Progress in healing

Yet another cabinet member has been announced to a fanfare of “Oh, no!” Amigo didn’t remember the name, but he remembered enough to inform me that the new Secretary of Education will be a “billionaire school choice advocate.” I can only take so many of these announcements. They’re bad for my blood pressure. In the interest of my own health, let’s look for some silver linings.

The next time a woman runs for president, she will not have to jump the same hoops that Hillary did. Trailblazers, Geraldine Ferraro and Hillary Clinton included, blazed a trail so that others can follow.

Tomorrow is Thanksgiving. We’re bringing mashed potatoes, butternut squash, Packer veggies (peas and corn), and cranberry sauce. Have I forgotten anything? La Petite will bring the wine. The potatoes are in the crock pot as I type. Oh, pies! I bought pies from a local bakery this morning.

The nearby meat market (I love that place) was hopping. In fact, I changed my route to avoid the traffic on their corner as I was on the way to the bakery, another small business I love. I walked in, paused to inhale, and then picked up a box of cookies while I waited for my turn. The problem with shopping at a local bakery is simple; I always come out with more than I planned to buy. Problem? Maybe that’s not a problem. Small Business Saturday is coming up, and I saw two small businesses that were doing well already today.

Amigo has already found Internet radio stations that are playing 100% Christmas music. I’ll make a list, check it twice, and bookmark a few to listen to at work. Now if I can stop myself from singing along…

I predict January will bring another down period. This inauguration will be hard to take. But for now, let’s look at positives. For those who celebrate, enjoy your Thanksgiving.

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Dreams with broken wings

We’re still grieving. We’re still fragile. “We” are those who saw not just an election, but a dream break down.

I remember seeing Michelle Obama as a guest on a talk show, discussing how she knew Barack was ready to be president. She wasn’t sure that America was ready for him.

Well, Michelle, enough Americans were ready for Barack Obama that we elected him twice. Those who were not ready for him were, unfortunately, those in Congress. Their goals, dare I say it, their dreams were simple: block this guy’s agenda, no matter what.

I’m grieving because enough Americans were not ready for Hillary Clinton to break the glass ceiling. I’m grieving because the opponent, He Who Shall Not Yet Be Named, appealed to the lowest common denominator – the racist, the misogynist, the defiant and narrow-minded among us. Who would have guessed that so many voters fall into those categories?

The saddest part may be seeing that the glass ceiling still holds firm. That, my friends, is where dreams go to die. But this dream – the idea that the most intelligent and competent and experienced potential president should fail in the attempt? Langston Hughes said it best.

Hold fast to dreams
For if dreams die
Life is a broken-winged bird
That cannot fly.
Hold fast to dreams
For when dreams go
Life is a barren field
Frozen with snow.

I’m not ready to let go of the dream. I will grieve for Hillary Clinton, my idol for many, many years. I’ll grieve for the potential for our country under her leadership. This dream, the one that a qualified and amazing woman can become president, this dream can not die.

We’ll carry on. We aren’t likely to keep calm. This dream, that of a woman president, will not die with the election of 2016. I don’t know who will be next to have the courage to run, but I know that if she’s even close to Hillary’s knowledge and experience and greatness – dare I say it? I’ll be with her, too.

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A week later

I haven’t posted since last week. Late Tuesday night I crafted my short piece, and then let it sit for a day. I let it sit until the day after. The day after what, you ask? The day after the glass ceiling didn’t shatter. The day after the hate and the vitriol won.

I’ve watched much less television news, listened to music rather than news radio, and more or less taken breaks from Facebook and other sources of anger and denial. In my grief for what could have been, I had plenty of my own anger and denial.

I started reaching back to social media in small doses. I might take a few of my close political allies off the news feed for a while. I like them, I respect them, and I see them as friends. However, I’m not ready to take action of any kind — yet.

News is still difficult. The sight of the Donald makes me feel ill. It’s not his appearance, but rather all he represents. The racism. The bias. The deplorable value systems that supported the results of this election – well, let’s just say they’re not my values. I don’t want a wall on either border, north or south. I prefer the term “strong” to “nasty”. Women in my circles would knock the block off any idiot who tried to grab their, er, kitty-cat.

I’m not going to blog what-ifs. Regrets are useless. The grief, however, is real. This anger and denial are typically followed by bargaining. My bargain comes in the form of hoping for the best, yet preparing for the worst. And since any kind of best result is unlikely at this point…well, I’ll stop there.

