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At sixty-eight, I just turned forty.

Our local newspaper has a side item it calls "On This Date". It contains the newspaper equivalent of two small soundbites; one from 20 years ago and one from 40 years ago. They often serve as a reminder both of what was happening back then and of how similar the past is to the present. While they are best when they contain local names you recognize, they are often both nostalgic and instructive.

For me, the light bulb of recognition started long ago for the twenty year details. Today, the forty year becomes personally relevant. A way of marking a life milestone for someone who did not remain in their hometown; or even home state.

Because I moved to Lewiston, Idaho when I was twenty-eight, I passed the 'more than half of my life here' marker some time ago. This was the place my daughter went through school. The place my second, longest and most cherish career began and ended. The place where my husband appeared and won my heart. The place to which my parents eventually followed me and which became their final resting spot. The community I gave my time and talents to in endless ways.

Lewiston, the mountain state of Idaho's lowest elevation, the furthest inland seaport in the US, the entrance to Hell's Canyon (deeper than the Grand Canyon) resting at the confluence of the Snake and Clearwater rivers and at the pivot spot of Idaho, Washington and Oregon.

Home.

Not my hometown. That remains forever Rockford, Illinois; a town that shaped my youth and my family. A town to which I will always owe a debt of gratitude. But no longer my home, just my hometown.

In 1976, forty years was unfathomable to a young, adventuresome city girl coming into rural Idaho for a brand new job. I'd never been close to a pickup, let alone ridden in them. (Although, back then city folk were not so taken with pickups as they are now.) I'd known the wide open flat of cornfields, but not the forests and streams of mountains or the rolling hills of wheat, peas and lentils. I'd known oaks, not pines. I'd never seen a deer in the wild, let alone an elk, cougar, moose or bear. But I'd known people, and that was enough anywhere.

I'm still here. Home for forty years. Thanks to the Lewiston Tribune, I get to remember that every day.

AND NOW...

The Democratic Convention is over. We have celebrated and congratulated; applauded and lauded; extolled and feted. Rightly so, we have let our hopes become tears of joy and our dreams become giddy dances. Whether slow smiles or exuberant high fives, we passed through a moment in history with the pleasure of the long denied, the satisfaction of a long sought goal won. A woman, Hillary Rodham Clinton, is a Presidential nominee.

And now...

Now we go back to work, for this has merely been half time. A time out in the tough work of moving our country forward and letting Hillary lead us on that path. Time out in the race to add enough votes to make the final score a win.

So for every pull on your heart of deep seated pleasure this week, do these things.

Register to vote if you have not. Be sure you know when, where and how to cast your vote. Learn the rules. Next, register others. Hand them the materials. Family. Friends. Everyone. Take them to sign up. Buy them coffee and ask them to help too.

Find the Clinton headquarters in your town. Volunteer. Put up signs. Go door-to-door. Make phone calls. Text, tweet and Instagram. Talk to your neighbors. Have friends to coffee.

Go to www.HillaryClinton.com  Donate. Then donate again. Sign up to volunteer. Make phone calls. Donate.

On election day; vote, make calls, drive voters to the polls.

Work every day until the election because that's what it will take.

The work is not done. The game is not over. The prize is not won.
It takes a village.

THE POLITICAL IS PERSONAL

For every dress I wore standing at the school bus stop in a winter snow storm. For every school sport in which I was not welcome. For the school counselor who, when I shared I wanted to be a biochemist, told me that I should be a special education teacher to use my science expertise.

For every paycheck I took home that was less because as a single mother I was not a (male)head of household/breadwinner. For every debate about whether business pantsuits, rather than dresses, might be acceptable work attire. For every time in a meeting I made a suggestion that received no response until, sometime later, a male colleague made the same suggestion. For the client that suggested I have a male staff person sign my letter to his boss so his (male) boss would pay attention.

For every quiet, personal doubt as the only female on an all male staff - one of few female staff in the entire country. For every time I sang "I Am Woman" for courage on my way to face an all male board or boss to resolve conflict on behalf of my clients. For never before having revealed that fact to even those closest to me.

For all those things and thousands more, large and small, the political is personal. On behalf of my generation and those strong women from the past upon which we stood...HALLELUJAH and thank you for persevering Hillary Clinton. May we all take a moment to celebrate and appreciate how truly remarkable the accomplishment today is for all women. May we celebrate again in November, Madam President.

DEAR TRUMP PROTESTORS

Dear Trump Protesters:

I get it. I really do; both the anti-Trump gut-wrenching feeling and the need to DO something. In my opinion Trump is a malignant narcissist and as President would bring this country to its knees. And protesting? Been there in every decade since the sixties.

