DEAR DONALD...ABOUT THE FIRST AMENDMENT

 Dear Donald,

I'd like to talk to you about the First Amendment to the Constitution of the United States. The one you are about to swear to uphold. You have been around in our country seventy years and have been quoted as saying, "I was a great student. I was good at everything." So let's just call this emphasis learning.

Of course, I'm sure you know what the First Amendment says, but to review:

"Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances."

The First Amendment is really pretty simple and very straightforward, but again, to review; let's take it one issue at a time.

In our United States there shall be no law about who or how you worship or even if you worship at all. Free exercise. For all. Regardless of belief. Seems obvious and, dare I say, inclusive. And, because we are a nation of immigrants, we have a lot of religions; too many to even name them all.   In fact, Founding Father and President Thomas Jefferson emphasized this tenet when he said, "I contemplate with sovereign reverence that act of the whole American people which declared that their legislature should 'make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof,' thus building a wall of separation between church and State." Let's call if personal. Our beliefs are personal and should stay that way.

And freedom of speech and press cannot be abridged. Abridged, that is curtailed, lessened, reduced, restricted. Each of us (including Broadway actors) may give our opinions freely. And the press is not only free to cover, investigate and report anything; our very democracy depends on the information they report. I can't stop them. You can't stop them. And if you try, we will know for sure that you are trying to destroy our country, because our very survival depends on the free flow of information we can get only from an active and unafraid press.

And here's the real kicker for you. You are a public official. So anybody can say anything about you and there isn't a damn thing you can do about it. You better buck up buttercup. For a preview of what is in store please review the talk (including your own), letters, signs, effigys and often screams directed at President Obama. You didn't hear any whining from him so we will expect you to be at least as presidential.

Lastly, there is the right to peacefully assemble (parade, walk, march) and petition (protest, advocate). This is the way we use our free speech collectively. Sometimes it is hard to hear a voice when it is lost in millions of separate voices. But when those million voices speak as one, oh boy, that is powerful. Just like the Founding Fathers intended. If you've read Alexander Hamilton (Ron Chernow), you really understand how important this right and the others in the First Amendment are to the bedrock belief upon which our country stands. Or see the Broadway show, although since they are sold out for the next two years you might have to appeal to their clear sense of good citizenship to see it soon.

There you have it. The FIRST Amendment. The reason we have been able to take the diverse group of immigrants we all are and make a country. The UNITED States of America. If there hadn't been anyone to unite we could have just called ourselves, oh I don't know, the Confederated Tribes of Natives.

Now that you have reviewed the First Amendment of the Constitution, I expect you will want to revise your Twitter strategy. As President sworn to uphold the constitution you will want to model the appropriate behavior...just like President Obama did when confronted with speech or press that was hurtful or with which he disagreed. Let's try that here shall we?

Your Tweet:
"The cast and producers of Hamilton, which I hear is highly overrated, should immediately apologize to Mike Pence for their terrible behavior."

Revised in light of your presidential leadership recognizing the First Amendment:
"The cast and producers of Hamilton exercised their  First Amendment right to free speech tonight in a heartfelt message to Mike Pence."

Your Tweet:
"The Theater must always be a safe and special place. The cast of Hamilton was very rude last night to a very good man, Mike Pence. Apologize!"

 Revised in light of your presidential leadership recognizing the First Amendment:
"Glad the Theater is a safe place to exercise the free speech we all recognize. Keep it up!"

Your Tweet:
"Our wonderful future V.P. Mike Pence was harassed last night at the theater by the cast of Hamilton, cameras blazing.This should not happen!"

 Revised in light of your presidential leadership recognizing the First Amendment:
"Future V.P. Pence grateful to be publicly recognized & honored with cordial and sincere information on the people's concerns. Good  ideas!"

Thanks for your attention. I'll be happy to share my thoughts about our great, shared country anytime.

Sincerely,
Marcia Banta
U.S. Citizen

I was a great student. I was good at everything.
Read more at: http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/quotes/d/donaldtrum733749.html

I was a great student. I was good at everything.
Read more at: http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/authors/d/donald_trump_7.html

I was a great student. I was good at everything.
Read more at: http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/authors/d/donald_trump_7.html

COLD ANGER

It's time for Cold Anger and a lot less Hot Anger.

