the spring concert at UW’s Meany Hall. It was packed not just with doting parents and grand-parents, but with folks who were there simply to enjoy classical, orchestral music. The sound, even from the “Debut” orchestra, the youngest kids, was incredibly polished and mature.

Watch Completion of a Brancusi-inspired Sculpture

This past week I brought to completion The Cellist project. The three bronze castings of the marble bas relief have been distributed; I had a very satisfying auction (now actually having sold a piece, does that make me a professional artist?) and seeing folks genuinely enjoy the work, 

Over the next few blog posts I will let you watch step-by-step completion of my next piece, already begun, in the style of Constantine Brancusi whom I consider the 20thC and so far the 21st greatest sculptor and stone carver. I also revere Giacometti and Barbara Hepworth, though theirs were an additive rather than reductive sculpture. They are the three greats, and a fourth, Henry Moore, might also be added to the set.

My new piece is not a precise copy, but very much in the Brancusi style à la Flight, Birds in Space, and Golden Bird. I will be working under the guidance of Sabah al-Dhaher and invite you to watch step by step the completion, of the piece. When done, it will be about 7 and 1/2 feet tall, a construction of oak timber salvaged from my brother-in-law's warehouse, granite or marble, and basalt. You can watch it formed and grow here.

Here is The Cellist in bronze, the copy Ann and I have kept. 

Assassination and the Great Man Theory of History

 Posted Saturday, April 26th

Saturday was a glorious spring day but only when we got home in later afternoon did we learn of the 

spoiler: the attempted assassination at the Correspondents’ Dinner.

Assassination: 

That attempt to alter history and derail governance comes from acceptance of the Great Man theory of 

history: remove the Great Man and change the future. 

Has it ever worked? Did the assassination of Julius Caesar change the dissolution of the Republic, or 

only hurry it onward? It certainly did not restore the Republic which Caesar had already undermined. 

And Lincoln? The American Democratic-Republic form of governance only became stronger as 

Congress ruled the roost throughout the rest of the 19^th C., especially after the 13^th and 

14^th Constitutional Amendments were ratified.  

 

“Great Man” did not emerge again until Roosevelt, the Depression, and WWII. The Executive Branch, 

especially the Pentagon, became the center of policy and initiative. 

So, knock off the Great Man and you derail governance? Most often only the most deranged 

romantic believes strongly enough to become an assassin. Failed assassination strengthens the 

Great Man. Successful assassination most often puts the system into the hands of a new, would-be 

Great Man.  

 

Much as I want Trump gone, assassination is worse than he, an aberration, a lazy man’s answer. We 

need to do the hard intellectual work of understanding process, cause and the forces bending our future. 

We must reject the Great Man theory of history. It is a simpleton’s myth.

 

The simpleton now in the Oval Office must be removed but only through a Democratic-Republican 

process.    

What the hell are we doing?

From my 21stC Journal of a 20thC  Man: 

I awoke thinking about the war. What the hell are we doing? We should be focusing on ending our war, our illegal, unjustifiable American/Iranian war of choice, using our time and energy, using our best people, to find a settlement to end this horror. Instead, we are using our time and energy seeking settlement of someone else’s war, one between Israel and Lebanon. We are not in that war. We have no troops on the ground (I hope!) We are not bombing either Lebanon or Israel. Theirs is not our war. We ought to be gone, to deny support and provision of our precious arms to either combatant. To unlink negotiations.

I know, as always, easier said than done. In America, strong voices call out support Israel; other strong voices yell support Lebanon, few say to hell with both of you. In Iran, the strong voices say Lebanon is also a victim of the USA for Israel is but America’s agent. Others say America is Israel’s agent. The Israeli/Lebanese war, Iran says, must be included in whatever cease fire or suspension is to be reached with America.

This makes it impossible for us. We should simply stop. Shift the world’s attention to Lebanon and Israel. Humiliation of not “winning” is better than escalation of death and destruction, loss of face better than loss of blood. And if done deftly, by accomplished diplomats of which we have a few and explained by glib and gifted spokesmen of which we have many, we might come to be seen by some as one of the peacemakers of whom Christians, Jews, and Muslims speak so highly.

“Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain!”

Among the ten writers who contributed to the screenplay of The Wizard of Oz, Noel Langley is the most likely author of the famous line Frank Morgan, who played the Wizard, delivered when TOTO pulled back the green curtain to reveal an old charlatan frantically trying to manipulate the smoke and noise machine which created his fearsome image. Remind you of anything or anyone haunting our dreams today? And how about those flying monkey ICE agents? Remember Judy Garlands' remonstrance: "You’re a very bad man!” Langley had Morgan reply with genuine humility, "Oh, no my dear,  I'm just a very bad Wizard."