Yet this time, there is an action you can take that would really make a difference, not just make a public spectacle. Even better this plan is peaceful, democratic and, best of all, likely to actually defeat Trump. You see, protesting, even peacefully, feeds Trump's inherent narcissism. Less than peaceful protests let both Trump supporters, and others, hear the destruction and miss the message.

So I propose you still gather (call it a protest if you wish) outside Trump events. But instead of shouting slogans, waving signs and risking out of control behavior by even a few errant protestors -  register voters. This seems simple and for some the work of election democracy is not nearly as glamorous as the chanting, waving, media attention grabbing protest. However, if you truly want to stop Trump, then it is the ballot box which is the final barrier. If Trump breaches the ballot box, all the protest in the world will be useless.

Try this three step program instead:

First, learn how to register in your state. Know the rules backward and forward and upside down. (You are registered, aren't you?)

Second, register everyone you see protesting Trump. (If they are protesting and are not registered to vote, shame on them!) If you can, give out registration cards, wait as they are filled out and turn them in. Bring a registrar if possible. If voters must register in person at a specific place, make sure that complete voter registration information is on a handy, small card you an give out. Hand them out by the thousands; including before and after any rally. And do the same any place where people gather. Offer rides. Go along. Buy coffee.

Third, join your local democratic campaign. Workers who will register voters, go door-to-door, make phone calls, stuff envelopes, put up yard signs and dozens of other tasks are always needed. Glamour? No. Effective? Yes.

Elections are not won by crowds, either at rallies or in protests, but by voters who actually vote on election day. Never lose sight of that fact.

BATHROOM AS BOGEYMAN

Deja vu and all that. In the early 1970's I spent a lot of time and used a lot of mental energy to promote passage of the Equal Rights Amendment (ERA) in Illinois. A newly college graduated sixties era progressive, long hours of organizing women (and men) often ran headlong into Phyllis Schlafly and, gasp, bathrooms.

The argument was that if we allowed women to have equal rights it would lead to public unisex bathrooms. Too bad we didn't have OMG and ROTFL back then.

Except no one is laughing now as we fight the bathroom wars all over again. Really.

And since many public bathrooms are actually now unisex (Schlafly apparently never thought about doors), it seems nearly as ridiculous and obtuse now as it did then. But now the ante has been upped from mere presence of two sexes, in the same space albeit at different times, to the threat of attack - and on children. No better way to foment opposition than to claim a child is at risk. Without a single shred of evidence that this has ever been so on the part of a transgender person. And with evidence that it has been so on the part of a cisgender person. Why let facts get in the way of a good dose of prejudice and discrimination. Not to mention just plain hatred.

I live in Idaho now. We don't have a lot of big cities and developed area. We do have a lot of forests, mountains, high desert and other "back country". In fact, sixty-three percent of our land is federally owned and the state owns a great deal more. We like our wild lands. We hunt, fish, backpack, trail ride, hike, camp and generally spend as much of our free time as possible outdoors. Not many trees or bushes have peeing sex designated. That lack of gendered bathrooms hasn't stopped an overwhelming majority of Idahoans from spending time in the back country and - wait for it - peeing and pooping when needed and without thought of gender.

People, cisgender or transgender, do not go to a bathroom to show off their parts or to take advantage of young children. They go to perform a perfectly natural bodily function. In the US as privately as possible, although this penchant for privacy is not shared worldwide. No drama. Get in and get out.

So I am left to ask, in a time unlike the 70s where there is nothing unseen even by children, why is it exactly, that there is such fear about a toilet where you close the door and do your own thing privately?

It is an epidemic of fear. Fear of the "other". Fear of the unknown and unmet. That is what we teach our children in the name of protection...fear, intolerance, injustice and bigotry. When did it become OK to hurt others and deny them humanity based on gender preference? Never.

RESPECT

You may have played fair last night, but you didn't play smart. There's lots of talk about how Hillary Clinton will need Bernie Sanders supporters in the fall so she should be careful not to alienate them. It does not seem to have occurred to Sanders supporters that if he wins the nomination, the reverse will be true - perhaps more so - for him. Last night was your chance and you blew it.

I'll give you that the physical layout wasn't helpful in clarifying that we are all one party. Sitting on opposite sides of the gym made it feel like a football pep rally and you responded in kind. Running up and down the sidelines prompting the wave, cheers and foot stomping before we began was a nice display of electoral enthusiasm (that is what it was, right?), but not once, then or later, did any Sanders backer cheer our party, our unity.