Hot Anger is, well, hot. Flammable. Easily co-opted by others for their own causes. Even turned against us. Hot Anger is directed at a target we cannot obtain. It's the easy joining of friends to parade our anger when we feel helpless. The destruction of what is in our path because the real cause of our anger is beyond our reach.

Trump is President-elect. Barring jail, while possible since he is in court for both fraud and rape, his taking office is immutable. Spending time trying to undo over two centuries of the peaceful transfer of power will only lead to failure. Or perhaps lead to the destruction of the country we want so desperately to save from what will certainly be a cruel and chaotic four years.

Cold Anger is that roiling in the pit of our stomach, present constantly and not allayed since November 8th. Cold Anger tells us we must act. Cold Anger is sustainable. Cold Anger looks at the situation, parses it for possible alternatives, organizes like minded others and takes targeted action. Cold Anger changes what it sees in front of it, one task at a time. Cold Anger parades only for a specific, attainable objective.

Right now we are in that restless grief that knows there is a next step, but cannot see that step clearly. I am there too.

Here is what I will do first. I will commit myself to helping others stay safe. This is on me. I can choose to do this without permission or agreement from others

I will speak up. I will speak against racism, sexism, xenophobia, homophobia, misogyny, and every other act that threatens another citizen based on their race, country of birth, color, religion, sexual preference or gender identity. I will act to stop any of the above, right there, as it is happening. Verbal or physical. If I need more training to understand how to intervene effectively, I'll get that training.

I will have this conversation and encourage others to have this conversation with friends, neighbors, book clubs, bowling leagues, golf games, card games, potlucks, dinner parties, social media, any gathering of people who care about America. I will be insistently polite, but I will not be afraid; I will not be silenced.

Second, I will pay attention. I will know what is happening and know the facts. I will understand the options for alternatives when I disagree. I will not hide in everyday life. I will not retreat just because I am not the first affected, the first to be attacked, the first to lose my American rights or benefits. I will not bury my head until it is my ox being gored.

Third, I will constantly be on the lookout for those who believe as I do, for allies. While I can do much as an individual, we are not just stronger together, we are more effective at producing change together. And I will not just look at traditional allies. As the Trump Presidency proceeds, more and more of his supporters will understand the con for which they fell. It is not too soon to begin talking and gathering strength.

I will not wait for a "leader". I will gather real people, join our minds and hearts and trust that leadership will emerge; whether sooner or later.

All of the above is a big ask. Consult the pit of your stomach to know if it is worth the effort.

THE CAT WITH NO NAME

It was a cold and rainy morning as I fought melancholy with purposeful action; heading for groceries for a post funeral gathering tomorrow. A block from home, under a neighbors street parked car appeared to be a small animal. Turning my car around and parking behind their car, I coaxed from underneath a tiny, wet, bedraggled kitten. Really tiny.

No near neighbors claimed her or knew of a local mama cat, so wrapped in a towel one of them generously donated, off we went back to my house for reinforcements from my husband and then to the veterinarian we use for our own cats.

As she warmed in my arms her tiny mewl came infrequently but surely, her coat dried and smoothed out and she slept.

But her rough start was to get worse and our dark day, darker. Only weeks old, she had a respiratory infection. Her eyes were not clear. Her snuggles were likely really lethargy.

And there was no room at the inn. Isolation at our vet was full. We drove from place to place with despair, the cat with no name snug in my arms. All the other clinics either did not have isolation or were full.  We have no isolation area in our home and two elderly cats - one blind and one deaf - who would, and should not be asked to, risk a sick stray. Local Helping Hands foster homes were overflowing even if they would take a sick kitten. The local Animal Shelter, who makes every attempt to be low kill, has no isolation room and does put down sick animals.

So with tears flowing we took her to one of the vets to be put to sleep. A cat with no name.

My head knows that this was the right decision; knows that with out us she would have crawled into a soggy corner and died a miserable death; knows that her two hours of warmth, love and cuddles, her death in caring arms was the only possible choice.

My heart knows only sorrow. Sorrow that this living animal was put out, dropped off as unwanted or merely neglected. Sorrow that whatever love and joy she would have brought to our world is lost forever. Sorrow, tinged with a bit of anger, that her mother wasn't spayed.

I'm asking Khayyam, Nastasha, Toughie, Sandro, Orca, Scooter and their big doggie sister Seamus to watch for her. They can call her Angel.

