Pressing Pause

Small steps toward thriving families, schools, and communities

Pressing Pause

What To Do About Gas Prices

Catherine Rampell of The Washington Post argues neither major political party has a serious plan to deal with inflation overall or gas prices specifically. So the choice is between the two parties agendas. “So what do Republicans stand for?” she asks.

“Their national leaders won’t say, even when asked directly; their state-level rising stars are mostly focused on fighting with Mickey Mouse and drag queens. But if you look at GOP actions taken over the past several years, including when they had unified control of the federal government, you get a sense of what Republicans are likely to prioritize.

Mostly, Republicans seem to care about tax cuts for the wealthy and corporations. They want to find ways to repeal Obamacare, or otherwise reduce access to health care by (for example) slashingMedicaid.

They care about installing judges who will roll back reproductive rights.

They care about supporting a president who used the powers of the state to further his own political and financial interests, rather than those of the American public he was sworn to serve.

They care about supporting a presidency whose few purported diplomatic achievements, in retrospect, look largely like an excuse to meet potential investors who might fund Trump aides’ new private equity endeavors.

They care about defending, at all costs, a president who cheered on the mob seeking to hang his own vice president.

And they care about undermining the integrity of our election system and overturning the will of the voters, if and when vote tallies don’t go their way.”

In other words, the remote possibility of slightly cheaper gas could come with very high costs to our democracy and the common good.

Paragraph to Ponder

“Over time, wealth inequality became more pernicious to society than income inequality. The problem is not just that a chief executive at a big company makes 33 times what a surgeon makes, and a surgeon makes nine times what an elementary-school teacher makes, and an elementary-school teacher makes twice what a person working the checkout at a dollar store makes—though that is a problem. It is that the chief executive also owns all of the apartments the cashiers live in, and their suppressed wages and hefty student-loan payments mean they can barely afford to make rent. ‘The key element shaping inequality is no longer the employment relationship, but rather whether one is able to buy assets that appreciate at a faster rate than both inflation and wages,’ Adkins, Cooper, and Konings argue in their excellent treatise, The Asset Economy. ‘The millennial generation is the first to experience this reality in its full force.’”

Annie Lowery, “The End of the Asset Economy,” The Atlantic.

Another Balm For My Cynicism

In Little League, I was a good fielder, but I couldn’t hit. Another swing and miss on my last post which The Good Wife didn’t find too funny. Maybe it’s not me that was amazing and now isn’t, just my sense of humor.

Through the Biggest Little Farm, a Canadian television documentary about University of British Columbia graduates committed to urban farming, and related reading and multimedia, I’ve become infatuated with small scale farming. I can’t fully explain it, I’m just extremely moved by small groups of people working small plots. I’m sure I’m romanticizing it, but their commitments, work, and products give me hope for the future.

And that’s hard to come by these days.

This heartwarming story, “America’s Most Luxurious Butter Lives to Churn Another Day” nearly brought me to tears. I just love everything about it—the people, the cows, the cows’ names, the pictures, the incredible serendipity.

I want to support local farmers, but besides buying their products at the Olympia Farmer’s Market, I’m not sure the best way to do that yet. If you have ideas, do tell.

Caring, kind, patient parenting and caring, committed, and sustainable farming keep me going when so much seems to be spiraling downwards.


Postscript. Informative critique of “The Biggest Little Farm”.

If You’re Under 50 Years Old

You should be a fanatical Bear fan. No, not the hapless football team in Chicago, the bear stock market. You should be rooting for further losses, more blood letting, a crash for the ages even. For several years, it’s been impossible to get the first half of the investing equation right—buying low. Stocks are still fairly pricey, but if you’re a youngster of say 29 or 39 or 49, and you have any savings, do what you can to maintain the downward momentum. Don’t just sit there. Use your “go to” personal curses on the Fed. Write JP and tell him to raise interest rates to 10%. Start a war in a distant land and wreak additional havoc on supply chains.

Similarly, mobilize with other youth to pop the housing bubble. Get JP to raise interest rates to 10% so no one can afford a mortgage. Then go full-Amish and build a bunch of homes together to increase supply.

