A Prescription For Our Party

Relax, I keep telling myself.  Relax.  Ann and I enjoy our health and financial security, our kids are healthy and productive, our grandkids have gotten/are getting good educations.  It’s hard to see how this new Republican era can directly and imminently hurt us.  So buck up and swallow the disappointment.  As Jacques, my Libertarian friend, counsels “get over it!” 

But . . . with each passing day and tweet, with each appointment of a federal dismantler, with each episode of power lust, my anxiety ratchets up.  

The Senate will prove to have been the key pivot point for the next few years.  I devoted all my political contributions to Senate races but the DSCC really let us down.  And looking forward, in the election of ‘18 there will be on the ballot three times as many Senate seats held by Democrats as those held by Republicans.  And in ’20, we may not face Trump, if he gets bored with being the world’s most powerful person, but Pence or Cruz or that used car salesman, Rubio.  And expect candidates -- House, Senate and Executive -- to take a lesson from Trump and Sanders and become populist panderers if not outright demagogues.  In the meantime, God knows what we will face on the Supreme Court.  We're in for a long dry spell at the Federal level.  It’s not a pretty picture.   We cannot afford to relax.

  

It’s tempting to renounce democracy and adopt the Founders’ skepticism of the mass.  But no, I have faith that wisdom and judgment reside among us regardless of our education or social station.  Our system can and will work given time.  So how do we buy that time and swing the pendulum back toward a democratic republic’s ability to forge compromise, to balance competing interests and to solve problems inclusively?

First, Democrats should not reinforce polarization.  Let’s not adopt a McConnell negativity, opposing anything coming out of the executive branch.  Instead, Democrats must clearly embrace and stand for something that works for those we lost to Trump, those who were unheard, those who are fearful and fed up, even if a program has a Trumpian stamp on it.  He says he wants to spend on transportation and communication; he wants to lower drug prices; he promises national competition among health insurers.  These are fertile fields for compromise and collaboration – for making deals with the Deal Master.

In the meantime, Democrats must adopt a clear-cut, simple-to-grasp mission, a bumper-sticker identity (take a lesson from “Make America Great Again.”) At all levels of government, local, county, state and federal, all democrats should stand for one, simple, over-arching idea. 

And wouldn’t you know – I have a suggestion: Removing Barriers.  

It ain’t original: Bill Clinton used it on occasion in the ‘90’s; Hillary talked it last April but then, unaccountably, dropped it.  I thought at the time, “Hey, what a powerful, flexible and memorable a positioning for Democrats.  What a great slogan; what a bumper sticker; what a lawn sign logo.”  This is what we should be about – locally, at state level, nationally: removing barriers to education for preschoolers and high school grads; removing barriers to equity; removing barriers to a living wage and family-wage jobs; removing barriers to health access. 

Removing barriers is not welfare but leveling the playing field and smoothing obstacles to an individual’s fulfillment of their potential.  Removing barriers is not a zero-sum game; you don’t need to deprive someone to remove someone else’s barrier  (except through equitable, progressive taxation.)

On whom should we focus?  Forget the fifty-state focus now so being talked up among aspirants to the DNC Chair.  Rather, let’s adopt a three-generation focus – the boomers and retirees, many of whom turned to Trump for answers; their middle age children locked in a stagnant middle class; and their grand-children.  Everyone wants to see their children and grand-children thrive and prosper.  Remove barriers that stand in the way of each generation.  Do that and the fifty states will sort themselves out.

Where should we focus?  At the state level.  These Republican ideologues want to weaken Federalism.  OK. Let’s take the force of their blow and turn it to our use, in the way my grandson does in his Tai Kwan Do.  Let’s remove barriers at the state level through a consortium of states, and the feds will have to follow.  Carbon pricing; climate science support; on-line public education collaborations across state lines; pooled state health insurance programs.  With assertive, pragmatic collaboration of states, we can create a new federalism centered outside the Beltway, outside Montgomery County MD, Arlington County, VA and the District of Columbia.  Listen to what Jerry Brown has to say about state responsibility and opportunity (my thanks to friend Brian who sent me this link,) Here Brown is welcoming this year’s annual meeting of climatologist and earth scientists, and he is fighting-mad: hear what progressive resistance sounds like.  (The sound track temporarily fades out at one point; just wait it out for 20 seconds or so.)

