Setting the clocks back or forward used to be a simpler task.  A wristwatch, a bedside alarm, perhaps a mantel clock or one on the wall, and all were analog timepieces: simply move the dial.  No lighted digital numbers, no robotic beeps, no push buttons, and no automatic updates for devices because the ubiquitous gadgets that run our lives today didn’t exist.  

Every so often, a wave of nostalgia drifts in, a bit of sentimentality triggered by a brief event, an aroma, a musical theme, an old photo … or by changing the clocks. Visiting an old haunt can do the same, as it did for me in August when I toured my grandparents’ longtime home in Portland, Oregon. The house was built in 1920, and my paternal grandparents lived there for more than 50 years, until 1972 when I was last in the house. The family there now is only the third in a century to occupy the house. A few years ago, they contacted me (found my birth name on the internet) to ask if I knew anything about the house. Fortunately, I had some old photos and a lot of memories of visiting my grandparents all through school and even after I moved East. The flagpole and the gorgeous purple and white rhododendron are gone but the house otherwise looks the same. The beautiful little tiles on the hearth, the leaded glass-front bookcases, and the mirrored built-in buffet are exactly as I remember them. The kitchen layout looks very familiar although the cabinetry is newer. Grandpa’s fishpond in the backyard is gone but the big rocks that edged it remain. When I was a kid, the street was on a city bus route, impossible now as parking has drastically narrowed the street. Fond memories of a time gone by, knowing another family still is finding enjoyment, respite, and community in a neighborhood that Beverly Cleary’s “Ramona” books celebrated.

In today’s toxic political atmosphere, there is a yearning to return to the “good old days” pre-Trump, pre-Covid, pre-9/11 when life was more affordable, maybe simpler, and the country seemed not as divided. That wistful feeling is understandable, but nostalgia is fleeting; as real as those memories and affections may be, they are overshadowed by the stark realism of life and politics in today’s America. With a lifetime career in elective politics, I know that politics were, and can be, different. Historically, they always have been rough and tumble, but not the rude, crude, and lewd Trump brand of today. Part of me sometimes wants to go back to a gentler time and reclaim some of those special days when we had leaders who governed, as we expected them to, with integrity.  

We must be realistic about our political future. As the mid-term results are certified and analyzed, new fissures will be added to an already chaotic Congress. Will Democrats have a mandate, or will the margins be so narrow that no majority leader is easily selected? Who will be Speaker? Clearly, Democratic leadership cannot continue to be from New York City only. It’s a big country, and leadership must be shared, coalitions developed, and new members listened to.  It will take years to rectify the damage done to democracy by the Trump Administration and Congressional inaction. That work must start now. Not nostalgia; simply head and shoulders, and some heart, leaning enthusiastically into the wheel of governance.