PINKWASHING JUST BECAME PERSONAL....AGAIN

This lovely lady, mother, grandmother and friend died this morning of metastatic breast cancer. Welcome to October. But I won't be writing a tribute. As much as that is deserved; others will be writing about her love, her cheerfulness through every hurdle and the deep mourning she leaves behind.

I am writing to YOU. About the irony of losing Diane Wright True as we begin the yearly October Pinkwashing. About the other friends I've lost to metastatic breast cancer. About how wrong we get the fight against this ugly disease. This disease isn't pink. This disease isn't sexy. This disease kills.

We KNOW this. We are AWARE already. We do not need education, we need a CURE. Or at least a control that works for life with a chronic disease.

So, yes. Through my tears, I am yelling, screaming, pleading.

Please do not buy one more pink spatula, pink bag of candy, pink socks or anything pink whose profit does not go directly, let me repeat directly - not through the hands of a for-profit company, to finding a cure. While I have no problem with companies contributing to research, they don't need your sale to do this...and many don't actually even contribute when you "buy pink". Don't drink the pink Kool-Aid.

Want to really help?
Want to really honor Diane? Or any other loved one lost? Or those fighting right now?

Contribute directly to those who make a difference and where your ENTIRE contribution goes to research. Here are two.

Metavivor "METAvivor appreciates your donation and honors your generosity by ensuring that 100% of your donation goes toward supporting grants for metastatic breast cancer research."

Stand Up To Cancer "Stand Up To Cancer is a groundbreaking initiative created to accelerate innovative cancer research that will get new therapies to patients quickly and save lives now. 100% of your donation received by SU2C will support Stand Up To Cancer’s collaborative cancer research programs."

So maybe you can tell. I'm heartbroken and angry. Racheal and Kaylee and Emily and Hayden deserved so much more time with Diane. Just like thousands of others we have lost; their mothers, grandmothers, sisters, daughters and granddaughters deserve a cure in any color and without having to "buy pink" for it.

NEVER FORGET...AND OTHER LESSONS OF 9-11

Yes, I remember where I was when I heard. On the West coast we were just waking up and I was showering with the radio on. By the time I was out of the shower racing for the television, the second plane had hit. By the time I reached my office, we all knew that the television, not work, would hold our attention all that day.

Everyone has singular and personal recollections of 9-11 and the days after. I watched TV endlessly at work and at home. I missed a staff meeting because we couldn't fly. With my husband, we spent the second week on a long planned trip for our anniversary/his birthday in the back-country, out of contact with most of the world. It was both harrowing and soothing.

I was in a high school chemistry class when John Kennedy was shot. On 9-11, I knew immediately that this event would join that day as one never forgotten; one about which would endlessly be asked, "Where were you?".

And the shared feelings, the togetherness in chaos, although now trashed and wasted forever, were some of the deepest and most patriotic I've felt.

Each year we are asked to remember, to "never forget". But what exactly are we asked to remember? What lessons have we actually learned?

On each 9-11 since 2001, in my small pocket of America, the local emergency responders of our two cities, two counties and two states gather in one corner of the territory and parade throughout the towns with their engines, cars, and ambulances dressed in flags; ending with a ceremony in a local park. It's lovely and moving. Emergency responders were hard hit on 9-11 (373 firefighters, 72 law enforcement) and their brother and sisters in service remember them gravely. Citizens line the roads for miles and wave flags. For at least one day, our gratitude to those who risk their lives running toward danger, rather than away, is on display.

Other towns have other traditions. For one small moment in time each year, we attempt to recapture the unity we felt in the aftermath of 9-11.

For those in the United States, it often seems a uniquely American tragedy. Yet, ninety countries lost citizens in the attack. Ninety countries.

And once the focus turned from the victims and our continuing strength as a nation; two competing lessons emerged. The facts of 9-11 underlined our diverse nation and shared sorrow. The list of victims reads like a who's who of nationalities and immigrants. Even today, looking at survivors is a lesson in the multiplicity of people and circumstances involved in American life, represented by one small microcosm in two buildings in one city, the Pentagon and four planes.  Our huddled masses were a world in two towers. Lesson number one of 9-11; we are one made of many.