Two other suggestions.  Friend Frank always refer to “Republican President Trump.”  And use humor; nothing so demonstrates his malignant narcissism (from a second friend Frank.) Like a picador skewering a bull, madden him with humor.  The man can’t take a joke.  Where are our puppeteers when we need them?  (One of the first things the Nazis did in 1934 was to clamp down on cabarets and ban street puppet shows.)

So, those are my prescriptions for the long haul restoration of the Democratic Party: Focus on Removing Barriers, for Three Generations, through progressive State Consortia.  And in the meantime, skewer with humor Republican President Trump as often as we can.

What My Fellow Jurors Taught Me

When I was 28, I was pretty full of myself.  (I heard that; who out there said “. . .still are.”) I sported a graduate degree from Harvard, had three kids, owned a house, and had been promoted to dept. head.  Once, about that time, I had voiced in our book club doubt about the capability of ‘ordinary’ citizens to deal with increasingly complicated problems and choices, like those facing our new President. (Where were you 53 years ago today?) Oh, I said I believed in democracy . . . but it was tempting to embrace a politically incorrect elitism.  

So it seemed to me only right and proper that I was elected foreman of a Hennepin County jury sitting in judgment of a very unsavory character who had led an abduction and gang rape.  Ten of my fellow jurists were blue collar men, housewives, and retirees; only a couple of them might have had any college.  

But a few of them firmly scotched someone’s request to take a test vote right away.  We began to examine the case logically.  Had a crime been committed?  If so, was it believable that the defendant, the first of eight, was, as claimed, unaware of it?  If he was aware, was he involved, did he intercede, did he incite?  What constituted guilt?  What was reasonable doubt?

As discussion proceeded, my fellow jurists revealed diligence and thoughtful, logical and clear reasoning.  Finally, we came down to a lone hold out. Later, when she suddenly “gave in” and we questioned why, she said she was worried about catching the last bus to NE Minneapolis.  The group rejected her vote, four of us offered to drive her home, and we started over.  We spent another 90 minutes going back over the logic train; at 12:30am, she finally, and genuinely, bought it.

That experience changed (I just typo-ed “shamed” which is probably a better word) my snotty temptation to deprecate the ability of ‘ordinary’ people to fulfill the responsibilities of citizenship.  My fellow jurors were patient, thoughtful, reasonable, logical and determined to do right.  They exercised wisdom, regardless of education or social status.  

Many of them might have been Trump voters were they still around, as am I, more than half a century later.  They might well have been conflicted about the changing color of America, but they aren’t racist.  They likely would be anxious about a chaotic and dangerous world.  They would likely be very uncomfortable with the pace of change.  They undoubtedly would agree that America is on the wrong track – mainly at the hands of elite, highly-educated professionals, lawyers, bankers and business people – like me.   And, what we types didn’t realize, they were ready to act out Howard Beale’s howl, “I'm as mad as hell, and I'm not going to take this anymore!"  Paddy Chayefsky forewarned us in 1976, as did Richard Rorty in 1998 (which my friend David S. brought to my attention,) and still others more recently.  But we didn’t listen; we didn’t get out there to see and hear.

 

Trump voters generally and in certain key states, overwhelmingly, expressed their judgment that the elitist leadership of the last couple of decades deserve to be tossed aside, even at the risk of not knowing what may replace them.  Put aside that the voters may have been conned, as I think they have, but attend to their judgment that something new must be forged.  That is their judgment, perhaps even their wisdom.

 

Rather than carp about Trump’s fearsome petulance, his inanities and lies, about his unsuitability to preside, we had better focus our energies on listening and responding to address concerns and reassure that we are hearing our fellow citizens – for we have been indicted and they are the jurists sitting on our case.  And I trust them, in the end, to do what's right.    

Umbria: Tuscany's Entrancing Little Sister

A couple of folks (only a couple) have asked when I would blog about our recent trip to Italy.  So here goes.  Those disinterested in a travel log should bail out now  . . . or at most, click on the pictures.

