The recent presidential election has left me feeling depressed. It seems to have had that effect on quite a few die-hard lefties.
There are bound to be at least one or two people who'll point out that had Hillary Clinton, there'd still be approximately half the country depressed over the election results. It was a close election. And while Hillary won more physical votes, she lost by way of the electoral college. It's happened before. Trust me: as a voter who lived in Florida during the 2000 election between George W. Bush and Al Gore, I'm well aware that there are contentious elections. Any time you have bumper stickers showing up saying that the state you live in has Electile Dysfunction, you know that there are unhappy voters.
And yet, the 2000 election can't possibly as contentious as this year's election. While many Republicans hated Hillary, mentioning her emails during her time as Secretary of State, along with any and all complaints, it was nothing compared to how Democrats felt about Donald Trump. Heck, even members of his own party tried distancing themselves from him.
Anne Lamott is one of my favorite writers. She's written several books of essays about becoming a Christian (Traveling Mercies: Some Thoughts on Faith), and her ongoing struggles of meshing her faith with her left-wing politics (Plan B: Further Thoughts on Faith and Grace Eventually: Thoughts on Faith). In the first essay in Plan B ("Ham of God"), Lamott wrote, "Everyone I know has been devastated by Bush's presidency...So much has been stolen by Bush, from the very beginning of his reign...I have had it with Bush. Hadn't the men in the White House ever heard of the word karma?"
The first time I read these words, I practically cheered. I haven't voted for any of the Bush family: Not George H.W. Bush, not W., and not younger brother Jeb for Florida governor. Did I mention being a die-hard lefty Democrat - and a feminist, too?
And yet, while I've never voted for the Bushes, the thought of Trump in the White House, and seeing the people he's picking to surround himself with - rich white men who seem to be positively allergic to anyone who isn't a rich WASP-ish male - is making me positively nostalgic for the Bush years - all 12 in the White House, along with Jeb's in Tallahassee. For me to even think that way, much less write about it, should tell you something about my deep mistrust of he-who-shall-not-be-named.
That last bit - the "he-who-shall-not-be-named" - should look familiar to anyone who follows Stephen King's Twitter page. I've got to respect someone who calls the president-elect that.
When I went to bed the night of November 8, the end results weren't in. Around 2:30, I got up to use the bathroom and passed my youngest son, J., in the hallway. I didn't dare ask at that hour who won. I figured if it was a clear-cut Hillary win, he would have told me. The fact that he didn't say anything, other than to announce he was heading for bed, meant that either he-who-shall-not-be-named had won, or it was still up in the air. I hoped that it was the latter and went back to bed.
But no. When I got up in the morning, the obscene headline told it all.
The chatter on Facebook and Twitter has been crazy: it's not hard to tell who voted for whom by the posts.
But after a week-and-half, the die-hard lefties seem to be deciding, "Okay, so now what do we do?", while posting ways to get rid of the electoral college, and try blocking some of he-who-shall-not-be-named's picks from actually ending up in DC.
It's going to be a long haul. Let's just hope and pray he-who doesn't screw up as bad as we're afraid of.
