The South of France

The stunning view from Rob and Patti's farmhouse on 100 acres among vineyards in the Lot River valley

Gordon and I have often fantasized about living in “the South of France.” Last month we landed there. Visiting.

Rob, Gordon and Patti check out brussel sprouts at a local market -- which Patti makes into an elegant dish for dinner

And fantastic it was. Here’s what I wrote while there (and meant to post to the blog, but I got so delightedly lethargic, it never happened):

Patti and I enjoy conversation and coffee at a restaurant where most others are eating Beef Bourgignon

Our friends the Beebes – Rob and Patti – have lived here for a number of years from September through May. They and their dog, Wombat, have made quite an impression on the locals. They’re living on a 100-acre working farm – complete with cows, chickens, vineyards, fruit trees. They’re studying French; Rob is already quite proficient.

Wombat mugs (sort of) in front of a dog fountain in Cahors, the nearest 'big town' to where the Beebes live

It seems about as far from Paris as you can get. The Lot River valley. A river that squiggles through oak forests and vineyards. The wine is dark and earthy.

Wombat never tires of playing ball -- and we never tire of taking walks

It’s a great place to decompress from recent busyness. The landscape is conducive to quiet meditations. Daffodils, peach trees and forsythia are in bloom.

The weather, however, is not much different from that in Seattle. So it makes the dream of living in the South of France a bit less compelling. Still…

Being here conjures up memories of romantic times in Southern France when I was in my 20’s – making onion soup and munching hard-crusted soft-eggy bread, at a time when it seemed anything was possible. Being joined by my first partner, and exploring the mysteries of ecstatic talks punctuated by soul kissing. Taking walks among cows and getting lost. Being amazed that people shut their shutters each night, sealing their houses from light. (This still happens!)

Gordon and Catie upon their reunion in Limoges. She took us out for coffee -- and wouldn't let us pay ("You were invited!" .. very European)

Then we took a two-hour train ride to Limoges, where our friend Catie (Gordon’s high school prom date when she was an exchange student in Colby, Kansas) and her partner Jacques live in ancient houses across the street (route de la Coulees Vertes) from each other. It makes such a difference when you visit friends while traveling!

Catie lives in an ancient Auberge (restaurant) built in 1742...

... and Jacques lives in this fabulous house across the street, which was a ruin when we visited them in 2001!

We continued our decompression with them in Montrol Senard, a town so small (pop. 230) it doesn’t appear on any maps I’ve seen. Both Catie and Jacques cooked for us, and we took walks and jogs and soaked in wonderful scenery.

Jacques presented Gordon with a French knife (oops... don't tell Homeland Security!)

Jacques topped off a luscious salmon dinner with bananas flambee -- which touched my heart and stomach

The South of France continues to be a wonderful fantasy – and reality!

The view from Catie's kitchen is charming -- I dream of summer barbeques in the back yard (which we experienced on our first visit in 2001)

Ah! Civilization!

I can't resist some of the world's best coffee amidst some of the world's best people-watching

A Sunday in Paris is one of life’s great treasures for those of us lucky enough to experience one.

And we did last Sunday – a sunny Sunday at that. Our first in France since 2001. Parisians, usually relaxed, are even more so on Sundays. They slowly take in the sights. They stare into each other's eyes. They love being alive.

Lots of Parisians get around on the new "velibes," municipal bicycles anyone can use for a small fee at any time anywhere

Gordon and I had arrived early in the morning after a long plane journey via Toronto. Our luggage didn’t make it, so we were pleasantly free to move without burden (for 1.5 days, until the bags were finally delivered to the hotel, just before we were about to leave!). After groggily negotiating the train from Charles DeGaulle Airport into the city (Place de la Bastille), we discovered our hotel room wouldn’t be ready until noon. So we ventured out on Rue St. Antoine for a morning constitutional.

We walked through the nearby Place des Vosges, one of the world’s great urban squares, and found our way to a restaurant where we had delicious coffee, ham omelettes, juice and toast. I won’t tell you how much it cost – let’s just say the Euro costs $1.60+ and things in Paris are already expensive. Gulp.