We're unlikely to hear such humility from our charlatan. TOTO raises a fundamental question for us: who are the folks behind the curtain? Who are these folks guiding, animating, managing the would-be wizard and his executive orders? What is their stake?

Do I believe Trump studies or even cares about issues like (today's NYT) who picks the art that appears in our overseas embassies? Does he know how the American artist representing us at the Venice Bienniel is selected? Does he care that that artist is an ex-pat who emigrated to Mexico years ago? Appointed by a luxury pet food dealer from Tampa? Who behind the curtain does?

Who behind the curtain has an interest in psychedelic drug deregulation and accelerated FDA clearance, particularly of Ibogaine, the leading psychedelic of interest? Ibogaine World, a Cameroon-based company whose corporate structure, finances, officers, and ownership are unknown is also the leading supplier of Ibogaine and will play a primary role in Trump-ordered accelerated FDA testing and clearance. Such exploration of psychedelics and mental health appears a promising avenue of research, but who behind the curtain is pushing it and why?

Is it likely that Trump really cares about professional baseball regulation and operation of the college football transfer portal? Judging from his Executive Order somebody behind the curtain does. What is their stake in this? 

A recent order deals with the definition of Made in America. Did he really concern himself in that or did someone behind the curtain manage that one? Those folks behind the curtain have discovered a powerful tool for effecting their agendas. Other March and April ExecOrders deal with elections, DEI, housing, fraud, FEMA oversight, sports, manufacturing, and consumer protection. Who initiated these? Who is behind these revisions to our economy, our social structure, how we raise and educate our kids? And what's in it for them -- ideological purity? Insider advantage? Reduced regulatory obstacles? Or just power for powers sake?

You don't need to use Executive Orders to gain admittance behind the curtain. Who is pushing reductions in air and water emission standards? Reduction in renewable energy commitments? Reduction of incentives for adoption of EVs? The list is endless; the damage senseless -- except to those who put their self-interest ahead of the nation's.

We'd better start paying attention to those folks behind the curtain before they restructure America to a new set of values and priorities through their control over the aging charlatan dozing in his gilded, oval office.

Manners, the magic sauce of marriage.

Those of you that have access to my journal can answer the question of why no blog posts since March 6th.  It was the 5th when I took a header during a zoom session, my entry into the doldrums of health care and injury treatment. But enough , , ,,

I have been married off and on for 65 years. How often I have heard said, or read, that marriage takes hard work. Not sure I agree.

It wasn't lack of effort that sank Barbara's and my marriage. Well, maybe in a way it was. I put a lot of effort into the marriage -- but enough? Who am I to say? But Barbara did not, could not. Not a fault; she just did not have any effort to spare from her struggle with chemical dependency, in her case dependency on JD. Even after achieving sobriety, her efforts were rightly focused on her demons.

That is the extreme situation. If less afflicted folks adopt a simple standard, marriage is easy. That simple standard? Manners. Manners your Mother taught you. Manners the Golden Rule yields. Manners the Boy and Girl Scouts taught. Manners my Aunt Sis used to push on her nephew and nieces.

Good manners are practiced less and less in this coarsening country of ours. Ann's friend Mary Mitchell swims upstream, writing about and lecturing on manners as a business: lecturer at the State Dept's Foreign Service Institute, consultant to a broad array of international corporations, author of nine books on etiquette and civility, plus Mary in person, politeness personified.

Manners and marriage? Show gratitude. Listen carefully and without judgement. Listen without interrupting. Smile. Imagine oneself in your spouse's shoes. Patience and forbearance. Express, explicitly, admiration for those qualities that attracted you in the first place for the roots of those are likely viable in both of you. Take the initiative. Converse; conversation is the universal solvent.

Time dulls these if one is not self-aware. Pain and physical problems of one's own turn one's attention inward. I am now struggling with this. Practice selflessness -- putting the needs of another ahead of your own. Selflessness is hard to habituate and sustain. 

And of course, show to others the mannerly behavior one wants to receive, aka the Golden Rule. 

Manners make marriage easy -- well, not easy, perhaps, but manners are the lubricants that make marriage increasingly easier. It is not hard work to be polite, to show respect, to demonstrate empathy, to smile -- perhaps to laugh.