Take care, readers. I wouldn’t mind hearing your own coping devices. What helps you get through times like these?

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Election Day – and the memories

I was getting teary eyed just looking through Facebook. Eight years ago, the nation made history. Now we stand on the edge of making history again. Rather than panic, instead of worrying myself sick, I looked through my blog posts from Election 2008.

Grab a tissue.

From 11/6/2008:

It’s a Presidential Election that made history. Best voter turnout in forty years or a century, depending on your source. Record money raised and spent, although that can be taken as a positive or a negative. Record number of early voters by absentee ballot.

And the most important record of all: the American electorate finally crossed the racial line and elected a young, intelligent, articulate, and forward thinking man. And in the process, America elected Barack Obama the first African-American President of the United States.

La Petite was away at college, covering the election for the school paper. She had voted early. Her first presidential election, and she voted early because she knew she’d be busy on election day. We kept in touch by text message – the old fashioned kind of text message, with thumbs pounding out numbers multiple times to make the words. My thumbs, I kid you not, were sore.

As one state after another turned to blue on the map and the electoral vote total grew on Obama’s side, we sent each other texts that grew shorter and more and more exciting. When it was all over and she had finished putting the school newspaper into print and online, she emailed me and called the whole experience “… amazing. It’s going to be one of those ‘I remember where I was, who I was with, and what I was doing when I found out that Obama was elected as our 44th president’ type moments.”

Well, people, prepare for another one of those milestones. Will you remember where you were, who you were with, and what you were doing when the final word comes in? I’ve already voted. How about you?

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From two years ago – what a difference.

Two years ago, the garden had officially succumbed to the freezing temps overnight. Today, I was outside in my Wisconsin Badgers tee shirt, turning soil and enjoying the huge blooms on the marigolds.

The election was nearly over (and I was worried). We’re a few days away from Election Tuesday. I’m worried sick. This election – it’s so unreal that it’s scary.

So what’s next? How did Compost Happens find a way to continue without politics or gardening on the topic list? Ha-ha. As if I’m ever at a loss for words!

Don’t worry, friends, family, and fans. There is still almost half of the NFL season to go. You’ll read the reactions of the O.K. Chorale as the Packers do their best to protect their best – Aaron Rodgers, that is. I might even post the results of our Eating the Opponent tradition. Indiana corn chowder (with bacon) and bacon cheeseburgers tonight as we prepare to meet the Colts on Sunday. if you were curious.

The garden was a simple pile of dirt and scattered straw two years ago. This year, like 2015, there’s a lot of green in the yard, providing a beautiful backdrop to the multi-colored leaves falling from the neighbor’s maples. In fact, I turned soil today and pulled up rogue grass roots to make room for a row of walking onions.

I still have a small tray full of green-turning-red and even more green-turning yellow tomatoes. I have enough ripe tomatoes to add to salads and BLTs for a little while longer.

As for the election results – I’m sure there will be reactions, good or bad, from the family here at the Chorale or from our favorite time traveler, Grandma Daisy.

What to write? Blog fodder? No shortage here, folks. As my favorite quarterback said a couple years back, R-E-L-A-X. I’m not going away any time soon.

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I saw, I thought, I voted.

I saw Amazon’s “Countdown to Black Friday.”

I thought “Black Friday? I’m have to get through Election Day.”

I saw No Spend November.

I thought “Good luck with that. We have birthdays in November, December, and January.”

I saw leftover candy on the counter of the kitchenette at work.

I thought, “Hey, Almond Joy! Breakfast of Champions!”

I saw this.

Respectable Vegetable?

 I thought: Respectable Vegetable?

I saw this.

No question: When the World Series goes to a Game 7, if the American League team wins, Republicans win the White House. If the National League team wins, Democrats win the White House.

1972 (AL team wins) — Nixon (R)

1968 (AL team wins) — Nixon (R)

1964 (NL team wins) — Johnson (D)

1960 (NL team wins) — Kennedy (D)

1956 (AL team wins) — Eisenhower (R)

1952 (AL team wins) — Eisenhower (R)

1940 (NL team wins) — Roosevelt (D)

1924 (AL team wins) — Coolidge (R)

I thought: Go! Cubs! Go!

