WHERE ARE YOU, MAN OF MY DREAMS?

“George Clooney Lookalike Contest Yields 49 Eligible Bachelors in Puget Sound Region”

On Thanksgiving 2021, the Seattle Times ran a contest for most desirable headlines of 2022. They asked us to be playful, and so this was one of my entries.

I love men! I’d love to have an eligible bachelor in my life. But being as tall and handsome as George Clooney is only the tip of the iceberg. At the other end of the spectrum are the men I call (to myself) “grungy bachelors”. These are the single guys who don’t meet basic standards of bathing, laundry and housekeeping. You can smell when they’ve been nearby. So, no grungy bachelors, thanks.

What else do I want? Intelligence, awareness of the wider world, someone who wants a committed but not live-in relationship; someone who “gets” me. Head, heart and hormones all in good working order. Someone with good table manners, and with the courage and savvy to speak up when he should, about situations we encounter; someone who cherishes me. Someone who can keep up with me; he is likely younger than me by a few years.

So, what do I mean by “getting” me? Acceptance that I’m a multi-faceted human being, with a pretty high-powered career under my belt, who likes to be playful and silly as well as serious.  Someone who is still trying to make a difference in the world, be an active granny, a good mom to my adult daughter (my only) and a good sibling to my three remaining sibs. A published writer, still aspiring to produce and publish several more books, a tomato-grower, beader and friend. 

Getting that a relationship with me means I’m an equal partner, that we decide things together -- not “love, honor and obey” but “love, honor and negotiate”. Not trying to get me to wear more makeup than I choose, dress differently, start liking diamonds because he gave them to me. Not thinking I’ll be dazzled by his car, home, fashion choices or “stuff”.

Acceptance that I’m a fully formed woman who will “get” him, with all his ups and downs, flaws and history, and will cherish him.

A BRIEF HISTORY OF THE WORLD – A PARABLE

written 5-2-21

God created the Earth. In the beginning, the Earth was too hot and too lacking in atmosphere for life. Gradually, over the eons, it settled down and various life forms began to evolve. Life began in the oceans and gradually some creatures adapted to become amphibian and to live on land.

Millions of years later, back in the Jurassic era, dinosaurs roamed the earth. They were the top of the food chain and definitely the dominant living creatures. They had huge bodies, very small brains and were generally pretty antisocial.

God paused and assessed His work so far[1]. “I don’t think I like these critters I’ve made,” He said. “I think I’ll create a course correction and try again.” So, he sent a big comet that knocked Earth off its axis, changed the climate a good deal, and gave a little rodent-like creature a chance, for the dinosaurs were now all gone. The little rodent, over the next few million years, became the first human being[2].

Fast forward a few more thousand years. God did another progress check and said: “I’m not very pleased with how these humans, whom I had such high hopes for, are proceeding. I think I’ll get rid of all but a few really good ones, and start again.” So, He spoke to Noah and told him to gather up two of each species and his immediate family, and build an ark. God then sent a Great Flood; it rained and poured for forty days and forty nights and the lands became water. Finally, the rain stopped and Noah sent a dove to fly out and look for land. The dove came back with an olive branch, meaning land was available above the waters.  The ark ended up on Mount Ararat and all the animals and humans started over in new settlements.

God commanded the climate to be just right for humans to flourish.  This was the Holocene era, lasting about 12,000 years and ending in the 1960s. It’s been referred to as a “Goldilocks” age – not too hot, not too cold, not too dry and not too rainy[3],[4]. But it’s ended and some refer to the current geological age as the Anthropocene.

Now in the 21st century, God took another look at His creation and said to Himself: “Perhaps I overdid things, and made it too easy for these humans to be fruitful and multiply. My periodic earthquakes, volcano eruptions, hurricanes and pandemics don’t seem to be enough to keep them in check. It was OK when Earth just supported a few million of them, but they’ve been so clever at using all the minerals I provided, so ingenious in all their inventions, that they’ve created a huge unintended consequence – overpopulation and the greenhouse effect. They have taken over earth as the dominant species, are incredibly warlike, and aren’t leaving much for the rest of My creation, which is rapidly going extinct. So, I’m going to let the planet get too hot for them; this’ll be a bigger deal than with Noah, as the seas will rise for many centuries as a result. I’ll enable Earth to get back down to just a few million people, and try again. Time to look for a few new Noahs!”

[1] Some people may feel it’s blasphemous or inappropriate for me to put words into God’s mouth. However, let’s remember that the entire Bible is human recollection / interpretation of God’s word.  The Bible that most Christians know was put together at Nicaea in 325 AD by a bunch of male priests. See https://www.britannica.com/event/First-Council-of-Nicaea-325. The books they left out are generally more feminist, as any Gnostic bible will show.

[2] This tale is beautifully told in Stephen Jay Gould’s story Dinosaur in a Haystack.

[3] https://www.abc.net.au/news/science/2016-02-22/goldilocks-zones-habitable-zone-astrobiology-exoplanets/6907836#:~:text=The%20Goldilocks%20Zone%20refers%20to,Earth%20we%20also%20find%20life.

[4] In this article 3 Major Scientific Discoveries In The Past Century That Point To God (thefederalist.com) Stephen Meyer claims three scientific arguments for the existence of God, one being that the 12,000 year long Holocene age, which ended in the 1960s, offered a “sweet spot” or “Goldilocks” era climatically, in which human life could, and did, thrive.  It remains to be seen what a faith-based interpretation of the current, Anthropocene age will include. This is my personal attempt.

 

 

Save the Free Press – But only if it Starts to Save Itself!

Labor Day 2018 to the Seattle Times News Editor

 Thank you for your recent column about the role of the local newspaper and for making yourself accessible. I’m going to take advantage of that access by raising a few issues:

 1.      SIGNIFICANT WOMEN DIED THIS WEEK, TOO!

Almost 3 decades ago I wrote to the Seattle Times complaining than the national obituaries were almost exclusively of men’s deaths.  I got what I considered was an almost frivolous reply (I think it was from Michael Fancher; wish I had kept it, but this was before scanners).  He said 1) there just weren’t any women of significance in the generation that was dying – women of this vintage just weren’t achievers; 2) the Times used a national news service so it wasn’t their fault who got mentioned. 