This insight was followed closely in the American psyche by the militaristic and bellicose calls for retribution and revenge. Those calls are alive and well today although the perpetrators died in the crashes, Al Qaeda has been decimated and Osama Bin Ladin was killed by our military. We cannot seem to let go of our need to punish. Having defeated the immediate causes of our grief and anger, we have broadened our attacks to all those who look like, sound like and share a religion with nineteen fanatics and their leader. We conveniently forget lesson number one and focus on lesson number two: our fear outweighs freedom, welcome and constitutional protections for those unlike us in color, ethnicity or religion.

I know I am not the only one who wishes we had not turned 9-11 into just a day. The events and aftermath of 9-11 had the power to transform us more broadly. It was an opportunity missed. Genuine as our feelings of sadness over the loss of life, our true compassion for the survivors and our wish for 9-11 to positively alter the course of American history; we only appear to be able to achieve those worthy goals on one day a year. We are reminded but not transformed.

HOME

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

Beam Me Up

"If you can dream it, you can do it."

~Walt Disney

Tomorrow morning Al and I will climb in the car and travel three hours so that he can undergo an ultrasound and a fine needle biopsy. And then we will drive three hours home. A trip we have already made once. Eventually we will go back for surgery, requiring a multi-day stay as well. What's wrong with this picture?

The distribution and availability of health care, or lack thereof, continues to plague our country and our world. If you or your family have the means, distance is no problem. Steve Jobs received a new liver, not because he jumped over others on a list, but because he could afford to fly to all the facilities that kept lists; an action that was perfectly legal and recommended by his doctors. (Jobs lived in California where the wait was three times longer than Tennessee where he received his transplant.)

However, if you are just an average citizen, you face significant hurdles. Where medical treatment is available and how to get to that treatment can make such a decision life or death. This dilemma is especially true if you live outside a major population center. Those, as we are, who are semi-solidly middle class (but retired on a fixed income) jump in our car, spend extra time recovering from the stress of travel on top of the medical stress and, in the long run, hope we and our finances survive.

And if you are poor, well, everything is worse and often catastrophic.

None of this is news to any sentient being.

Today I am dreaming just a little bit. The big dream, of course, is fixing the health care system. But a smaller dream is fixing transportation. And personal cars are not the fix; although I'm open to self-driving, electric cars. Extensive mass transportation is the only way to level the playing field. Think buses, trolleys, trams, light rail, passenger trains, metros, undergrounds, subways, ferries, high speed rail, hovercraft, share taxi, paratransit or my long time personal favorite: Star Trek Transporter. Before you sneer, reread the quote at the top of this blog. We need more folks to passionately and doggedly follow the dream. Beam me up.

STEPPING DOWN: THIS DECADE OF MINE

It began with Roy William, beloved brother to my Mother, dead at 20 of lymphosarcoma; the Uncle I never knew but heard about all my life. Grandpa, who sat me on his lap and entertained by putting olives on all ten fingers, was my first funeral at five years old, brain tumor. And Aunt Sylvia whose matter of fact sharing of her “different bra” and what that meant in an era of silence. Then Aunt Billie whose lungs were riddled with cancer and Grandma, whose pain from colon cancer lasted a terrifying three years. 

I grew up, life passed. Then the impact hit home again as body parts disappeared; my husband’s kidney in 1988, my sister’s entire lower jaw in 1992, my Mother’s breast in 1998. Fortune smiled, survivorship, unnamed but welcome, reigned in our lives. It would be after retiring from work life and encountering the LIVESTRONG Foundation before I truly began to understand “Cancer may leave your body, but it never leaves your life."

It is always dangerous to try to assess something that is not quite over. In 2004, wandering through retirement and wondering which on the list of my fifty great volunteer ideas I should choose, the LIVESTRONG Foundation gently intruded. So much for my list. But finding my passion more than made up for the unexpected detour. I became a LIVESTRONG volunteer; a LIVESTRONG Leader and then Senior Leader to be exact. Positions from which I am stepping down on March 31.

Now, after a decade of attending LIVESTRONG Summits, becoming a LIVESTRONG Leader and then a Senior Leader; participating in dozens and dozens of conferences, coalitions, committee meetings; reading and talking to anyone who cared about cancer; designing fliers and cards and notices and events, and always fundraising; here is what I know has been important. People.