Ann and I hadn't been in Italy in ten years. Before that a few times, but not to Florence in 23 years.  In the interim I had taken up stonecarving as a hobby so I wanted to return to Florence to see with new eyes the Prisoners, Night and Day, Dawn and Dusk, Pietas and, of course, various Davids.  Despite hordes of tour groups – the emerging middle classes from around the world take to touring in flocks like ducklings take to water – I was entranced.  After a week of dodging tour groups, we were glad to leave Florence behind and seek the peace and novelty of Umbria.

A wildcat rail strike forced us onto a bus to Perugia, which was cheaper, faster and closer to lovely countryside. (The strike was our second surprise of what turned out to be three. #1: our carefully selected rental apartment in Florence had turned sour and we had no accommodations when we arrived on a Friday afternoon before a beautiful fall weekend, but finally the rental agency rustled up a lesser loaner that we made work.  #3: TSA caused us to miss a flight, but that’s another story.  The good news is we’re still able to roll with the punches.)

We had once been in Perugia for about two hours years before, and it had intrigued me since.  Ann assented to go there and postpone hiking in the Tyrol and Savoy for another time, so now I owe her.  We were welcomed in Perugia by a beautiful sunset; our room in Albergo Fortuna faced west and a near-private adjacent  patio  was lovely  for cocktails or early morning coffees.  The sounds of the city, of mothers herding kids up and off, of couples murmuring,  a woman singing to herself, rose from the tile roofs below.

Perugia is capitol of Umbria, and a great home base from which to explore.  And there is much to explore and savor.  Sure, Tuscany gets better press; after all, one can hardly top Florence for its art and as cradle of the Renaissance, or Siena for the passion of its Palio (and all of it for its tourist crowds and high prices.)  Umbria may be more modestly though still wonderfully well endowed, but she is more accessible, more affordable, and serves up better food. She makes a better date (but this year, unfortunately, has come with bigger earthquakes.)

13thC Hall of the Notari 

Perugia’s history, like so much of central Italy, is a complex tapestry of people’s loves and feuds, of conquest and revenge, of Umbrians, Etruscans, Sabines, Roman republicans, Roman Emperors, Byzantines, Perugian Priors, Florentine colonials, of Popes and Holy Roman Franks, of Risorgimento freedom fighters, of Fascists, of German occupiers, and of Berlusconi bureaucrats.  Its ancient, hill-top center is a warren of lanes and by-ways, a jumble of buildings built upon buildings, of churches and guild halls, of cobbles and piazzas, with 360 degree views of the hills and valleys over which it presides.

A Zucchini Flan

Food?  The fields and hills of landlocked Umbria, are the "Green Heart of Italy,” rich with white and black truffles, melanzana, olives, squashes and root vegetables, beans and lentils and barley, cow and goat cheeses, pigs and lambs, chestnuts – all of which combine into a simply exquisite regional cuisine of soups, stews, casseroles, osso bucos, and the like. It’s a bit lighter on pasta than elsewhere, abundant in cheeses and salumi, plus lots of seafood from Tuscany and the Marches. (Umbria is the only province without a coast.) Wines!  We fell in love with Montefalco Sagrantino, a robust red that we drank six of seven nights there, and thereafter in Rome much to the chagrin of snooty sommeliers, for it costs but a fraction of Tuscan counterparts.  Good breads are hard to find, though.

Art? Etruscan, in a wonderful archeological museum; Roman; Christian, from the 12thC on; Italian Futurist; a vibrant  contemporary art scene shown in a fine gallery in the bowels of Rocco Paolino, the fort Pope Paul III imposed on his rebellious city and on which its citizens took revenge 300 years later, during the Risorgimento.  Anyway – yes, art and architecture, architecture galore. Youth? Yes, two universities, one mainly for foreigners. Fashion?  Yes . . . it's Italy. 

Perugia as home base facilitates great day tripping: half an hour by train (€3.50) to charming Spello; an hour bus ride (€4) to Assisi,  home town of St. Francis and St. Clare; Orvieto; Citta di Castello; Lake Trasimeno; Gubbio; Spoleto; and crossing the border into Tuscany, Pienza and Cortona; and lots more.  (Full disclosure: I haven’t been to half of these.)