 Well, once in a while you actually have an obituary report that contains equal numbers of men and women.  But it’s still, 30 years after Fancher’s fatuous foolishness, mostly men meeting their maker, many editions of the paper still have ONLY men dying.  Since women are 52% of the population and likely make the newspaper purchasing decisions in more than 52% of households, I think it’s time to fix this!  I found quite a few online sites that report celebrity deaths; the main challenge is they don’t seem to be kept up weekly.  I’m sure you could find workarounds if the will was there.  But here we are, 30 years later and I am still complaining, because the Times doesn’t seem to be doing anything different!

 2.      NOBODY AT FACEBOOK RISKED THEIR LIFE AS A JOURNALIST TO GET A STORY POSTED

I didn’t understand, until Mark Zuckerberg began being grilled by Congress in 2018, how the “news” that Facebook posts CANNOT be gathered first-hand because it would change the company’s legal (and tax?) status. For a long time, I wondered why Facebook didn’t just hire its own journalists, to go out and gather firsthand information like everybody else must, in order to counter the “fake news” criticism.  I even thought, since Jeff Bezos has a bunch of journalists on his payroll, perhaps some sort of collaboration of the giants might be possible.  Then I began to understand that this would totally upset the Facebook business model. I imagine this all makes true journalists absolutely furious. How many journalists have lost their lives or were imprisoned in the world’s trouble spots recently? (More grist for the Times’ obituary mill?) 

 What a solid paper such as the Times could do, is a series of reports on the difference between e-news and real reporting.  What it takes to get through journalism school, what the average reporter’s life, pay and lifestyle are……what are the rewards and satisfactions.

 On this subject, I was appalled to learn that some friends in a relatively well-educated household no longer subscribe to basic TV, just to Netflix et al.   The husband gets all his news all day long on his phone.  The wife doesn’t really get the news at all.  This looks like a scary trend.

 Let me say, I myself don’t watch local network TV.  I am sick of fires, car wrecks and national dramas.  I watch BBC World News America (1/2 hour most nights); I less and less watch what used to be my mainstay, PBS Nightly News.  They need to replace Gwen Ifill, who died the week Trump first got elected, and not just have Judy Woodruff running the show.  I feel she has no charm.  I usually watch 60 Minutes. I subscribe to The Week and to the Seattle Times, which I can now read adequately in 10 minutes most days.  I subscribe to Yes! Magazine which focuses on positive futures, unlike The Economist which I had to dump as being too embroiled in the “dismal science”.  I have a few listservs sending things but don’t always read them.

 3.      A NEW BUSINESS MODEL FOR LOCAL NEWSPAPERS?

I expect you saw this: www.theweek.com/articles/793309/death-local-news?utm_campaign=newsletter&utm_source=afternoon&utm_medium=09_03_18-article_1-793309 In your shoes, and perhaps this has been done and I just didn’t hear about it, I would organize a few focus groups of people under 40 and kick around ideas for the new proper role of journalism.  It’s the “bits” not the “atoms” that are in question, to quote an old book I have just started (Negroponte, Nicholas: Being Digital, 1995).   It’s how to make money from primary data collection. Personally, I am amazed that you have any print advertising left on the books at all.  perhaps the under 40s would go for a tailored phone news report each morning? Perhaps they’d go for not having to scroll past dozens of ads like they do when online for other purposes? Could some of them be enticed to become online Times subscribers through an initial free trial that rolls automatically into a paid service after 3 months?  Etc. etc.

 4.      TEACHING THE PUBLIC TO DIFFERENTIATE BETWEEN FACT AND FICTION

Didn’t the University of Washington initiate a wildly popular course on this? Has the Times covered the outcomes? (I think this is it: https://www.polisci.washington.edu/news/2018/08/08/seeking-truth-age-cynicism-and-political-polarization-professor-mark-alan-smith)  Who else is doing what else in this genre?

 In conclusion, I think you’ve failed to reach and teach the audiences you need if real journalism is to survive. Even calling it the free “press” is a complete anachronism, as the last hot lead printing presses went out of use decades ago.

TWO NATIONS -- DIVIDED BY A COMMON TONGUE!

2002 Toastmasters Speech

            As most of you know, I was born across the pond in good old England.  My title comes from Oscar Wilde by way of Winston Churchill, whose mother was American[1].  Winston was a great speechmaker and quite a wit.  One of my favorites is the story where the Churchills and the Asquiths are having afternoon tea.  Winston did not get on very well with Violet Asquith and must have said something cutting, because Violet said back to him indignantly, “Winston, if you were my husband, I’d put arsenic in your tea.”  Without missing a beat he said right back, “Violet, if you were my wife, I’d drink it.”

 So, when Jennie Jerome, Winston’s mum, emigrated to Britain, perhaps she thought, like I did emigrating here, that I already knew the language. It’s the same, right? Wrong!

 Not only do the cars drive on the other side of the road, but also most of the parts are different.  Over there you put petrol[2] in instead of gas, the Imperial gallon is a fifth bigger, you store things in the boot[3], and you look under the bonnet[4] if there’s a problem.  The only name for car parts that our two nations have in common is the glove compartment, which is never used for gloves anyway!

 When you walk instead of driving, you might hear a British Mum say to her toddler, “Jimmy, make sure you stay on the pavement[5].” The road is the road and the pavement goes along the edge of it.  Little Jimmy should only cross the street where there’s a Belisha beacon, marking a zebra crossing.  And watch out for those lorries[6] and juggernauts[7].

 If you’re going up, lifts[8] will get you a lot further in Britain – not just a couple of inches higher in your shoes, but maybe to the second floor of a building, which [of course] is called the first floor.  [It’s sort of like how the Chinese count birthdays.]  And while you’re traveling about –on the motorways[9] –don’t be confused, the Downs aren’t valleys, they’re hills. But when you get there, don’t ask where the elevator is. Or the pay phone either -- you need a telephone kiosk[10].

 Food gets interesting.  The English have don’t have English muffins, but they do have Swiss Rolls, Welsh rarebit, Scotch eggs, Irish stew, Chinese Gooseberries, and the national vegetable, well-boiled Brussels sprouts. They have French vegetables such as courgettes and aubergines, which we would recognize as zucchini and eggplant.  Wheat is corn and corn is maize.  Amazing!  Cookies are biscuits and biscuits are scones, or ScOnes if you are very proper. 

 Dessert is pudding and is usually swathed in custard, which isn’t custard at all but actually a vanilla cornstarch sauce. But don’t ask me if that’s wheat or maize in the custard powder.  And, I kid you not; a popular English pudding is Spotted Dick. A favorite meal is bubble and squeak, which is fried leftover cabbage and potatoes, or even leftover Brussels sprouts. And if you say you want to wash up, you’ll get dirty looks if all you do is wash your own hands – because you just volunteered to wash the dishes! 

