On election night, I broke my wine opener.
In the process of opening a bottle of red, one of the arms fell off. I found the pieces scattered about on the floor and managed to hammer the broken arm back into place. Apparently, though, my hammering was over zealous, and now the arms don’t move in the same way.
If I didn’t live in a rural neighborhood I’d climb into my car and go in search of a new opener. But it’s dark and my night vision isn’t great, so I’ll have to make do with one bottle of wine tonight. Surely that will be enough. Oh the humanity!
It’s going to be a long night.
Nothing in my life has prepared me for today. I’m still in shock from 2016. Really. The most qualified candidate in history for the office of President of the United States won the popular vote by three million votes, but thanks to our archaic electoral college system, lost to a misogynistic reality tv star who subsequently became arguably the worst president in American history. Whew.
And now, here we are four years later with a well-qualified former vice-president running against the same asshat who stole the 2016 election. and dare I mention that the aforementioned asshat has a cult following that would literally support him even if he shot a person in broad daylight on 5th Avenue.
Add in the weird QAnon conspiracy theorists who honestly believe that Trump is single-handedly saving the world from a nefarious child sex trafficking organization run by high profile democrats, and you have a real freak show. It’s exhausting.
So, even though I’m not prepared for today, I’m meeting it head on. With beer and wine and perhaps champagne if Joe Biden wins. I’m not making a prediction, but heaven help us if Trump gets four more years.
November 3rd approaches—Election Day in the United States. I voted early on the first day I was allowed to in Florida, but I still have to view the endless barrage of political advertisements.
It’s too bad one cannot opt out of the ads once one has cast his/her vote. It’s not like I can say, “Oh! Wait! I’ve decided to vote for the lying, cheating misogynistic ass currently occupying the White House because, DAMN that last ad was so freaking good!”
So, I’ve turned to my good friends, Mr. Guinness and Ms. Wine to help me through this trying time. The first one relaxes me and the second lulls me to sleep. They allow me to view the ads through a pleasant fog.
Don’t worry—I’m not overdoing it. One Guinness and one glass of red wine per night is the rule. Okay, maybe occasionally I’ll have an extra half glass of wine, but only if the bottle is almost empty.
Now, on election night all bets are off. I’ve bought champagne and I’m going to drink it regardless. If Trump wins, I’ll likely cry as I indulge, but if Biden wins, I might just bathe in the stuff.
Please keep us in your thoughts. Send good vibes. Pray if that’s your thing. Guinness and wine, while comforting, can’t do either of those things.
Post-election depression has put a real damper on my Christmas spirit. I’ve shopped and wrapped gifts, partaken of eggnog, and watched hours of Hallmark Channel movies, but I’m really just going through the motions. A future with Trump in the White House seems too horrible for contemplation. Alas, barring a last minute miracle, that stark reality seems to be in store.
But I’m not a gloom and doom person at heart, so I’ve made a list of things that will definitely lift my spirits:
- Hugs from the grandchildren
- Large quantities of wine
- Hanging out with my kids
- More wine
- Having my mother-in-law, Saint Helen, with us for Christmas
- Did I mention wine?
- Studly Doright’s love and support
- And wine
- Cat kisses
My subconscious has been working overtime during many mangled hours of sleep. Since Trump secured the electoral college numbers to make him president-elect, I’ve awakened from uneasy dreams multiple times in the middle of every night with a horrible taste in my mouth and a lead ball feeling in the pit of my stomach. I’m pretty sure that along with the nightmares I’ve developed an ulcer. Note to self: Buy stock in Rolaids.
A couple of nights ago I had a dream that keeps nagging at the corners of my mind. I know it’s political, and not even very subtle. Tell me what you think:
I’ve gone into a shopping mall leaving my beautiful blue car in a parking spot at quite a distance from the building, the better to get my 10,000 steps in for the day. After walking around the mall and trying on clothes in various boutiques, I return to the parking lot only to find my car has been taken. I’m devastated. The car was my favorite.
I flag down a security guard on his little golf cart and we make several loops around the enormous parking lot with no success. Finally we call 911. When the police officers, Bill and Jill arrive I give them a detailed description of my car:
Medium blue, 2008 model, Chevy Allegiance.
“Ma’am,” Officer Bill says, “We’ll get right on that.”
“Can we give you a ride home?” asks Officer Jill.
As I’m getting into the officers’ patrol car, two older white men suddenly appear beside me.
“We found your car!” exclaims Man #1.
“It’s right here!” enthuses Man #2.
And sure enough, there’s a huge car covered by a white cloth just a few parking spots away. I follow the two men who are so excited about showing me my car. With a flourish, they pull the covering away to reveal a beautiful antique car. It’s a gleaming white Duesenberg.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” crowed Man #1. “It’s the 1933 model.”
“Yes, it’s lovely, but it isn’t my car.”
“It is now,” intoned Man #2. “Enjoy the ride.”