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Short Conversations by text

Introduction – Blogging this election has been much harder than 2012 or 2008. I don’t want to give the Republican candidate any more of my time or blog space than he deserves, but if I stay silent, if too many stay silent, then his misogyny and racism will spread. Instead of posting election-related content, I’ll simply tell you that I VOTED already, and move on to an everyday conversation.

Actual Text Message Conversations (I couldn’t make these up)

from Chuck: Gotta love our downtown! I went out to plug the meter again and a stranger had already done it.

my reply: Pay it forward!

And yet another day — 

I was on my way to the Take and Bake pizza place to pick up a particular type of pizza for Eating the Opponent. As I pulled in to the parking lot, my phone went “Ding!” signaling a text message.

from Chuck: Here’s some must have – the Golden Girls Action figures. Someone really is producing them and will sell them at an upcoming comic con. Collect the whole set!

my reply: I want the Supreme Court Women set.

Chuck’s response: I bet the Ruth Bader Ginsberg action figure would kick the trump bobble head’s butt.

my reply: Darn right. Notorious RBG to the rescue! Add superhero cape to the judge’s robe!

Follow up: I haven’t ordered my blue pantsuit Hillary action figure yet. Yet. I still wish Lego would get serious and make the Supreme Court Women. 

 

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If Wishes Were Horses

I was tired last night. Tired enough to turn on Monday Night Football, but not know the score. Tired enough to feed the rabbit and make my lunch, but forget to finish the refreshing beverage and bowl of pretzels beside my reclined end of the couch. Tired enough to avoid the debate between candidates for my congressional district.

And that, my friends, is tired. I’m tired of the election commercials. I’m tired of worrying about what-ifs. What if this garbage and BS of a rigged election cause craziness in the people who are gullible enough to believe it and aggressive enough to cause trouble?

And then, the wishes. I wish Election Day were over and the results clear. I wish the likelihood of a Clinton victory weren’t tainted with the nastiness of her horrible opponent. I wish I thought the glass ceiling would shatter dramatically, yet peacefully. I wish I had a Reese’s peanut butter cup. Hey, don’t judge. There’s Halloween candy in the back hallway, and chocolate makes me feel better. 

I wish I didn’t feel this ominous cloud hanging over my shoulders, the fear that we haven’t seen the worst of it yet. I wish that feeling were gone, and most of all, I wish I thought that feeling was wrong.

The best action I can take will be to vote early. Amigo and Chuck voted yesterday. My first opportunity, after meetings and conferences and more meetings, will be Thursday, between picking up the Chicago style pizza and serving it up for Eating the Opponent, Chicago on Thursday Night Football. Thursday night, I’ll know the score.

I wish I knew that the scores on November 8 will have the best results for our country.

And if wishes were horses, then beggars might ride.

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Dear Voters

Dear Speaker (Mr. Ryan, of course);

I’m glad to hear that you don’t think women should be objectified. Announcing publicly that you were “sickened” by Trump’s remarks was a good start. “Championed and revered” headed off in the wrong direction, however. How about equals? 

Yours in equal pay (not), Daisy

Dear Senator McCain;

Is “unendorse” really a word? I guess it is now. This could be even more powerful than “unfriend.”

An everyday middle school English Language Arts teacher

Dear Melania (Trump, of course);

Unacceptable and Offensive I can believe. Unfortunately, I don’t believe you when you say that this doesn’t represent the man you know. Denial may seem like a survival skill now, but you can’t deny his ugly and predatory personality forever. It’s time to step away from the Trump Troll, for your own sake.

A Quiet Observer

To whomever helps the candidate pack his suitcases;

This man needs a wake-up call. Cayenne pepper in the Tic Tacs might be appropriate.

Fresh Breath forever, Daisy

Dear voters;

You can tell a lot about a person by how he treats those he considers his inferiors. This guy doesn’t think of women as people. To him, a woman is an object, something to play with and someone to use. To paraphrase one of Donald’s own misstatements, Nineteenth Amendment people, you know what to do.

Respectfully (and you won’t get that from the Donald), a feminist voter

Dear President Obama (Eight years later, I still love hearing that title!);

Thank you for publicly stating that you want the same opportunities for your daughters as anyone would for their sons. You set a prime example by installing Hillary Clinton as your first Secretary of State. I would expect no less from the leader of the free world.

Daisy, a Dedicated Democrat

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