 If you eat out, don’t ask for the check – that’s what you’re going to pay with, after you get the bill.  At the fairground is the only time you might hear about candy – but it’s candyfloss[11], and you’ll need to floss after you eat it.  If you eat a piece of fruit, it might have a stone in it, but never a pit, because that would be the size of a gravel pit, which also has stones in it. And maybe you get a stone in your shoe – but never a rock because that would be so big, it would need a bulldozer to remove it. Rock is candy too, but not stone-shaped, actually more like a candy candle. If you get the collywobbles from all this strange food – and chips with everything, of course, then you might need to look for a chemist’s shop[12] to set you right. Or maybe you’ll actually enjoy British food and gain a stone! [This time, that’s fourteen pounds].

 It seems as if some seventeenth century household words came over with the Mayflower and stayed.  In the meantime they got outmoded and replaced over there.  For instance, don’t ask for a pitcher – you’ll be thought very archaic.  It’s a jug.  And a baby’s crib is a cot, a cot is a camp bed, and a closet is a wardrobe, –– unless it’s a water closet!  Then it’s a WC or a loo –some think named for that famous British Battle and also railway station – Waterloo. [Actually from “gardez l’eau” as the French would holler as they slung the chamber pot’s contents into the street].

 I learned the hard way that linguistic confusion happens to Brits too.  At the age of 17, I was working in France with several American students.    It was a tiny village with not much to do, just a little news and tobacco shop run by an elderly lady everyone called Madame Tabac. 

 So, one evening we were bored, and I said cheerily, “Let’s go and knock up[13] Madame Tabac!”  I learned from the look on the Americans’ faces that I had said something pretty embarrassing! And all I had wanted to do was bang on her shop door and see if she would open it up for us. 

 There were some other entertaining conversations with these American students.  For instance, they asked me where I went to school[14], and in haughty tones, since I had just left high school, I informed them that I didn’t go to school any more – I went to university.  “School” is just for grade school – but the English have you in a form not a grade.  It starts with first form at age five, advancing to 6th form at age 11.  Then, at 11 you might go on to grammar school, and start all over again with first form, only this time there’d be a lower and an upper sixth form. If you went to a private school it’s called a public school.   And these are the folks that ruled the British Empire!

 You have to be careful about clothing too.  If you put on a jumper[15], some pants[16], and a vest[17] over here, you’d be pretty overdressed.  Over there, though, you’d be wearing a sweater and two pieces of underwear.  Braces don’t go on teeth, they hold up trousers, and don’t forget and accidentally call them suspenders because those are what hold up a lady’s nylons [when she’s on stage].  And a garter holds up a knee sock – nothing risqué about that!

 So, maybe you Yanks think that I’m daft as a brush, that this is all a load of codswallop, and that speaking British is a doddle[18].  Well, if so you’ll probably make a right twit of yourself when you go over there.  Speaking of Yanks – you’re all Yankees to the Brits, even though here, as best I can figure, you’re only a Yankee if you’re from the north, or if you’re in the north, a Yankee is only from New England, or if you’re in New England a Yankee is just from Maine.

 So, that’s our common language – from A to Zed[19]!

 


[1] His mother was Jennie Jerome; and as her mother, Clara Hall, was one-quarter Iroquois.

[2] Gasoline or “gas”

[3] Trunk

[4] Hood

[5] Sidewalk

[6] Trucks

[7] 18-Wheelers (A Term Rarely Used)

[8] Elevators

[9] Freeways

[10] Pay phone (and of course, they’ve largely gone away due to cell phones (mobiles)

[11] Cotton candy

[12] Drug store

[13] Get someone pregnant

[14] Term used for K-12 (kindergarten through 12th grade (=upper 6th) and also for college and university

[15] Pinafore dress

[16] Trousers

[17] Waistcoat

[18] A cakewalk

[19] Pronounced Zee in American.

Why I'm Not a Pilot

Recently there was enthusiastic talk about the recent Army and Navy game, and I confessed that I am not much of a team sports person.  I was seriously discouraged from team sports in my teens, when a hockey stick hit me across the eyebrow and chipped off a bit of bone (no doubt that blow to the head explains a lot!)  But basically, I am a klutz. Couple of weeks ago I found a new word for it – I have dyspraxia.

 Back to my story title. Why I decided to learn to fly was because many years ago, I became Chief Planner, for the Massachusetts Aeronautics Commission.  In case you’re wondering, every state set up these commissions when aviation started to be popularized in the 1900s by the barnstormers.  Eventually the big airports such as Sea-Tac and Logan broke away and are managed by elected port or airport districts. Meanwhile the aeronautics commissions, now often folded into a state department of transportation, take care of the smaller, general aviation airports.

Well, so here I was with the Chief Engineer and the Chief Pilot, listening to them have ding-dong argument in a staff meeting about “ponding”.  What the heck is ponding? I quickly learned that it means a dip at the mid-point of a runway, where a small pond can gather after rain. “The Chatham airport has ponding; I skidded on ice there last time I landed”, said the Chief Pilot.  “There’s no ponding; I measured it myself,” said the Chief Engineer, who’d sworn never to become a pilot himself.  “Hmm,” I thought, “There’s some things you just can’t learn from the ground.” So, I started flying lessons.

I aced the ground school, and had about four actual lessons in the air.  Now my instructor’s telling me that next time, I should solo.  Oops.  I just couldn’t see this.  What I could see, was me plowing the nose of the Cessna into the tarmac. Although I didn’t know the word at the time, I knew my dyspraxia could kill me.  Airplane controls are sort of reversed from an automobile’s, as all you pilots know, and unless I were to fly every day, I don’t think the right muscle memory would have kicked in for me.

Examples began to come to mind supporting my decision not to solo; well spread out over the years….  In my first basketball lesson, I caught the ball on a fingertip and dislocated it backwards. As a young adult I went backpacking in Maine with my new husband.  It was a muddy trail with lots of tree roots, twigs across the path, and bugs.  After a week, he was completely unscathed, and I was head to toe bruises, scratches and bites.  We’d been on the same trail for the same length of time, and he had even held the twigs aside for me as I passed (as an attentive new husband should!); the only real difference was his hairy legs gave him an early warning system for the mosquitoes. I still have no idea how I accomplished all those injuries.

 I’d already proven my dyspraxic nature when I foolishly went cross-country skiing in New England.  I fell on my butt about every 30 seconds, and at least eight of those falls were on the same wretched patch of ice.  Result? I broke my coccyx (tailbone) and for the rest of that winter I carried around a doughnut cushion. It still hurts sometimes to sit, or to fly too long on an airline.