Down, down, down go equity and home prices. You got this.

Central Oregon 385

I fibbed the timing of The Central Oregon 500 which was last week because when you’re a famous blogger you have to take your security carefully, or more accurately, your GalPal’s security.

Phil Mickelson has hired a full-time security guard for the U.S. Open this week because there’s a lot of scary mother (expletive-plural form) out there. That’s prob my next move. Consider submitting an application if you’re experienced kicking ass.

Monday—5 mile run, drive to Bend. Tuesday, McKenzie Pass, 100.5 miles. Wednesday, around Batchelor, 100.5 miles. Thursday, Crooked River Canyon, 104 miles. Friday, La Pine gravel solo with Lava Butte thrown in, 80 miles. Saturday, drive home/rest day.

When I got home I checked my training log to see what my longest cycling week was. . . 390. When you’re old and slow you can only set volume-based personal records so on Sunday I rode 22 miles to shatter the old record with a total of 407 miles.

The most memorable 20 miles were miles 65-85 on Day 1 atop McKenzie Pass and then down to the West Gate and back. I took off across the lava strewn plateau not knowing my posse had decided against it due to reports of snow and water on the road. Dodging large chunks of snow and crossing a lengthy 6-8″ river of water two times was a hoot. The world class scenery never disappoints either.

In sum, I rode well and had fun, but I’m ready for a return to the cross-training normal.

There was one unfortunate development. Due to a bad accident a few months ago, at times, I found myself thinking about what I was doing, instead of just reacting. Like an infielder who suddenly can’t make the throw to first base or the golfer who can’t make a short putt to save her life, I sometimes thought about what could go wrong. As a result, I had a death grip on the bars and didn’t descend as confidently or fast as normal. I hope I can shake that and return to riding less consciously.

As per usual, I was a little too zealous deleting the pictures I took, but here are a couple.

A Balm For My Cynicism

If I could press “rewind” and stop the tape of my life halfway through 1990 when the Good Wife and I were leaving the International Community School in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia to begin my Ph.D. program at the University of Denver, we may have taken second international teaching gigs somewhere else in the world. And then a third. And then a fourth. And then a fifth just like some of my Addis Ababa teaching friends did.

If I was younger and there was more demand for C-list bloggers, I’d move to Canada. Or some other less violent, less divided country. Where the quality of life is noticeably better.

To which the deluded “Greatest Country on Earth” people reply, “Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”

I concede, pessimism is a downer, but I think of it more as realism. The “Greatest Country” contingent is living in the past, unwilling or unable to rationally assess the numerous ways our quality of life is declining.

And yet there’s at least one thing that gives me genuine hope for a decent future. Loving parenting of small children.

I see it most often in the YMCA locker room. Sometimes at Vic’s (Wildwood) Pizza. I’m constantly seeking it out because I can’t get enough of it. It’s damn near the only balm that does anything for my chronic cynicism.

Since it’s the male locker room, it’s almost always dads, sometimes granddad’s. Sometimes white dads, often dads of different ethnicities. Sometimes middle class dads, other times working class dads. Most of the time I can’t see the father and children because we’re in different rows, so I just eavesdrop. Nothing soothes my soul like listening to a dad talk to his two, three, four year-old daughter or son as if they’re just small adults. Respecting their intelligence, knowing they will rise to the level of their expectations.

Often, that respect is coupled with a beautiful mix of patience, gentleness, and kindness, a trifecta that gives me confidence that those kids will be more than alright, and that collectively, we will too. I have no doubt the same thing is playing out in the women’s locker room.

What if we collapsed all pressing public policy questions down to this one: How can we make it easier for parents to love their children unconditionally? How can we design policies that make YMCA membership feasible for everyone so that children can take swim lessons, and families can swim together, and older kids can play team sports?

At the same time, let’s acknowledge the endless forms family life takes. No form is better than another. The only thing that matters is loving parenting. Parenting marked by respect, patience, gentleness, kindness. I suspect, if we get the parenting of young children right, like so many of my fellow YMCA members do, we’ll be alright.