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 It's been a long couple of months, this week so far.

Know what I mean?

Election day in the time of pandemic. Election day in the time of a fractured country. Election day in the time of a president who openly courts only half of the country and claims "you're either with me or against me." According to Walter Issacson, the historian, “What we have lost is the sense that we are one nation, all in this together. Donald Trump is the first president in our history who has sought to divide us rather than unite us. We will heal once he leaves, but the scar will endure.” Election day when the arbiter of this election may once again be the Supreme Court if the Electoral College doesn't give the result the president wants.



I was struck this weekend by the essays in the New York Time, under the umbrella of "What We've Lost", in particular the one by Maureen Dowd, 'Sharknado Goes to Washington". She wrote "The most bizarre fact that sticks in my head is this: In 2015, Donald Trump was agonizing over whether to go for the role as the president in “Sharknado 3: Oh Hell No!” or to run for the actual presidency," she said. "How did we go from Abraham Lincoln to a “Sharknado” reject?"

I was so struck about much in this column and was inspired to write a response. I really didn't imagine it would be published, but it was and was then selected as one of the NYT Times Picks. I can tell you that this once aspiring journalist had a moment of awe that my byline, so to speak, was in the NYT!! If you're reading this, or have ever read my blog, my writing style isn't really NYT worthy. And it's just online, and it's just a response to an editorial. But still, it's my glass is half full take away from this week so far.

Here's what I wrote:


"Four years ago seems a lifetime. I had such hope and was filled with joy at the possibilities of the first female president. ‘At last, at last we’re equal at last’, I mused. 

Your reminiscences Ms. Dowd of mothers gathering their daughters, reminded me of that hope and promise. That morning after, one of shock, led to the realization that we had been complacent because the choice was so obvious (the most qualified candidate versus a reality tv star). That morning after also reminded us that a little thing like the Electoral College is the ultimate arbiter.

 So we marched in our pink hats and felt empowered and in my mind he wasn’t going to last. Certainly his nefarious dealings would lead to his ouster. I would wake up daily, saying ‘is he out yet?’. Like you, I have friends and family that are Trumpers largely because of their support for anti-choice and/or relaxation of tax codes and regulations on businesses. I have grown used to being the lone liberal in the room but prior to Trump we could still talk politics.

 It was never this divisive. I have been a positive thinker most of my life, even occasionally blogged as theglassishalf-full, but that sunny disposition has been mostly clouded over.

 And as I sit here this morning, my mindset is anxious and weary. I know I’m not alone. The dichotomy in mindsets, from four years ago, is truly a devastating picture of how much we have lost under Trump."

#nyt #maureendowd



Comments

It's not a popularity contest, but ...

When an ass is so much more

  Body image. Body positivity.  Or about coming to an appreciation for a previously much maligned back end.  In junior high (that's middle school for all of you non boomers), I was given the nickname "big butt Bowen". It was a nickname that stung because I did indeed have a large ass. I tried to mask it, a difficult endeavor since the current fashion (and remember this is junior high when fitting in was paramount) was wearing hip hugger jeans with midriff tops and my disguise of choice were peasant blouses or dresses. That style choice earned an additional nickname, Mama Cass. For those of you that don't know who Mama Cass was, she was part of the Mamas and Papas and known for her beautiful voice but also for her large body.  All about Mama Cass I was cruelly nicknamed at a time when nicknames can really mess with a girl's psyche. And I spent a lifetime as that girl with the messed up psyche. I'm sure there are more than one of you out there that can relate. B

Peter Pan no more

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Cabin fever made me do it!

Like nearly ever person in West Michigan, I have a serious case of cabin fever.  I won't waste your time however, complaining about the two-hundred feet of snow that's fallen in the last two hours. I won't share about the twenty or thirty times I've had to shovel my walk today as gusts blew it right back in my face. And I certainly will not lament about the temperatures that hover around negative double digits making your nostrils freeze together within moments of stepping outside. To bore you with tales of how we have to shovel areas in our yard so that our large dog and can do his 'duty' because the snow is deeper than he is tall and dogs for whatever reason cannot poop in the same place twice, is not what I will share. You will not hear about how when I open the slider to let aforementioned dog outside, gusts of wind blow drifts of snow inside and require a shovel to once again close the door.  Nor will I share how some roads around here are drifted shut be