I didn’t give up the great outdoors; I broke my left leg in three places by falling off a bike when the tire caught between the asphalt trail and the sand at the side. Later, I broke the other ankle out hiking. I broke my big toe by falling through about a foot of crusty but melting snow and hitting the pavement, in a parking lot!  After that I stayed indoors for a while; then I broke another toe by walking past a bookcase in my bedroom.  One toe went caught on its corner while the rest of me kept walking in some other direction.

One day before work, I was rushing with a full basket of nicely folded laundry around the island in my kitchen.  I couldn’t see, of course.  Too bad that the dishwasher, which was part of the island, had its door open.  Laundry and I went splat, and the edges of the door cut both my legs.

 I must have a thing for sharp doors, because recently the new sweep under my door completely took off one of my toenails.  Don’t ask me what I did this time, and don’t do what I did!

 What takes the cake though, in my dyspraxic life, is the time I hurt myself with a shampoo bottle.  It was the kind with the lid that swivels up and down, and had gotten gummed up.  So, I’m in the shower, holding the bottle with one hand and peering at it closely.  A bit too closely, and a bit too tightly held!  It shot upwards and bingo! An incredible and embarrassing black eye. And I managed to make it look worse by going swimming next day.  My goggles pressed on the damage and made it spread to more of my face.  Yikes!

So, I conclude -- I’m kinesthetically impaired; I’m dyspraxic; I’m a klutz!  So, I’m still not a pilot.  There’s a saying “There are old pilots, bold pilots but no old, bold pilots”.  Well, I’m old and I’m bold, and I’ll never be a pilot!

TERMS OF ENDEARMENT or PLEASE DON’T CALL ME “DEAR”!

I’ve always liked it if my man called me honey, sweetheart, dear, sugar. It made me feel I was special to him.

But one benefit of the #MeToo sexual harassment movement has been to make it clearer that I don’t have to accept such terms from men who aren’t the special guy in my life. Men who are often my colleagues, and sometimes men who are complete strangers.

One incident comes to mind from when I was very new in the workforce. Our section had an admin guy who was supposed to keep our supply closet stocked. We were out of pencils, and I asked him to get some from central supply. He replied:

“You know what you can do, dear, you can go down to central and yada yada yada”

He didn’t appreciate my reply, telling him that I thought this was HIS job. But as I look back, it was that “dear” that stuck in my craw as much as his laziness and condescension.

What is it about “dear” in this context? It feels like a verbal pat on the head, a putdown. It says the speaker thinks I’m beneath him in some way. I can’t imagine myself calling a male colleague “dear” except perhaps in sarcasm. So, the use of the word is not a level playing field.

A few years later, I had an interview for a job I really liked the sound of.  My new potential boss drove us to lunch for the interview and meal.  All was good, except by the time we were driving back, he must have called me “dear” about fifty times. He’d offered me the job and I wanted it, so I thought to myself: “Oh boy; this is a deal-breaker for me. I’ve got to tell him how much it bothers me.”  So, I told him I’d take the job but only if he promised not to call me dear.

Apparently after I’d left their office, he asked the other women at this agency, one of whom was his boss, if he’d ever irritated them by calling them “dear” …. And got an earful. These women were grateful to me for tackling an issue than had been grating on their nerves. I took the job. Ever after, he would apologize if a “dear” mindlessly passed his lips. So, my boldness, my risking that I’d blown the job offer out of the water, paid off.

Decades later, I was trying online dating and had been in a few conversations with a man who lived some miles away. We were talking about meeting for coffee, potentially a 20-mile drive for us to meet halfway. The same issue raised its head--- although we’d never met, he kept calling me “dear”. Did I want to drive 20 miles for more of this? I felt I should give things a chance. So, I said: “I’ve really been enjoying our conversations and I’m looking forward to meeting you; there’s just one thing.”  “What’s that?” he asked. I told him that, especially as we didn’t know each other, I wasn’t comfortable being called “dear”. His reply: “Well, in that case I don’t think we have as much in common as I thought.” Click.

He’d hung up on me. His way or the highway! Oh dear!

HOW COME ORDINARY AMERICANS AREN’T DOING MORE TO MITIGATE CLIMATE CHANGE? TEN REASONS

October 19, 2021

The average American emits 20 tons of greenhouse gases a year. The world average is 3.  We each need to get to 3, or better yet, zero. Even the average person who wants to make a difference and shrink their carbon footprint doesn’t always know what to do or have access to the necessary resources to achieve these goals. A huge amount has been written about climate change and climate-change mitigation, yet very little of it tells the individual how to shrink their carbon footprint to zero or near-zero. Why isn’t this happening? I can see many reasons.

First, it’s overwhelmingly huge, and hard to see where to start. There isn’t a handy guide to what to do in order to get me, and my household, to zero. We know some minor things to do, such as change out all our light bulbs to LEDs, but we don’t know how much that will help. We may have signed up for renewable energy with our local utility, but we don’t know how much that’s helping.

Second, we may not feel we’re responsible. Climate change became a visible threat in our lifetimes, but some – perhaps a lot – of people say, as one of my friends did: “I didn’t consciously make this happen, so it’s not mine to fix, not my fault.” They disown the problem.

Third, upgrading to green is expensive. A rural friend said recently: “We barely get by financially as it is; we work in different directions and each need our own vehicle. Mine’s a truck that my big heavy dog can be loaded into when it’s vet-visit time. When our son hit sixteen, he had to have a vehicle too, and we can’t afford three Teslas, even if we could get such an order delivered in timely way.” And most electric vehicles don’t have much range; with charging stations being scarce and slow, it’s too big a risk of getting stranded.

Personally, I was very pleased to be able to put 21 solar panels on my little 1920s house and take advantage of the 30% federal tax credit when I bought the panels in 2015. In the very first year I got free electricity and more than $1,000 in incentive payment from my state government. But I had come into some capital, and most people don’t have the funds lying around to make this kind of investment.

Fourth, a lot of myths and untruths are floating around. Some folks believe that solar power doesn’t pencil out, not realizing that their neighbor’s investment made 20 years ago is no longer the story – costs of solar panels have dropped so much that installing them pencils out almost immediately, especially with incentive payments.