Wearable Art, made on site
in Spello

Basilica of St. Francis, Assisi

A word about the earthquakes: they have done severe damage to hill towns south and east of Perugia.  We have contributed through the Italian Red Cross’ fund Terremoto Centro Italian.  It can use more support; Italian recovery skills, after all, are – well -- Italian.

I know.  I sound like a publicist for Perugia and Umbria.  But they have an under-told tale to tell.  Go. Relax, gaze, linger (as my departed friend Don Marsh used to say,) recuperate, recreate, rejuvenate, in Umbria.

 

Redeeming Those "Deplorables"

Hillary apologized after saying half of Trump supporters  were “a basket of deplorables.”  But she had gone on to say they were “irredeemable.”

She was right to apologize for generalizing, but more critically, she should have apologized for the “irredeemable.”  That is the deplorable part of her statement – as President-to-be, as would-be leader of all Americans, she should not pronounce any fellow American irredeemable, i.e., beyond redemption, unworthy of being forgiven, impossible to be reformed.  Who is she, who is any of us to make such judgement?

Deplorable is an adjective (and properly not a noun.)  It comes from the French de’plorer, to give up as hopeless.  In current usage, it means deserving strong condemnation; synonyms are dishonorable, inexcusable, unpardonable, unforgivable.  Note that these synonyms do not refer to persons so much as to behaviors, to acts, to beliefs.  People shouldn’t be deplorable even when their belief or behavior is.

 

Hillary went on to list the qualities of this “half of Trump supporters: . . . racist, sexist, homophobic, xenophobic, Islamaphobic, you name it."  Well, there certainly are among Trump supporters some who are racists; Trump, himself, is likely sexist; there are probably homophobes among his evangelical supporters; there certainly are xenophobes; there are undeniably Islamaphobes and also anti-Semites.  But, I ask you, does that make any one of those a deplorable, irredeemable American?

Ann (Janes-Waller) argues, and you may agree with her, that some behaviors are so egregious that their perpetrator is rightly a deplorable person; the murderer or serial rapist for example.  I won’t dispute the point, but I am loath to declare “deplorable” some wretch who in frustration at being ignored or out of a sense of alienation or because of ignorance harbors anti-social beliefs or indulges in acting out their anger -- or embraces someone who threatens to burn down the whole system.

There is much to deplore in our society, plenty to go around.  But who is to judge?  We can agree that firebombing a political party headquarters in Florida is deplorable behavior.   But what of firebombing Dresden or Tokyo?  “Oh, come on” you say, “that was wartime.”  Well, dropping barrel bombs on apartments in Aleppo?  Hiroshima?

To break trust is deplorable behavior, as with the 53 hundred “everybody’s doing it” bankers fired at Wells Fargo -- while management looked the other way and are still employed.  We reward some whistle blowers and excoriate others; what of Edward Snowden?

Torturing an animal is a deplorable act; but what of Abu Ghraib and Guantanamo?

Assassination is deplorable, but what of assassination by drone, a practice uniquely of the United States, one in which Hillary participated?

Trump says we should kill the families of terrorists: deplorable, not to mention a Geneva Convention war crime.  But what of burning whole villages where Viet Cong guerrillas came from?  Or Israeli destruction of homes of Palestinian “freedom fighters” in Gaza and the occupied West Bank?

Let’s be cautious about judging what or who is “deplorable.”

Objectifying women is to some deplorable, but do not we objectify young black men hanging out on the corner, or Muslims, or Evangelicals or Lesbians or Libertarians or housekeepers or waiters -- any number of other groups?  Who among us can truly say without a pang of doubt that they do not objectify or stereotype any group, but treat every individual as a unique person?  I can’t . , , ,

I gave a speech in 2010 entitled The Coarsening of America.  It’s only gotten worse.  Deplorable beliefs are more openly voiced, deplorable behavior more tolerated than ever in memory.  And the acrimony of this election campaign only spurs it on.  And it will linger.

