It's only partial madness to post this reminder of a cold and foggy day in Maine when here in Massachusetts we're enjoying a stretch of the most perfect weather - highs in the mid-80s, lows around 60, low humidity, strong sunshine, with a few cottony clouds for effect - this side of Santa Barbara. It's enough to make a man believe he could be happy anywhere.

The method here is to suggest that contrast might be the real key to happiness. A place like Marshall Point Lighthouse offers dramatic examples: the hard life of a sailor vs the welcoming beacon, the surf crashing against the impregnable rock, violent storm easing to calm fog. But there's no reason why equal drama can't occur here in my back yard: the huge rustling oaks masking the distant noise of traffic, the crab grass of late summer taking over and looking almost respectable in the sun, ants constantly re-building their hills in the crevices of the brick patio, peace and quiet winning out even in the middle of a metropolitan area of 3 million. It seems to me that beauty is as much a matter of peaceful resolution as it is of perfect form. It just happens to be easier to see in Maine, and easier to forget that we live in a complicated world that requires constant attention.

And as the Republican Party meets in St. Paul this week, I hope that the principle of contrast will be made stark, that our happiness in November will be complete as we throw out the bastards.