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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.

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.

ON THE ROAD AGAIN Part I: Idaho

Maybe it is because I grew up far enough west of Chicago to consider riding a train to the city, especially to see the Christmas tree at Marshall Field's, a real treat. Or maybe it was the family trip each fall downstate to see the colors and brunch across the river from the Blackhawk statue. Or even maybe it was the many trips across corn fields to Des Moines where the bulk of our family resided and Mom and Dad called home. Perhaps it was just growing up when the automobile and the highways came of age. Yet then I went to Idaho for a job where our staff 'song' was On The Road Again; where each year I put thousands of miles on my current car and where four-lane was non-existent. So maybe it's just me.

But I love the byways. And the first day of our trip to Death Valley from Lewiston, Idaho only reminded me how much I have come to appreciate the varied terrain of my adopted state.

Not that the trip started in ideal conditions. Towing our trailer for the first time and leaving in winter overcast, we had the good fortune to have the snow hold off until the end of the first day - literally as we pulled into the motel parking lot.

And that small blessing meant three hundred miles of watching forest and mountain, streams, tumbling rivers and steep canyons, high desert hills and sage rush past my window.

And the small towns resurrected a gush of memories. See that small town? I once worked with it's legislative candidate on his campaign. See that small town? We mediated on the next contract for almost twenty-hours one night. And that one? A disciplinary hearing kept me in town for two days. Ah, and that one? We came with in an hour of a strike and I can tell you the motel owner's life history.

Travel gives us landscapes; physical, social and historical.

If only we watch...using more than just our eyes.

BLUE WOMAN IN A RED STATE

Idaho was really a footnote to Super Tuesday. The Democrats were caucusing, but in the reddest state. We made the crawl on the television coverage, but never the patter and certainly never the "critical to success" discussion.

Yet Idaho Democrats came to caucuses in droves, led by Idaho youth and spurred by an incredibly organized Obama campaign. It was big, noisy, constantly changing and a messy challenge to manage. But oh, it was inspiring.

And yet. On a personal level it was one of the toughest political decisions I have ever made.

I like Hillary. I like Barack. Without belaboring policy details, in my opinion either candidate would make a fine president.

At first blush, Hillary seems to be ready made for a boomer, feminist woman. And I deeply, personally would like to vote for a woman president before I die. It may seem a limited dream, but something in that vote would validate all the hard work, tough times and supreme effort put in by those of us who fought for and continue to fight for equality.

Any woman, of any political persuasion, my age or older who denies the passion for that opportunity is lying to you (or to herself).

And yet. I caucused for Obama. Yes, I like him too. Yes, he seems a little more right on my issues. Yes, he has captured the Kennedy Camelot youthful enthusiam; maybe surpassed it. Yes, I believe he will make a great president. Yes, that is also a history making vote.

But too long in politics, the final balance was swayed by one simple factor; his electability. We simply must have regime change. Maybe I'm asking too much. But I don't just want to vote for the first woman presidential candidate. I want to vote for the first woman president.