The truly important “deplorable” -- to use it as a noun  -- is our growing in-civility, our increasing polarization and fragmentation of community.  People assure me the pendulum will swing back, that America is resilient and will recover.  But that assumes we all share respect for and trust in American values.  That likely is not the case anymore.  As we have become a more heterogeneous society – 2020 will be a far different America than that of 1950 – empathy has weakened and trust in the American promise has been strained – to the break point among some Trump and Sanders supporters.  If 40% of voters vote for Trump, are we to treat half of them, 20% of the electorate, as unforgiveable?  Beyond redemption?

Our next President must attend to redemption first -- America First, to borrow Trump’s slogan, but I apply it to the President’s priorities.  The Syrian swamp can and must wait; Putin and China can wait.  The first job of the new administration must be to propose programs that rebuild trust among the disenfranchised, to be seen listening to the disaffected, to promote belief in the American system with deeds.  And she or he has only four years in which to make healing progress, for if not redeemed, those “deplorables” will certainly embrace the next demagogue – from the left or right – who preys upon fears and resentments, who promises to “drain the swamp” and proclaims “only I can fix it.”  And the next demagogues will be more radical and more dangerous.

All of us need to push that pendulum back, to embrace and tolerate our fellow Americans, to eschew coarse language and behavior, to listen to each other, to nourish our empathy, and to encourage each other to not be judgmental but to reach out and heal the wounds we have been inflicting on each other.

Only we – only we -- can heal ourselves and rebuild the communal America of E Pluribus Unum.[1]

---

[1] E Pluribus Unum, our national motto, was suggested, in 1776, by a Swiss-French immigrant, Pierre Eugene du Simitiere.  Du Simitiere later became a respected and notably contributing citizen of his new country. 

If it’s summer when I run away from home . . .

. . . look for me in Bergen; if winter, look for me in Cape Town.  Aside from our Seattle, which Ann and I love, (from which and from whom I have no intention of running) these are wonderland cities which we ‘discovered’ in September and May.  Seattle lies at 48° north; Bergen even further, at 60°.  Cape Town is not so near its pole: 34° south, roughly equivalent to Monterey, But surprisingly, Cape Town has the narrowist temperature range of the three, and is very temperate. And it’s also the driest of the three.  Bergen, like Seattle, is known for its rainy days.

If Seattle is forging the future (Amazon, Microsoft, Fred Hutch, UW, and the rest), Cape Town is the future.  Yes, Bergen also has a future because Norway is welcoming the stranger, the refugees whose courage and determination to make a new life will, in time, give Bergen and Oslo an energy boost to growth. But in Cape Town today one sees 3rd world future – dynamic, well and cleanly governed by the Democratic Alliance (which is challenging the ANC and now is to govern Jo’burg as well,) developing a middle class, and populating its universities and technical colleges with young, ambitious Africans (of all colors.) Yes, it has its issues, particularly among its cohort of unemployed and uneducated youth. Like most of Africa, just too many youngsters.  Nonetheless, Cape Town can be a model for Africa.

For the visitor?  Bergen.  Cape Town.  Seattle.  In that order.  Or , , , maybe it’s Cape Town, Bergen, Seattle , , , tough call. 

Bergen's Bryggen Waterfront

The waterfront of Bergen takes honors; would that we re-develop Alaska Way into as pleasant a place to dine and walk and see the sea at work.  (Oslo’s waterfront is even better.)  Cape Town’s is more like what San Francisco aspired to have but CT does it better.

Dining?  Cape Town, hands down.  Cape Town is home to some of the world’s outstanding restaurants, and remarkably affordable.  Plus those fine, inexpensive South African wines.  Bergen’s best restaurants are good but outrageously expensive and with limited wine lists.  Seattle offers a wide variety of fine options, and good wines from all over the world, but all more pricey than Cape Town’s. 

Bergen from Floyen

Table Mountain loons over Cape Town

Hiking on Mt. Floyen

Vistas?  Bergen’s Mt. Fløyen is lovely, especially since up top is a parkland forest of beautiful trails and ponds, but Cape Town’s Table Mountain is truly awesome – higher, steeper, more rugged.  And unlike Seattle’s Cascades, Bergen’s and Cape Town’s mountains are right there in your face, looming over their cities.