Still, you could immediately feel the Sunday Paris vibe – people feeling totally present, taking in the sunshine (even though it was cold outside). Some were sitting outside under sunlamps at cafes, so they could smoke. (The no-smoking-inside law just took effect here very recently.) Birds were singing. People were staring at each other – or into the blue sky above, or at the amazing architecture, or the budding trees. Discussing art, nature, philosophy. We breathed a sigh of wow – so good to be here.

Once in our hotel, we were able to take the Nancy Reagan cure for jet-lag: a long, hot bath (accompanied by drinking lots of water). It was tempting to take a nap, but the experts say you should force yourself to get on the new time schedule (9 hours different from Seattle) by staying awake until evening. We were glad we did.

Some sort of roller-marathon got thousands of people rockin' and rollin'

As we walked out into the sunny afternoon, we encountered an amazing demonstration – roller heaven! There were hundreds – no, thousands – of roller bladders and roller skaters speeding, sauntering, rolling along the Rue St. Antoine toward the Rue de Rivoli. What a parade of humanity – all ages, sizes, colors – all joyous and sprouting like the shoots of spring coming out of the ground.

We passed a free public toilet – imagine that! – along the way and wondered why facilities are so few and far between in the States.

Expansive public spaces incorporate such amenities as free toilets... ah, there's a line!

We walked by pastry shops and marveled at the sweet works of art.

OK, Neil, you'll have to fill in the blanks here-- what are we looking at?

And there was even a tanning salon. No, thanks, we’re enjoying the natural rays.

Many Paris buildings have incorporated older ceramics and architectural elements into whatever new enterprises are there

In the Metro station, a string ensemble played music that you’d pay to hear in music halls around the States.

It sounds better than it looks -- Vivaldi, anyone?

We went to the Cluny Museum, also known as the Museum of the Middle Ages, and took in some astounding pieces of art, stones, paintings, carvings, and Roman baths.

Pagan meets Christian meets mythological tour-de-force...the Cluny has it all! (Watch out for that unicorn)

Then we wandered around and had another cup of coffee.

Gordon is often tense until he gets to the destination...then it's as though he's always been here!

Eventually, we made our way to dinner at Le Petit Prince de Paris, a fabulous restaurant (recommended by our friend Susan Clampitt) which welcomed us like long lost friends even though we had never been there before. The food was one delight after another – a flan made with zucchini and scallops, salad with smoked duck breast and foie gras (sorry, Chicago!), monkfish with carrots and a potato-turnip puree, lamb with fried beets and carrot curry, a scalloped-potato pie (compliments of the house), and espresso with chocolate and almond (which did not keep us awake).

OK, this is why we are here. And the people, despite all the publicity, are very friendly. It helps to at least try to speak French. But a surprising number speak English, too.

Ah, civilization!

We're always looking up in this amazing city... but then you may miss some great street life!

Youth-Adult Dialogue

Youth fishbowl discussion is focus of Youth-Adult Dialogue. Stones in center bowl represent memory & intentions for the future

We recently held our 12th in a series of dialogues on Vashon Island, where I live. Nearly 80 of us showed up for a free chili and cornbread dinner and some “deep dish” on a tough subject: “DO NOT GO GENTLE: Facing the Challenges of the Future.”

The dialogues were initiated in 2004 by the Vashon Youth Council after the strangling death of 17-year-old Sharna Jones by her father, who later killed himself. “Enough,” said the teens at the Youth Council who had witnessed a similar dialogue on Whidbey Island facilitated by my friends from the Power of Hope. “We’ve got to improve communication between generations on this Island.”

And I think we’ve made a great start. Topics have ranged from drugs & alcohol, safe ways to mark endings and transitions, and gender stereotypes to finding right livelihood and this year’s theme of shifting the culture of fear. Both kids and adults have reported being able to talk about previously taboo topics as a result of these community conversations.

At this month’s dialogue, over dinner, intergenerational groups discussed two questions: What do you see as the biggest challenges of the future? What are your strategies for addressing them?

Then youth and adult facilitators had us stand on either side of a line that represented various divides or challenges in life – youth on one side, adults on the other. Then various challenges identified by the table discussions were read out – global warming, political divisiveness, racism, economic meltdowns, getting into the college of choice – and people were asked to “cross the line” if they saw this as a significant challenge.

Then we formed a large circle, where storyteller and mythologist Michael Meade drummed and invited us to sing before he told an Asian story, “The Tiger’s Whisker,” about a woman facing her biggest challenge, and the patient simple ways she dealt with it. Halfway through the story, Michael stopped and asked us to find someone from another generation with whom to discuss our own fears. Those pairs then got together with others to identify common themes.