Fifth, to get full benefit from my solar panels I’d have to go “greener”. It’s not easy retrofitting a 1920s house to be green. I arranged for a professional heat loss study of my little house, and found out that the insulation in the attic was insufficient; the insulation in the walls had sagged and was no longer doing its job; although the windows had been upgraded, they weren’t state-of-the-art; the appliances were old. I had an insurance policy on the house’s infrastructure and when the gas furnace gave up the ghost, this policy paid for a replacement – but only an identical gas furnace. I should have been focused on eliminating gas entirely, since it’s a fossil fuel. But then I’d have had to pay this $4,000 or so myself. I did install some more attic insulation, and got a rebate for doing that, too.

Sixth, not everyone is focused on the common good but on “I want mine”. I was struggling to install a low-flow showerhead and grumbled about the challenge to one of my neighbors. His response was: “What the heck are you doing that for? I’m old, and I want to use as much hot water as I can before I die.” These remarks tie into an underlying fear that going green, cutting one’s own emissions, will mean a lower standard of living. In 2008, an article in Reason magazine explained how, in order to cut greenhouse gas emissions enough to mitigate climate change, we’d all have to go back to the 1870s. No cars, no central heating, no tank of hot water….it was a dismal picture. That journalist didn’t get, however, that green innovations in almost all areas of life mean we can have our cake and eat it – we can live comfortably, even luxuriously, without causing greenhouse gas emissions. That’s even more true today than it was in 2008.

There are other reasons why personal change is not happening much.  Seventh, is climate change denial. Simply put, if global warming is not caused or exacerbated by mankind, then mankind has no obligation to try to fix it. One person, a scientist by training, told me that climate change is coming about because the magnetic poles are changing place. Yes, the poles are reversing, but science doesn’t support his climate change theory! Nor is climate change just a normal geological cycle: it’s happening much faster than usual.

Reasons morph into excuses. One excuse that I hear – and this is number eight -- is that the leaders in the climate change mitigation movement are hypocrites, so why should anybody listen to them? Some climate change leaders have huge carbon footprints themselves, which makes the average person rightfully skeptical. They jet all over to promote the cause. Who gave them a free travel pass, knowing as they do that air travel is one of the worst emitters per mile that we have?   Bill Gates, who in his 2021 book How to Avoid a Climate Disaster admits to a horrible carbon footprint, lives in a 7-acre house and also jets around a lot. Yes, he’s investing in advanced nuclear power and meat substitutes. Maybe all of these leaders purchase carbon offsets when they travel.   Swedish teen climate activist Greta Thunberg might be one of the few exceptions to the failure to walk the talk. She traveled across the Atlantic in a sailboat and probably gets around Europe by train. Wouldn’t it be great if all these leaders would publish their own carbon footprints each year and share how they’re shrinking them?

Ninth, we don’t like being lectured at. Greta and other young climate activists have been lecturing the older generation recently about our climate failures, and how it’s all talk and not enough action.  They are right. But are we starting to tune this out? It had shock value at first, but now we want to see Greta and her ilk also offering practical solutions.

Tenth, we don’t really know who’s responsible for the fix. A common theme is that it’s up to the oil companies, the car makers, the utility companies, the federal government to take care of climate change mitigation. But we can’t wait for a deadlocked Congress, and the private sector will only do so much without more sticks and carrots. I don’t believe that waiting for the big actors to actually act excuses the average household from working on getting to zero. But a really crisp and clear handbook on how to achieve this at the household level would be most welcome.

Greta Thunberg called it. In May 2021, the teen climate activist pointed out to the world that the global-scale response to the COVID-19 pandemic —shutting down whole sectors of national economies, social distancing, masking, an unprecedented race to produce effective vaccines—proves that where there’s a will, there’s a way. During the pandemic, we demonstrated that we could effectively tackle a massive challenge. Thunberg rightly believes that the world needs to step up in similar fashion to address climate change. The experts gathered in Glasgow for the 2021 climate change summit need to tackle all ten barriers to effective climate change mitigation.

BECOMING AN URBANIST

OCTOBER 2021

Having spent my early life on a remote British hill farm, at the age of eight I became an urbanist. My college-educated parents realized that their most successful crop from the farming years was five children. Then they realized that high school would involve a two-mile hike to the train station, a ten-mile ride on the train, another walk from train to school, and the reverse in the evening. In winter this travel would all be in the dark. Since high school begins at age 11 for British kids, and my older sister was 10, it triggered a big re-thinking of their “back to the land” life plan.

We gave up the farm and moved to York, a city of 93,000 people. At first, I walked to the elementary school, about half a mile away. It was close enough that we could come home for lunch. I had a kick-scooter for longer errands such as fetching our daily newspaper. High school was completely the opposite side of this Victorian-walled city, and while Mum gave us bus money, if we walked, we could keep it. So, my older sister and I learned the fastest walking route to and fro, and most of the time that was how we commuted to school. It took us through ancient streets, including a very short street with a very long name, WhipMaWhopMaGate, through York’s famous Shambles, past the stately York Minster, through two of the walled city “bars” or entry-gates, past the River Ouse, past the main public library, past butcher shops, cafés and hair salons –a scenic trip every day through some of the loveliest and most varied sights of the city.

Walking on the York walls was another delight. The walls brought us to the Quaker Meeting House, to the Kirk Museum where my father worked; to the main shopping areas and the weekly farmers’ market. In the spring the grassy wall foundations were alive with waving daffodils.

Had we stayed on the farm, I don’t suppose I’d have gone after graduate degree in urban planning, which I ultimately did at Glasgow University.

Urban strategic planning in tiny Britain (not much bigger than Rhode Island but with ~70 million people) is generally called Town and Country Planning, with a lot of emphasis on keeping town and country as separate as possible through green belts and other strong land use controls. It’s changed in the 50 years since I lived there, but not as much as one might expect, with suburban sprawl being kept to a minimum despite growing car ownership.

This was my foundation, upon finding myself an urban and transportation planner in the US. Inevitably my thinking was shaped by living in a beautiful, compactly-designed system where government strategic urban planning was expected, and the pleasures of urban life taken for granted.

ALL ABOUT GAS MILEAGE

FIRST CREATED 2018

I am 75.  On what turned into a highly memorable 39th birthday, I totaled my car.  Apart from being rescued by two drunk Alaskans, I could have died that day. The destroyed car was a VW Rabbit, an ugly orange color I hadn’t chosen, as I bought it used. Time to shop for something else, maybe something brand new. What a very unexpected birthday present!