For ten years the stories of cancer patients and their families have consumed my life. Many were LIVESTRONG Leaders themselves. Many were participants in what became our first and continuing local project, the Cancer Support Group. More than I can count are those who became Facebook friends because the cancer community tends to share stories, resources, triumphs and pain. And, most dear, are those who I met here in Lewiston because they had a need and I could help.

A cancer diagnosis when you live in a rural community often means fewer options for treatment; perhaps traveling many hundreds of miles for treatment; figuring out transportation when you can’t or shouldn’t drive, air travel is out of financial reach, friends and family can’t get away; arranging for long periods of time away from home, family and work for either local or distant treatment, recovery or travel; clinical trials too far away to be feasible; fewer support resources; fewer financial resources. In summary everything’s fewer, fewer, fewer and harder to access. The loneliness of a cancer diagnosis magnified.

It is their stories, successes and sometimes their loss, that will be with me forever. Each person, each story was unique like a quilting square. And like a quilting square, each story formed a piece of the larger pattern that became the encompassing base for my life. Each person, each story touched me in ways I never anticipated. And each motivated me to work harder and longer to see that their stories continued to matter.

My companion LIVESTRONG Leaders, hundreds scattered in all corners of the world, became a precious, treasured family. Both their stories and the stories they brought of others, became the oxygen in my air, the soil for my growth, the energy for my work.

While I'm not leaving the field, just changing where I fall in the lineup, now is a point of summing up. This decade of mine has meant the sadness and pain of loss, the joy of group support and caring, the shared determination of cancer fighters and the elation of each individual's personal triumph. This decade of mine has brought love and friendship unimaginable before my venture in LIVESTRONG. This decade of mine has meant stories in which I will find comfort and meaning as long as I live and love. May the next decade offer as much reward.

This blog is dedicated to Ty Wakefield and Courtney Clifford - the first two young adult cancer fighters I encountered on my LIVESTRONG path. Both were lost very young. Both had an impact that not only went far beyond their years, but continues to this day.

Perhaps

I get it. I really do. When you are famous your death makes waves. And if the cause of that death is the current illness du jour, cancer, then the numbers who identify are literally millions. Yet once my shock and sadness at a safe distance are sated, the appropriate Facebook meme posted, I always wonder about the other deaths that occurred that day. More numerous, but mostly unseen; grieved only by close family and friends.

Does the size of the grieving circle say anything at all? It's is hard to believe anyone would say that one life, one death was more important than any other. So can we just celebrate that our reaction to the famous makes us widely compassionate? Or does that reaction obscure those deaths closer to home that go unnoticed?

Perhaps our willingness to look at a famous death makes us more compassionate for the unseen deaths that surround us.

Perhaps our willingness to look at famous death makes us consider our own mortality more closely and honestly.

Perhaps that is enough.

"HELLO, IT'S ME."

Thanks Adele for the title and the comeback example. Me too.

I began this blog in 2007 because I genuinely like writing and I inevitably, perhaps endlessly, have 'stuff' to say. Being both opinionated and ruminative, the blog filled a space in my world that was at once outlet, reflection and battle cry. My sole New Year's resolution for 2016 is resuscitate this blog. Plus, my mind really does meander and it seemed time for a bit of discipline.

So Hello, It's Me. When last we spoke my life was consumed by the decline and eventual death of my Mother. It was a drawn out and painful chapter about which I will eventually write - later. Today, on a long and chilly walk, I paused to consider my place in the family. In particular the oddness of being the oldest living member of my birth family.

My sisters and I recognized at my Mother's death the common insight that there is no longer an "older generation" between us and our death. I don't think any of us were particularly troubled by this inescapable fact of life. And, yes, I have always realized I was the oldest sibling; advantage of which I have sometimes taken to my sisters' distress. Yet somehow today, having recently celebrated my 68th birthday, I have suddenly been struck by the fact that not only is there no generation in front of me, but that I am the oldest living member of my birth family.

This recognition was followed by both wonderment (wow, I really got here) and discomfort (wow, I really am here) and not a little of confusion (wow, how am I suppose to feel/act about this).

And that is probably about right; pleased and amazed to be here, awed by everything around me, waiting for the other shoe to drop and often uncertain how to behave but showing a good face. The story of my life in a nutshell.

I hope you all will stick with me on what is sure to be a peripatetic journey. Feel free to read older entries (I did before I wrote today) and comments are always welcome.