Looking Ahead

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:

  1. Hugs from the grandchildren
  2. Large quantities of wine
  3. Hanging out with my kids
  4. More wine
  5. Having my mother-in-law, Saint Helen, with us for Christmas
  6. Did I mention wine?
  7. Studly Doright’s love and support
  8. And wine
  9. Cat kisses
  10. Cheers!

I feel better already.

Old White Cars

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. 

Peace, people.

Snap Judgement 

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.

The Elephant in the Room

(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?

Friends in Cold Places

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.

Peace, people!

Snapshot #42.5

The photo is just so-so, since the paper was behind a plastic screen, but I couldn’t help but wonder if this story heralds the beginning of the end to the Trump campaign or if it means he’s pulling money from Florida advertising to be used in another manner. At any rate I’m calling this one, “Don’t Let the Door Hit You on Your Way Out.”


I reblogged a post yesterday called “News Flash for Mr. Trump.” In the post, author Jan Wilberg of redswrap.com, contends that we shouldn’t be surprised by the recording of Donald Trump bragging about having committed sexual assault. Jan is absolutely right. The man has shown us who he is time and again and his misogyny should by now be an ugly given.

That post on my blog was viewed by far more people than anything I’d written that day. Overwhelmingly the comments were in agreement with Ms. Wilberg. Except for this one:

I’d ask you to read that last sentence until it sinks in. This man totally embodies what Hillary Clinton meant when she called half of Trump’s supporters “deplorable.” 

Now I didn’t approve his comment, and perhaps I’m giving him way too much attention by sharing his comment here, but I think it’s important that we acknowledge the sheer hatefulness and evil that is out there. And guess what? It’s all in the Trump camp.

A vote for a third party candidate is a vote for Trump. Get out there and vote blue. Don’t let the deplorables win.

Peace, people.

Count Me Out

I won’t be watching the presidential debate tonight. Living in the eastern time zone means that the event won’t begin until 9 p.m. I’ll be in bed and hopefully engrossed in book seven of Diana Gabaldon’s Outlander series by then.

It’s not that I don’t care about the debate. Quite the opposite. I care so much that I fear I’ll throw up when Trump resorts to his de rigueur raft of lies. I care so much that I know I’d never be able to fall asleep once the debate ends. So I’ve set up a recording and I’ll watch sometime tomorrow afternoon. 

In the meantime I’ll be praying that Hillary shows what she’s made of:  Her grit and determination. Her capacity for compassion and concern for the underserved. Her immense intelligence and extraordinary political savviness. 

I’ll also pray that those who are undecided will recognize that there is really only one legitimate choice in this election. Hillary Rodham Clinton. I’m with her. 


The end of everything might’ve begun the day somebody told Donald Trump that he

Could be anything, even President, if he told enough lies and threw the right people

Under the right bus at the right time. He cowed his Republican opponents, one by bitter one.

Now, a tombstone engraved “R.I.P., G.O.P.” rises plaintively from a grave between 

Reason and insanity; a silent symbol of the demise of the once proud party of Lincoln.