Cape Town from atop Table Mountain

Hotels?  Cape Town.  The Victoria is the finest I’ve ever stayed in, a truly boutique hotel.  Bergen?  Limited choice; we enjoyed The Park primarily because of the charm of its owners and staff.  And nothing tops Norwegian breakfast buffets!  Seattle’s hotels?  Pretty much garden variety American lodging, though I must admit to being out of touch with the local hotel scene; maybe there’s something out there hiding away in some nook or cranny I know not of.

One of Munch's paintings of Feelings

Art, music, theatre?  Seattle is unparalleled – one of only five US cities with world-class opera, symphony, ballet, chamber and theatres galore. Bergen, for its size, is remarkable, with its four Koda museums, Grieg Hall, the University, continual music festivals and Troldhaugen.  In Bergen, I came to see that Munch is so much more than just The Scream.  Cape Town is too busy growing up and assimilating this new South Africa; the arts and culture will come.

A park in central Bergen

Parks, open spaces and walkable downtowns?  Bergen – beautiful.  Of course, smaller towns have an advantage, but Bergen takes full advantage and does it right.

People?  The world could well become a bit more Norwegian.  They not merely welcome the stranger, they relish in strangers and shower one with interest, care, empathy, and consideration.  Hospitality in-deed. And they speak better English than we do!

Yes!  African penguins

A Sognefjorden passage

Nearby attractions?  Seattle has its Mts. Rainier, Adams, St. Helens, Baker; access to Vancouver and Victoria; the San Juans and Gulf Islands; and nearby skiing and the Methow.  Bergen offers the stunning Sognefjorden.  Cape Town offers Kirstenbosch, the most beautiful botanical gardens we know of; the sobering history of Robben Island; the lovely wine country of Stellenbosch and Franschhoek; and penguins!  Yes, African penguins!.   But Seattle takes honors; home is where the heart is.

Franschhoek vinyards

Accessibility?   Well, Seattle is right here for us, and an easy reach for you from out of town.   Bergen is surprisingly accessible and affordable if one shops around, especially though Reykjavik,  Yes, Cape Town is a long way away – ten and a half hours from Amsterdam, another eleven hours from Seattle; so you don’t go for a weekend.

 

Bergen and Cape Town -- two most attractive cities at opposite ends of the earth.  Both with much to offer the world.  Look for me one place or the other -- 

Bergen waterfront

 -- if and when I run away from home.

The Speech I Wish She'd Given

I have been with Hillary since the beginning but was very disappointed in her acceptance speech Thursday.  She wasted the largest audience she is likely to have this year.  The speech was poorly conceived, poorly organized, repetitious, overly long and poorly delivered.  She pointed her finger and shouted at us; I don’t know about you, but I don’t like to have a finger pointed at me or be shouted at.  I want a talk, not a speech.  I wanted to hear why I should trust and support this woman.  Here is the speech I wish she had given.

Hillary Clinton:

Thank you.  Thank you. Thank you for placing your faith in me as Democratic Nominee for President of this vast and marvelously diverse country.  I humbly accept your nomination.

Much has been said about me over the last six months – about my strengths and weaknesses.  Some of it over-blown praise; much of it mean-spirited scorn and criticism.  Perhaps now it’s time I talked about me – not about what I plan and propose, you’ve heard plenty of that and will hear a lot more before November.  Perhaps now it’s time I talked about why – why I care, what makes me tick, why I want to take on the challenges and drudgery and pot-shots of what I’ve seen and what’s been called the worst and hardest job in America.  After all the talk about my hair, why would I want a job that will turn it white all that sooner? (laughs)  But seriously, why am I willing, why am I seeking to take on that job?

Perhaps I was born with a caring gene.  I probably got it from my mother, but I care about people who need care and consideration, people who haven’t had the advantages my parents gave me, people who feel unnoticed and not listened to.  I simply care – I can’t help it, I just care.