This was pre-Internet 1984.  I contracted with Ashly Knapp, who at that time was running a business called Auto Advisor.  As a single woman, I wanted masculine professional help to pick out a new car.  Ashly’s services included gathering details about my car habits (I saw a car as a necessary evil, not a cherished toy) and advising and even negotiating what to buy next.  He found me a used white Honda Civic Hatchback at a good price.  But, he cautioned me: “Don’t fall in love with this car.  My job involves annual tours of the Big 3 auto makers in Detroit, and I can tell you that they have on the drawing boards cars that will get 80 miles per gallon (MPG), coming in three years, so you may want soon to upgrade.”

I loved my little Honda hatchback and it got 47 mpg on the highway. I waited with bated breath for the 80 MPG cars that Detroit knew how to build.  But instead, we went down the SUV rabbithole.  A Sports Utility Vehicle, a pseudo-truck, was exempt from federal automobile emissions standards, and that’s what Detroit began to build and Americans began to buy. The 80-MPG car seemed to have been completely shelved.

In August 2018, we were arguing about 30 mpg (Trump) vs 50 mpg (Obama) emissions standards.  Apparently, we’re still pedaling backwards. California is the only state even approaching doing this right. Transportation contributes at least 30% of American greenhouse gas emissions and looked like an easy fix. What in the world happened? 

Are we going to abandon high MPG fossil-fueled vehicles and skip straight to electric vehicles (EVs) instead? That would be OK if 1) there weren’t huge greenhouse gas emissions involved in manufacturing EVs and 2) if we could be sure that the electricity our EV plugs into is from renewable sources.

That’s another blog.

Chickens in a cage

written in 2018

In my new-ish retirement community, one of my friends died in mid-April.  I called 911 twice (accompanied her to the ER the first time) and called the hospital daily.  It was traumatic. 

This morning (4-25-18) a memory from 1984 came to mind.  This still-vivid experience happened in Shanghai.  I was in a street market, passing a chicken stand.  No refrigeration, so the meat was kept fresh by not killing the chickens until needed.  On the right were dead, plucked chickens hanging in a row by their feet.  On the left were live chickens in a cage, and they seemed to be nervously eyeing their slaughtered companions, fully aware of what was next for them.

This is how it is at my retirement community.  We all know we’ll die here.  It may be next week, or it may take 25 years.  It may be from the Independent Living floors, or we may have had to “move downstairs” (to Assisted Living or Skilled Nursing, or to Memory Care).  But no matter how long it takes, we all expect to leave here feet first.  

And so our life today is like the caged chickens’.  We see what happens to our neighbors; we hear rumors and stories (for there is no official way here of sharing about a neighbor’s illness), and we are thankful that it wasn’t us, at least this time.

But deceased neighbors are in our face every day, just like they were for the caged chickens in Shanghai.  The ambulance comes almost every day; someone dies at least once a month.  We know for whom the bell tolls – it tolls for us, here in the retirement community.

It’s not easy to stay positive in the face of this.

AN OPEN LETTER TO MARK ZUCKERBERG

CREATED 10-31-21

Mr. Zuckerberg:

In the words of the immortal Shakespeare: “That which we call a rose / By any other name would smell as sweet.” But Shakespeare’s flip side is that Facebook renamed as Meta Platforms still smells as the same.

Nevertheless, maybe this inflexion point is a good time for you to offer a new kind of account. I wrote to you in 2018 with this idea:

There are aspects of FB that are brilliant, and I would pay $10 a month for a Facebook Lite program that would enable me to connect with friends and family without all the news postings and other huge problems of the current setup. 

The above “huge problems” means a Facebook Lite without advertising content, without mining of personal data for revenue. This would likely mean likely much less hacking, and presumably an end to the loss of millions of pieces of confidential personal information. $10 a month seems reasonable, and maybe an upgrade option at $12 a month with newsfeed – but only if you radically change Facebook’s “news”-handling algorithms. 

 And, a new idea: what about a good-news option? I don’t mean just rescued puppies and 5-year-olds’ lemonade stands, I mean substantive good news about life on this troubled planet. Yes Magazine and The Week have good-news feeds. We need much more of this.

 I puzzle about why you haven’t yet tried out a fee-based clean Facebook business model. Perhaps you could make even MORE money! And obviously nobody else can try creating such a business (except maybe Donald Trump, with whom I feel you have a lot in common) because you would sue them into extinction.

 I wrote previously because I found your 2018 testimony before the US Senate to be highly embarrassing; it made me cringe. It’s only a matter of time before US legislation starts to regulate you, with a good and necessary kick in the rear from heroine Frances Haugen. Britain is considering legislation to rein Facebook/ Meta in, as is the European Union. Australia has passed a world-first law aimed at making Google and Facebook pay for news content on their platforms. I believe Facebook Lite, if it met the standards I’m suggesting, would not face substantive additional regulation.

 In 2018 it was reported that you had a payroll of 20,000 people weeding out unsuitable news.  Recently I read that this figure is now 40,000. Holy cow! What a waste of precious human resources; what a horrible, soul-destroying job that must be.

 Wouldn’t it be wonderful if Facebook would reduce these jobs by re-writing the algorithms that exponentially proliferate such ugly stories? Then you could use the rest of the payroll money to hire or pay for real journalists to actually go out and collect primary date i.e., frontline news. Or you could make payroll grants to real journalism organizations, such as newspapers. Jeff Bezos went out and purchased a newspaper; you could consult with him about journalistic standards and what is meant by primary data collection and verification.

 How many Facebook news reports resulted in a reporter’s death this year? Zero. About 50 real journalists died out there in pursuit of stories of real news from dangerous places. In my opinion, it’s time for Facebook to man up and do the real work of journalism.

TIME FOR A SECOND AMERICAN CONSTITUTIONAL CONVENTION?

In the early 1970s, my husband and I briefly hosted a well-to-do refugee couple from dictator Marcos’ Philippines. In the Philippines, the husband was a doctor, forced to start at square 1 again in the American medical system. The wife had run a TV station, managed 5 children (each with their own nanny!) and was named to the country’s forthcoming Constitutional Convention.  I don’t believe the Philippines Constitutional Convention ever actually convened; things got worse under Marcos, which is why they were refugees, in Boston with us.

A Constitutional Convention.  What a good idea! Our last one was in 1787, almost 250 years ago.  What has changed in the U.S. since then?

·        50 states in the Union, starting from 13 back then.

·        Civil war.

·        Population of 330 million spaced over 3,000 miles of terrain plus Alaska, Hawaii and various territories, grown from under 4 million in 1790.

·        Massive immigration including large numbers of poor, uneducated indentured white servants in the 1600s, 1700s, 1800s.