Out of those conversations came some general questions and insights: Why do adults view young people with suspicion and vice versa? Are there commonalities between adults facing death and youth facing economic and personal relationship issues? What slow steps can each of us take to face our demons, personally and collectively? The second half of Meade’s story echoed a number of themes we discussed.

A centerpiece of these dialogues is always a “youth fishbowl,” where the youth talk among themselves in the middle of a circle and adults just listen. Then we open the dialogue up for anybody to talk, and ask people to reflect on how this communication might change the way we relate to each other in the future.

For a youth perspective on this dialogue, check out Sierra Saunders’ article in the Vashon High School newspaper, The Riptide. And look at this video made by the talented 23-year-old Freddy Rhoads.

Broken cups

Two steadfast coffee cups, morning companions for years, shattered recently

How strange that each of us lost our favorite coffee mug in one week!

They each crashed to the kitchen floor, separately, by accident.

Or was it an accident? Is it time to change containers? Reevaluate vessels? Rehabituate?

And all in Valentine’s season – what is it we really love? Is it the object, the idea, or the function? Is it the feel of a shape on our skin or an idea in our heads?

As the poet Rumi suggests:

Let the beauty you love
Be what you do

There are hundreds of ways to kneel and kiss the ground

Well, Gordon has a second copy of the Hotel Palace cup I got in Prague on my 40th birthday trip.

And I … I get to use another cup given to me by my friends Peter + Trudy, on the days I’m not using the wonderful one Malcolm gave me with such love not long ago.

We’re re-cupped. In love. And lucky to be able to drink coffee each morning.

Coffee may not taste quite the same from these cups...but it still tastes good.

Decision 2008

Is 'liberty awakening'? Painting by Seth Primcky

One question has haunted me in recent years: What does it mean to be a citizen, one of "we the people," in the U.S. today?

There are probably thousands of bloggers blogging about the runup to the elections, which have been ramped up and oversimplified by media for over a year now. I hope blogs will help with the public discourse.

Saturday I went to my Democratic caucuses for the second time – and this year even more people were there exercising their role as citizens. I was delighted to see so many young people, some even volunteering to be delegates.

My precinct recorded some 58 favoring Obama, 14 with Hillary, and 2 undecided.

Four years ago, this was my report from the 2004 caucuses:

What is it to be a citizen in the US today? I went to my Democratic caucus to find out.

In this strange time of living with complexity and discomfort – with a president who was not elected by a majority of the people, waging a war against a multi-faced, non-geographical enemy, a time where truth and news seem to have filed for a divorce – many of my fellow citizens also felt drawn to the caucus for the first time. In fact, nearly 900 of us flooded into the Vashon High School Commons.

There was a sense of excitement, of desperation, of belonging. I saw people I hadn’t seen in years; I saw neighbors I didn’t know existed. We were a little embarrassed that almost nobody really knew the rules, though we gradually figured it out. The experience was chaotic, puzzling. Why is it so hard to be a citizen?

We were asked to sign in twice – once on the master roll, and once on our precinct roll, where we were asked to declare for one of the candidates: Clark, Dean, Edwards, Kerry, Kucinich, or Sharpton. Or, it was OK to write “uncommitted.” Which is what I did.

A year ago, I felt strongly attracted to the ideas of Dennis Kucinich – whose plans for health care, education, defense, and a cabinet-level Department of Peace sounded refreshingly relevant and embodied the shift I feel is needed in many aspects of our culture. I also have watched the campaign of Howard Dean, and even sent him some money (a practice of citizenship which I question, especially since it usually goes to either paying for television ads over the airwaves that we the people own, or to soliciting me for more funds). I was excited by his hands-on experience in Vermont with everything from early childhood education to health care for all to civil unions for same-sex couples. The youthful energy of the Dean campaign – and the creative use of the Internet both to raise money and exchange ideas – seemed destined to breathe new life into the much-needed process of reinventing democracy for these times.

I’ve also admired John Kerry since my early days as a reporter when I was living in Boston and watched the highly decorated officer return from battle in Vietnam, only to fight against the war that he had just been fighting. His energy and intelligence seemed hopeful, and my journalistic colleagues sensed in him a future leader.