 I care  

•  for children in poverty or those without access to good education.
•  I care for immigrants struggling to find a footing in America and to figure out how to give their children a more struggle-free life than their own.
•  I care for college students faced with crushing debt;
•   for people without access to insured health care;
•    for hard working Americans of all classes forced out of work by changes in the world’s economics.
•  I care for aspiring men, women and children who want to earn a better life for themselves and their families, ordinary people I’ve listened to all around the world in than 120 countries.
•  I care for people haunted by worry about climate change and our environment;
•   for police and minorities who feel threatened in their streets and on the job;
•   for parents and partners of people wounded or killed in gun violence;
•   for people hurt in the financial crisis, forced out of their homes, losing their retirement income, broke and out of luck.
•  And last but by no means least, I care for veterans hurt in or haunted by their service to protect the interests and values of all of us.

I simply can’t stop caring and listening.

But, apparently, also I was born with a fix-it gene, probably from my father who served his nation in WW II, built a small business and was a social and fiscal conservative.  My Dad had his sense of what it would take.  You know I like to figure out what we should do – you’ve already heard about all kinds of plans (laughs) – but I’m even more interested in figuring out how to get things done, how to remove the barriers and reach the agreements so that we can move ahead. I worked with the Bush administration to get New York back on its feet.  I worked with Tom Delay in the Senate, the most intractable opponent of Bill Clinton’s and Barack Obama’s, yet he and I found a way to agree on and develop a program to provide health insurance for children in need.  I did it as Sect. of State, working to forge trade agreements and alliances and treaties with people who do not necessarily wish us well.  How to get things done is the question that nags at me, how to fix it, how to open eyes and minds to find common ground, how to move forward toward a shared goal of making America better for everyone of us.  

Well, that’s what makes me tick.  I can’t turn away from someone who needs to be heard and given respect and consideration.  I can’t stop asking how will we get this done?  I believe these are qualities that Barak Obama brought to the Presidency, and that the next President of the United States must have.

Democrats, you have given me your trust.  I will not disappoint you.

•   I pledge to you that I will campaign with grace and honesty and humility, and also with energy, every waking moment between now and November.
• I pledge to you that I will campaign for Senatorial candidates, for I will need a Senate that will advise and consent to cabinet and judicial appointments, that will promptly fulfill its obligation to hold hearings and pass judgement on nominees in a timely and responsible way. 
•    I pledge to you that I will campaign for and support in any way I can our Congressional nominees so as to, if not win back control of the House of Representatives, at least bring its balance more into line with that of the American people.  We are long past the time when Representatives can be so out of sync with, can so ignore, Americans’ positions on issues – as with gun controls, immigration reform, and so on.
•  I pledge that I will seek to enact and bring into being the intentions and wishes expressed in our Democratic Party Platform.

·         If you, (turning to the cameras) the American people, give me your trust in November, I pledge to you

·         that I will listen and work tirelessly to remove the barriers to your dreams and wishes and needs;

·         that I will seek solutions that work for all Americans – Democrats, Independents, yes, and you Republicans --, Libertarians, Greens, and a-political folks; whether young, middle-age, elderly; of whatever color and ethnic background and belief and gender and sexual persuasion.

·         I pledge to you that I will represent the best ideals and values of America;

·         and that I will do all we can to keep you safe, wherever in the world you want to be.

So that’s who I think Hillary Clinton is.  And speaking for myself, I think you should help me.  I can’t do this alone, no one can.  Only working together can we meaningfully care and fix it – only together. 

Together, we can make America ever better.  Thank you,. . . and, as Tiny Tim said “God Bless Us, Everyone.”

Well, that’s what I wish Hillary had said – in 20 minutes, not an hour, with smiles and laughs and not pointed fingers and shouts, with introspection and not a laundry list of proposals.  That’s the Hillary I hope for and intend to vote for and do believe lies beneath that public persona people so distrust.  

A Tundra Tale

 I haven't blogged in two months because of being away for five weeks and now plunging into the swing of summer.  Ann and I traveled in Norway for three-plus weeks, a few more days in Stockholm, and then I went fishing in British Columbia.  More on all that to come along; in the meantime, here's a vignette on traveling with Ms. Ann in far off lands . . . .