·        Major shift in our ethnic mix, so that white people are no longer the majority.

·        Life expectancies – if you had been born as recently as 1900, your life expectancy was only about 50 years; today it’s in the high 70s. This results in a whole new phase of life for most Americans.

·        Voting rights, first for men of property, then for all men after the freeing of slaves, then in 1920, for women. Still today, many American citizens battling to register and vote as the law permits.

·        Diaspora of Black people from slavery on southern farms and plantations, to new lives in northern cities.

·        Massive shift in our country from largely rural back then, to largely (80%+) urban today, with only 2% of us working on farms.

·        Technology of the 20th and 21st centuries, radically affecting the speed of transportation and communications.

·        The industrial revolution.

·        Massive medical and dental improvements.

·        Massive plumbing and sanitation improvements.

·        Electricity in all buildings and public spaces.

·        Nuclear power, for weapons and for electricity.

·        And each reader can no doubt add to this list.

This isn’t the country of our Founding Fathers; they would scarcely recognize it. They must be credited for doing an amazing job of establishing an American Constitution that has held up quite well (with 27 Amendments) through all this change.

And yet…are our processes for fine-tuning the Constitution adequate, given all our change? The Constitution itself contains language for how to initiate a (second) constitutional convention but it’s never been done.

A 2020s Constitutional Convention could be scoped to look at numerous issues such as:

·        State vs. federal rights in areas that simply hadn’t happened in the 1700s.

·        The value or otherwise of the Electoral College.

·        Voting systems and best practices of voting registration and balloting; should the federal government set minimum standards for voting practices at all levels?

·        The size of the Supreme Court; term limits or easier ways to step down.

·        Equal Rights for women and all other disadvantaged groups.

·        The proper role and size of the federal government in this federation as its population grows;

·        The proper role of America in the wider world and outer space.

·        Establishing a new constitutional convention process every 150(?) years.

·        And each reader can no doubt add to this list.

 

What’s the hazard here? Simply, people might get changes they hadn’t envisioned and didn’t like.

What’s the value? Giving a voice to groups that didn’t exist in 1787 or existed but had no voice.

 

WHY WOULD ANYBODY CHOOSE TO LIVE IN A GREEN CITY?

We are a nation of pioneers and movers. The American west has been settled for less than 150 years. Innovation, exploration of the unknown, and change have marked our culture from the very beginning. So, a city born of innovation will have appeal to many people.

High quality family wage jobs with good benefits and civic-minded employers will be a big draw. Most standard households won’t move to a new place unless one of them has a job, and the other has prospects. Green city companies may want to consider an “and spouse/ partner” hiring approach. That’s to say, person 1 of the couple gets a job and person 2 is invited to informational interviews, introduced to hiring managers both there and at other green city firms, offered temporary or part-time work for the household’s transition into town. In short, becoming a two-income household (again) is made relatively painless.

Once the employment-and-paycheck issue has been tackled, the biggest draw for most residents will be that living in a green city means: I can live very lightly on the planet without really having to think about it much. I’ll know that I and my household and my new friends are all helping to mitigate climate change by walking our talk every day.

And actually walking —being a pedestrian in my new home, will be easy because of the compact layout and the many pedestrian trails (with fast and slow lanes!) My kids, when I have some, will be able to get to after-school sports and other programs under their own steam on the trails, using bikes, skateboards and shoe-leather.  And for longer trips the driverless electric buses take us all where we need to go, some on fixed routes and some on-demand with door-to-door service.

I may need to own a car, and if so it will be electric, but instead of fretting about where to get it charged, I’ll know that my new city has charging stations as part of every parking stall and meter, and I’ll know that clean energy powers them, because the place is making its own electricity, all from renewables.

I’ll appreciate that compost, garbage and recyclables are all going back into the system to be re-purposed into city park fertilizer, waste-to-energy electricity, and new products, due to the city’s commitment to 100% waste management. Even my human sewage is going to become bio-solids or composting toilet waste that will be used as fertilizer in the city’s neighborhood hydroponics and its surrounding ring of fields.

I will enjoy the support, encouragement and space for gardening to produce both beauty and my own veggies. Whether all I can afford is a balcony with hanging planter boxes; whether I have a rooftop planter, a community P-patch space, or simply a kitchen that’s well set up for sprouting my own salad greens, I’ll enjoy both the process of growing things, and the freshness of my food. And I’ll appreciate that commercially-grown food is being produced right here in the city, in hydroponics towers and in country fields. That food is much fresher too. Almost zero food-miles. Our farmers’ markets will sell not only local food but also local craft products, and be a great place for an outing.

We will enjoy living in a learning culture, where the community technical institute puts on classes for adults and our school-kids including what’s happening around the world in green building, what innovations they’re going to suggest the city council tries. “The tech” will help to create a multi-cultural community, because people of all backgrounds will be coming here to do research, teach or visit. I like the strong connections among our tech institute and our school system, our senior center, and our employers.

It costs a bit more to live in a green city, and optionally if I can afford it, I can become an investor helping to buy down the initial costs of building this place. But if I can’t, that’s OK. And although the cost of a home is on the high side for me, there’s plenty of affordable housing being built throughout the place for those with lower incomes, for retirees and young people just starting out. And all of us have much lower utility bills because our homes are super-insulated and don’t take much to heat and cool; our appliances are all high efficiency, and in any case, all our power supply is renewable energy. And we save money too by purchasing things at the community consignment/thrift stores – for example, how many years do we need a high chair? When junior just needs a booster seat, the high chair is consigned and goes to a household with a smaller kid.

Last but not least is the participatory nature of the green city governance. Residents can serve on the council, or on a committee or commission. Anybody can speak up at a city council meeting and be sure their concern will be noted and addressed. A paid “volunteer coordinator” helps keeps clubs and associations on point, and helps create new ones as needed. And we know what’s going on, through the citywide newsletter and listserv.

 

Back to the Dorm?

William Shakespeare in As You Like It said:

 

All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.
Then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lined,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slippered pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side;
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.

 

So, as Shakespeare’s said so well, our lives go full circle.  I seem to be circling back to life in a college dorm.  I am 71 and had a stroke right after my last birthday.  My first grandchild is coming in August.  Olympia is only 60 miles from Seattle/ daughter/ grandchild but can take up to four hours on the ever-more ghastly I-5.  So the time has come to move into a retirement community.  I’m not wealthy and so a studio unit is my plan.  I haven’t lived in such small space since being in college.  Bed, closet, desk area and that’s about it.  Meals and everything else are in other parts of the complex.  I’ll have instant new companions, just like college – some I will bond with and some I will maybe dislike on sight!  It’s expensive, like college, even though I’m not paying for tuition this time around.  It’s back to the goldfish bowl of community living, of scrutiny and sometimes criticism by my dorm mates.