But today, in this early stage of the campaign, I wanted to register my support for the ideas of Kucinich, the zest and practicality of Dean, the record and electability (?) of Kerry, the refreshing honesty of Sharpton, and yet I also wanted to weigh in against back-room traditional corporate-driven party politics, where these days the Republicans and the Democrats are indistinguishable. Several people I admire, who have been ardent caucus-goers and political organizers in our community, were urging us to send delegates to the district and state conventions “uncommitted.” The reasons: to provide more flexibility and excitement, to register the perspective that any of these candidates could be good, but in the rough-and-tumble political process, and to leave Republicans guessing who the candidate will be.

In our precinct, we had people signing in for Edwards, Kerry, Dean, Kucinich. I didn’t see any Clark or Sharpton votes. As we all sat – or mostly stood – in the high school, one person was invited to speak for no more than three minutes on behalf of each of the candidates. When nobody was there to speak for John Edwards, a woman made her way to the microphone and spoke of his common-sense practicality. “I feel he speaks for me when he talks,” she said. No one spoke for Sharpton, who, of all the candidates, several friends said they’d rather have dinner with.

After the opening speeches, our precincts were to discuss the candidates, choose representatives to the district and state conventions, and consider any platform resolutions that people might want to bring to the table. There was so much din in the room that another precinct came to the area next to our table, and we needed to go out in the hall to hear each other.

We divided into subgroups of those supporting Dean, Kerry, and Kucinich. But since there were 50 of us there, the rules said you needed at least 15% in order to get a delegate for that candidate. The Kerry group was two shy of 8, the uncommitted group had 11, at first, and Dean and Kuchinich both had large followings. After much confusion, and several people moving back and forth to different groups, Kerry and Kucinich supporters lobbying the uncommitted group to help them get enough for two delegates, we learned that our precinct gets five delegages to the district caucuses and and state convention.

Ultimately, we used a formula that was supplied to the Precinct Chair, and we got: 2 delegates for Kucinich, 2 for Dean, and 1 uncommitted. Then we needed to choose who from among us would be the delegates and the alternates. Wow! There were those who really wanted to go, and the rest of us deferred to them. One guy couldn’t go on the date of the next meeting, May 10, so he asked if I would go in his place. It was a date that wouldn’t work for me, but it did make me think: what are my priorities? What would it be like?

(A friend told me he had gone to the caucuses in 1992 in order to put in a word for Jerry Brown – only to discover that most of Vashon Island supported Jerry Brown that year. He became a delegate, and said that after the precinct caucuses he felt the other levels didn’t really offer a place for many voices, that he became cynical about party politics as a result of that experience. Now he has children and he’s less likely to be able to go.)

After the delegates were chosen, our precinct regathered at the original table and read some proposed platform planks and resolution. One involved salmon habitat protection, and another proposed to reduce the number of delegates to the state convention which could be chosen by the elected representatives to the U.S. Congress. (It was said that they could choose up to 40% of those delegates, which seems anti-democratic.) The proposal was to limit the appointed delegates to 13%.

Then the entire group got back together, without as many people present, and other resolutions were read, including: adopt a single-payer health care system, don’t allow corporations the same legal rights as individuals, do a better job with sex education, including education about sexuality and sexual orientation. When the precinct delegates were added up, there were a majority of delegates for Dean, and slightly less for Kerry, quite a few for Kucinich, and one or two for Edwards and Clark.

The next day, President Bush was interviewed on Meet the Press by Tim Russert, who asked him about his military service, his tax cuts, his flinging us into war in Iraq. “Oh, that’s just political,” he kept saying of those who criticized him. Political? Yes! But it’s a political year. I talked politics with my neighbors for a few hours yesterday—for the first time. Political seems important at this time. And political can be truth. Can’t it?
**

This year, it seems, there’s a big difference: people from various viewpoints are rallying behind the inspirational leadership of Obama. One guy said he was even more inspired by Michelle Obama than by her husband Barack. The caucus process seemed both simpler and more chaotic this year, probably because of the throngs.

Our caucus has spoken. Let’s see what happens.

Farewell, Washington News Council/ Long live News Councils!