And once the caucus started, it was clear you were there to demonstrate not caucus. You see, a caucus rather than a more traditional primary vote, is used when a party actually wants to achieve unity. Note I did not say consensus. Yes, we vote and the Sanders turnout was overwhelming and clear from the beginning. But the whole point of a caucus is to discuss the candidates and for each to try and persuade the other that they have the better candidate. At the very least to educate. Vote Blue, No Matter Who is more than a slogan. And if we can't talk to and persuade each other, how the hell are we going to win an election that depends entirely on persuading less involved and less sympathetic voters?

Those who spoke for Sanders did not even turn in our direction, used pep rally speech rather than persuasion and never recognized that the goal was to bring us together in common cause. Pumping up the already committed is for Sanders rallies, caucuses have a very different goal. No Sanders speaker indicated they would be behind whichever candidate won the nomination.

As a Clinton supporter, I did not expect to win the vote last night. But I did expect to be respected. When our speakers turn came they faced hoots, hollers, boos and derision. It felt like a Trump rally.

If you are a Sanders supporter who was present last night, why should you care? You "won". Here's why. While I may not believe you will get the nomination, you clearly believe so. And if that happened, you need us. The caucus was your chance to show us how we would be treated in a Sanders campaign; to persuade us that he was worth not just our vote, but our efforts. Because here is the dirty little secret of political campaigns...they are damned hard work and take every one's top effort.

You know the 300 of you last night? In order to win in November, EACH of you will need to contact, persuade, convince and convert about 30 more people. At least. Not just friends, not those who are already on board. They don't count in your total. Once the Convention is over in July you will give up your summer and fall, you holidays and weekends, your sports, your family outings and you will work. Unglamorous work this is; a phone to your ear, door-to-door, begging for money and votes, early mornings and late nights, side by side with those who may have initially backed a different candidate. And then you will have to do it all over again on election day to get each of those voters to the polls. For the many of you who caucused with us because you are in school here, but do not actually live here...will you be back to help not just the top of the ticket, but all those local candidates you barely acknowledged last night?

I've spent the better part of the last month promoting the Vote Blue No Matter Who movement. In nearly fifty years of campaigns, caucuses and conventions, I've always understood that in the end we needed to be united behind whichever candidate prevailed; to work willingly and unceasingly on their behalf in the election. But I left the caucus last night feeling terribly disrespected and in doubt about how I could possibly vote for Bernie. Enthusiasm cannot substitute for respect for the process and the other participants.

LOOKING INTO HEARTS

"I don’t think Trump is spreading bigotry and racism in this country — I think he is unleashing it. He is saying the things that a lot of people already believed but were too polite or afraid to say in public." ~~Saqib Bhatti

Over the last weeks, I have watched with horror our country's descent into madness lead by Donald Trump. I've re-posted on Facebook dozens of opinion pieces and then taken Facebook time outs because my helpless anger and despair went beyond my ability to stay sane. Now, with a deep breath, no little trepidation and some help from a poet, I hope to make sense of our evolving politics, both for myself and for my country; to look into the hearts of my country and, much harder, to look into my own heart.

Saqib Bhatti, quoted above, said squarely and openly what many of us are thinking. The problem isn't the abomination that is Donald Trump. Without supporters, Trump is just one more representative of humankind's worst and most evil; easily avoided and dismissed.

So, who are we really as a country? Are we the land of the free and the home of the brave? Are we the Statue of Liberty:

"A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles."

...

  "Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"

Or have we become an island in the world that protects our glorious bounty at the cost of our humanity? An island that not only fails to welcome others, but openly rejects our own if they don't look, worship or act like white male elders? An island where one person's success MUST come at the expense of another? A zero sum game of life. A "business model" for the soul.

What have we become? What do we think we are? What are we really? Is this a new us or just the peeling back of a false face? Did we grow up to become the bully down the street?

When I look into hearts will I see compassion or loathing? Empathy or repugnance? Harmony or singularity? One of many or many of one?

Much has been said about fear and anger as the motivators to support Trump. This idea seems merely a weak excuse for hate. Yet these are our neighbors, members of our congregations, owners of local businesses, parents of our children's playmates. They walk the same paths we walk. Are we sure that it is not possible for us to become them? And can we keep the promise of America on a steady course through turbulent times and the fierce headwinds of fabricated fright?

This political season has brought us the, perhaps unwelcome, need to examine our own hearts.  Can we look at ourselves, our children and our grandchildren and declare that when we traversed the great political divide of 2016 our judgment was fearless, sound and humane? This is truly a battle for the soul of America and for the conscience of each American citizen.

"Once to every man and nation, comes the moment to decide.

In the strife of truth with falsehood, for the good or evil side." ~~James Russell Lowell