All that seems similar.  What will be different? I will be joining people at the ends of their lives, rather than the beginnings.  Some are just marking time until that end; they believe the best in their lives is past.  There will be no need for me to engage my brain as I have always done so far – no classes, no term papers, no tutorials -- lots of planned activities, but only some of them cerebral.  I may be lonely, although I don’t expect to be bored.  I will have time available (no home care; minimal food preparation & shopping) and can spend it at the gym, writing, pursuing whatever I like, including learning to be a granny. Maybe I will find a true sweetheart, either in the complex or in the wider world of Seattle;  I know who I am in a way I couldn’t have known at 18.

Despite the medical challenges I’ve experienced in retirement (a recalled hip implant, the rapid death of a beloved partner from Stage IV cancer, a stroke….) I do believe, like most new college students, that the best is yet to come.  I have curiosity, energy and continued passion to make a difference in the world.  I have hope for my future. I am not yet sans everything, but simply entering a new stage –conscious elderhood -- that Shakespeare didn’t know about!

So Call 911!

Call 911!

 

I am 71 and had a stroke (which I thought was just vertigo) at the airport upon arriving home from a long air trip.  A friend of mine blacked out and fell recently and got badly hurt. Neither one of us called 911, from a sense that it wasn’t important enough; it would be a poor use of public resources, not wanting to be a nuisance, whatever.

As a result, we later got into a conversation about when one should call 911.  Better machines in the hospital is one good reason. I had dragged my friend  to an Urgent Care clinic a few days after her fall, and they told her she should have called 911.  Their reasoning was, that although they had x-ray machines they don’t have CT scanners, MRI machines nor access to a large cadre of medical specialists such as neurologists, so they couldn’t address head injuries very well.  Clinics, however up-to-date, can only be expected to have limited diagnostic equipment.

What about cost? Fear of being billed later should not be a deterrent to making that call. Almost always, 911 medical service is part of a local government budget and is therefore already paid for.  I said to her  “Listen, 911 medic calls are paid for from property taxes, which your landlord has been paying for decades out of your rent.  So don’t feel bad about calling 911; you have paid for it already many times over”.  Speaking for myself, I’ve made just one 911 call in my 50 year of paying property taxes…..

My physical therapist used to be a volunteer fireman and he made a third point: even if there’s someone else there who might be able to help you, it is still better to call 911 because the people who are going to show up are strong and trained.  If you fall at home and your roommate tries to help you up, that could result in more injury to one or both of you!

When we look at national data for 911 medical calls, help with falls is the second largest category, at 20% of all calls in 2014, after the rather vague “sick person”.  

So, call 911!

 

Calicadia, Here I Come?

 

In its February 10, 2017 issue, The Week reports that a group Yes California Independence  is gathering signatures to allow California to petition to secede from the Union. For this to happen, we don’t need another civil war, but there is a high bar to jump over. Two thirds of both houses of Congress and three fourths of the states would have to approve.

A year ago this would have seemed like just another example of California craziness, but under a Trump presidency, it seems that the most unlikely things can happen, so why not dream a little? California is often a bellwether state. Arnold Schwarzenegger recently offered to swap jobs with Mr. Trump, and while that can’t happen under our Constitution (like me, he is foreign-born and doesn’t qualify) but perhaps there’s a leadership role for Schwarzenegger in this new nation.

Perhaps there’s a role for Washington and Oregon too – at least the western parts – so I have tentatively named it Calicadia, combining California and Cascadia into one.  Let’s take a serious look at the opportunities and challenges. What would the ideal Calicadia look like?

The whole thing once approved would start with a Constitutional Convention that would hammer out the basic ground rules. Here are a few ways to go.

First, let’s be a neutral nation like Switzerland. We will need a State / Immigration department (to set up passport and immigration programs & diplomatic relations with our neighbor to the east, the (T)rump United States, as well as with other nations. The existing U.S. military can still have its many bases in Calicadia, but we’ll charge rent. We won’t try to police the rest of the world or impose our views on them – whether upholding dictators or trying to create an American- style consumer democracy.  Calicadians first!

Second, let’s look to the systems of government in other western democracies for best practices that have evolved since the United States Constitution. For example, let’s do transitions of government more like the British do. It is crazy that in the U.S. we have an election in early November and inauguration of the new leader almost 3 months later.  I think this is due to the founding fathers having to get to the nation’s capital by canoe and horseback. Time to update!

I’ve heard that the outgoing British Prime Minister and his or her goods and chattels are moving out the back door of Ten Downing Street right after Election Day while the new PM’s stuff is being moved in the front door.  More importantly, the new Cabinet is in place immediately. Every member of the “Shadow Cabinet” (the opposition party’s leaders) is elected as a Member of Parliament in his or her own right. So they have already been vetted by the voters.  Then every Shadow Cabinet member has a portfolio (housing, transportation, education etc).  Those Shadow Ministers are very well briefed by the permanent civil service in their agency, led by the Permanent Undersecretary for that ministry, who is a highly respected career civil servant (but knows that he or she will always be #2, under the elected Cabinet Minister). When there’s a change in government, the Shadow Cabinet overnight becomes the real Cabinet, ready for business. Quick physical transition, with everyone up to speed on their issues.

Let’s have universal health care like other western democracies – as a basic human right.

Let’s be open to renegotiating treaties with our tribal sovereign nations, which are many and still face many inequities.

We’ll have a department of economics and trade that will establish tariffs for our products - wine, airplanes, movies, medical devices, software and much more. This department will also be empowered with creating and implementing a Calicadia regional economic policy that distributes jobs and prosperity to all parts of the new nation. This will be done through incentives and the like, similar to what was achieved in Italy, Scandinavia and the UK in past decades. This department will monitor and plan ahead to address technological and environmental changes that will trigger the need for new economic policies and programs.

We’ll have our own science-based department of environment and climate change.  All three states in Calicadia are coastal and have vital farmlands, forests and vineyards that will need to adjust to climate change and sea level rise.

Another idea from the parliamentary system – let’s have Question Time, in which the Executive, all the way up to the Prime Minister, is quizzed in front of the Legislative (House of Parliament) about how key issues are being handled. It might help our leaders think better on their feet and maybe even improve their sense of humor, as well as the main goal of keeping them accountable.