At the annual Gridiron West Dinner in November, 2007, the Washington News Council "toasted" Jill and Bill Ruckleshaus

My dad helped create the Minnesota News Council, one of the first in the U.S. of an important "third space" for media and community members to communicate about fairness and accuracy in media. For three years, I served as president of the Washington News Council, the fourth such body in the U.S. and an important forum for media fairness.

This weekend, I said goodbye to that board--a great group of people from across the state, half with media connections and expertise, and half with rich experience in public and civic affairs.

Here are my notes on what I said to them:

The Washington News Council: What’s possible now?

My major learning (or relearning): It’s hard to create a mediating institution in a polarized world.

It’s amazing that the News Council has made it through 10 years. My hat’s off to John Hamer, without whose daily dogged pursuit of fairness and accuracy in media we wouldn’t be here.

Working with John has been exciting, exhausting, sometimes challenging. But, as one of you said when I was working on John’s evaluation last year, there aren’t many people on the planet so dedicated to media transparency and accountability, and doing something constructive and creative about it daily.

Highlights of my years with the News Council:
• the hearings: every time we have one, it demonstrates the importance of improving communication about the way media work
• the forum in Spokane on coverage of Mayor Jim West: We demonstrated how an outside agency can help a community process and heal from a difficult situation – and examine journalistic ethics at the same time.
• The 2005 Gridiron Dinner: we honored Bill Sr. and Mimi Gates with great humor, aplomb, and financial success
• The amazing analysis of 10 years of coverage by the Spokane Spokesman-Review of the River Park Square redevelopment project, which property the newspaper company owned.

My biggest disappointments:
• when neither KIRO-TV nor the Seattle Post-Intelligencer showed up for those excellent hearings, where they could have been more transparent, and perhaps convinced more News Council members that their coverage was reasonable;
• the 2006 Gridiron Dinner, where Tom Foley was honored (along with Slade Gorton) and didn’t show up (we produced a cardboard cutout), and I was in a traffic accident on my way into town from which I’m only now recovered.

One of the things we’ve been working on in Journalism That Matters, our traveling think-tanks on the future of journalism, is adding a 6th W to the canon of journalistic w’s (who what where when why): And that is, What’s possible now?

So, what’s possible now with the News Council?

➢ helping the media make sense of its evolving role in the new news ecology
➢ helping the public make sense of where to find news we can trust
➢ involving more young people so the Council stays relevant & multi-media
➢ proving utility through continued hearings, web-education, educational programs
➢ be a model of a kind of institution that helps re-invent communication, community storytelling, vetting for truth.
➢ Give people tools for talking, for constructive conversation with and about (and creating new) media

How?
> Don’t just respond to complaints, highlight great reporting in various media
> Provide educational events that present new insights & action steps for both media and audience
> Create a website that helps citizens find news & info that’s truly useful to them – and shows them how to vet it
> Find new revenue streams that will support the news council’s work


Finally, I leave you with Silha’s two rules for a better life:

KISS & DBATA

KISS: Keep it simple, stupid!
DBATA: Don’t be afraid to ask!

Beaches and beaches

Beach below Soundcliff on Vashon Island

If life’s a beach, then Gordon and I are waves lapping on it, storms kicking against it, kids surfing it, cliffs wondering at it.

We live on an island, above a beach that looks rocky like the photo above.

So we were happy to spend the holidays on another island that has beaches like this …

A gorgeous beach near the Kona-Kailua airport on the Big Island of Hawai'i

In order to get to this beautiful white-sand beach, you have to walk across lots of hardened black lava, or drive in a 4-wheel-drive or high-axeled vehicle. We were lucky, after a long walk in, that Marshall, Olivia, and Josh offered us a ride back to our car on the way out...

College students Marshall, Olivia, and Josh gave us a ride in their truck, then posed for a photo!

We were also amazed to see the sea from lava-beaches like this …

Lava and coral combine to make dramatic beaches -- and locals like to write messages in white coral on black lava...

And to walk into dramatic valleys to large-stoned beaches like this...

The astounding black rock and black sand beach at Pololu Valley on the north end of the Big Island

And to sit on precarious cliffs like this …

Okay, Gordon got the nickname "Ansel" Barnett from our friend Zeke, and I misspoke. The name of the place is Kapa'au.
Accuracy in reporting! But you get the idea -- and hey, it's my first multimedia blog entry! How many mistakes do you hear on media every day?