So, after a breathtaking hour's drive from Moskenes in the magic light of an early June Arctic evening, and that after a three and a half hour ferry from the mainland, we pull into Anne Gerd's B&B, the best in Norway's Lofoten Islands according to TripAdvisor -- I'm a great believer in TripAdvisor, and a prolific contributor, too; it's a compulsion to praise or trash places we've visited. 

Anyway, Anne Gerd's is a house in the middle of nowhere and in the front yard is what Europeans call a camper and a scruffy camper, at that; an upturned kayak; a shipping container; and other assorted quaint-ities.  Ann is putting on her disapproving, skeptical look; I earnestly reiterate "it's the best B&B in the Lofotens, top ratings."

Rummaging around in the container is a thirty-ish woman who introduces herself as Mari Mette, Anne Gerd's daughter.  She explains that Anne Gerd is off hiking with her grandchildren in the nearby mountains, and shows us to our room -- and to our shared bath.  I am shocked and chagrined to have been unaware of bath sharing . . .  Ann is thunderstruck; Ann is not a shared bath sort of girl anymore, having outgrown those 50 years ago in her hostel days.  Ann is also no poker player; her hostile disapproval was frozen on her face, much to the distress of Mari Mette. We repair to our very simply furnished room -- two single beds -- to have a lively debate.

I mollify her, slightly, by agreeing that we don't have to stay here the full four days and can move on.  Anne Gerd's arrival scotches that when she points out that it's a prepaid reservation, that the shared bath is plainly listed on the web page (which I hadn't bothered to check, being such a TripAdvisor devotee) and that there would be no refund.  Now Ann's giving me that steamed stare that tells me I am in deep you-know-what.

"Let's have a cocktail and get our wits together and talk this out at dinner" says Mr. Meekly Uriah Heeply.  "I'll get some ice."  

"Ice?" says a bemused Anne Gerd; "we have no ice."  "Well what about the freezer?"  (I had noticed the big side-by-side two-door refrigerator in the large and modern kitchen.) "We have no freezer."  Back to our room: Ann is now in a state of pissed disbelief. I pour Ann her evening martini in a bathroom glass -- sans ice, olives, vermouth, but a good slug of Finnish Vodka.  Mine is a Jameson, which I drink neat anyway, both purchased at the Duty Free shop upon arrival in Bergen a week ago. 

Well, to make this long story longer, we take our "cocktails" to the living room where we meet the only other guests, a German, bath-sharing father and son spending a week climbing the stunning Lofoten peaks. Anne Gerd's grandkids come to shyly say hello, trying out their English -- same ages as two of ours.  Anne Gerd engages us with tales of how this all came about, how she retired from teaching on the mainland, moved here after her divorce, and became civic leader, activist, conservationist. Mari Mette is married to a Sami reindeer herder and artisan knife maker, ($5k a klip) and when the kids' school is out, will be moving to join him for the summer grazing in Sweden.  Ann is softening under the charm of Anne Gerd.  "We'll make this work" she gamely tells me at dinner in nearby Leknes.

A day later, after a great breakfast, getting the kids off to school, chatting up our Andres and Chris, our co-bathroomers, Ann has her happy face on again.  That night we meet Kashindi, a 34 year old Congolese whom Anne Gerd took under her wing when he arrived in Norway as an 18 year old refugee from the civil wars; he lives in the camper in the front yard and helps with maintenance tasks.  Anne Gerd is busy baking a chocolate cake for granddaughter's Ellen's class while Kashindi and I teach Ellen how to play (Congolese rules) checkers while younger brother Jon Ailo eagerly awaits his turn while Andres and Chris plan their next day's peak while Ann kibitzes in the kitchen.  She went to bed a happy camper.

The day we left, Anne Gerd learned that I had been in the hotel business.  "This is a home" she sternly said, "not a hotel."  And Ann told her it was the best experience we've had as she gave Anne Gerd a heartfelt goodby hug.  I drove off feeling very smug -- and not a little relieved. 

Anne Gerd's B&B, Samsund, Norway -- look it up.  It's a home, not a hotel.