That’s when I awakened. Isn’t it amazing what one’s mind can do? A Chevy Allegiance? No such thing. A ’33 Duesenberg? 1933 was the year Hitler became chancellor of Germany. Coincidence?
As Trump assembles his team of alt-right racists and hard core hawks, this dream has become even more nightmarish. I just want my blue car.
While shopping at Publix today I kept crossing paths with a woman in a Trump for President t-shirt. She looked to be about my age (late 50’s to early 60’s). I tried making eye contact with her, wondering what I’d see there, but she barely looked up.
I wondered about her. How does a woman who has lived through these past five decades support someone like Trump? He’s admittedly groped women against their will, cheated on two, and probably all three, of his wives, discussed openly that he treats his women with little or no respect, and yet some women continue to find him acceptable as a presidential candidate.
I made some snap judgements about this woman: racist, uneducated, ill-informed. I deduced that she is a FOX news watcher and a non-reader. All this I got from a Trump for President t-shirt.
(Caution–some strong language)
Picture if you will Mr. and Mrs. Republican. We’ll call her Jane and him Dick. The two have gathered with their 2.5 children (Dick Jr., Little Mary and a player to be named later) ’round the dinner table.
Dick: Look at this fine dinner your mother has prepared! Little Dick, why don’t you ask the blessing?
Dick Jr.: Ok, Daddy. Dear God, thank you for this meal, and please don’t let that bitch Hillary Clinton become the president. Amen.
Jane: Little Dick! That was hardly a Christian prayer!
Dick: Son, you can’t just say that word in a prayer. Er, (looking at Jane) or about a woman.
Dick Jr.: But Daddy, I heard you call her a bitch.
Dick: Yes, but I’m a grown up. Pass the roast.
Little Mary: Mommy, what’s a bitch?
Jane: (sternly looking at big Dick) Sweetheart, that’s what a female dog is called.
Little Mary: Bitch! Bitch! Bitch!
Jane: Sweetheart, let’s not say that.
Dick: I’m sick of political correctness! Call a spic a spic, a coon a coon and a bitch a bitch. You know that dear. That’s why we’re voting for Donald Trump.
Jane: (covering Little Mary’s ears) Well, about that. Well, hmmm, I’m not sure I can support Trump.
Dick: (slams hand on table) For heaven’s sake Jane! We’ve always voted Republican, and we’ll continue to vote Republican. Now, pass the potatoes. Did I tell you Rev. Johnson stopped by work today?
Jane: Oh? What was he doing?
Dick: Well, he’s in charge of the county’s “Baptists for Trump” rally and he asked if I’d introduce him.
Jane: I don’t know why our church endorsed Trump. Shouldn’t the church stay out of politics?
Dick: Not with that Hillary knocking on the door of the White House.
Dick Jr.: Trump that bitch!!
Dick: (ruffling son’s hair) Now, Little Dick….
Jane: Little Dick, if you say that word one more time you’ll go to your room without dinner.
Dick: (winks at son) Best mind your mom, son.
Jane: (frowning) Maybe I just won’t vote this year.
Dick: (turning red in the face) Now Jane, remember the good book says you must submit to your husband. Your husband says you’ll vote for Trump and that’s the end of this conversation.
Little Mary: But Mommy!
Jane: What sweetheart?
Little Mary: Didn’t preacher say we need to be like Jesus?
Jane: Yes. Yes he did.
Little Mary: Did Jesus say it was ok to grab women by their pussies?
Jane: Oh! Little Mary! We just don’t say things like that, and Jesus would never have done such a thing.
Little Mary: Then why does Daddy like Mr. Trump?
Jane: I’m beginning to wonder.
Note: I started this piece months ago, but just felt it was too dark and too cynical to publish. Then Trump went there, boasting of having groped women against their will, bragging that they let him because he was a celebrity. Still, I thought, surely this will give those evangelical Christians who’d thus far supported him time to reflect and realize that Trump really is the antithesis of Christian love, respect, and humility.
Then last night I came across a video post on Facebook that shook me. A supposedly good Christian man was exhorting people to put their trust in Trump. Most alarming, though were the comments of people I know, groupie-like in their pleas for Donald Trump to avoid some trap the media had set for him–the trap of telling the truth.
Jesus loves Trump, but I’m pretty sure he would drive him from the temple with whips and chains given the chance. God help us all if Trump wins this election. Can I get an amen?
Studly Doright had a motorcycle for sale on eBay, and the winning bid came from a Canadian gentleman named Dave. Well, Canadian Dave elected to drive down to Florida from Newfoundland to pick up the bike in person rather than having it shipped.
He arrived at Doright Manor around nine on Sunday morning and the minute he came through the door we felt like we’d known him forever. A semi-retired mechanic, Dave is an avid collector of cars and motorcycles, so he and Studly talked for nearly three hours before we helped him load up the bike for the long trip home.
Just as he stepped into his pickup truck he turned and in all seriousness said, “If you two need a place to come live should that horrible man win your presidential election, you’re welcome at my house.”
It’s good to know we have friends in cold places.