What Else Can I Write?

 What else can I write for these times? 2016 has recycled and the dumpster has begun to unload again. 

Faithful Readers, I am 65 years old, having lived more or less on borrowed time since my thirties. I have had 3 near-death experiences. I lived through three years of chemotherapy for lupus that took everything to get through. I managed to avoid Covid, but the stress of those years aged me, as it did everyone I know. I now have two heart conditions and work every day to stay well so that I can stay on this earth. 

But I have never, ever lived through years like this.

I was born into the Eisenhower administration. I clearly remember JFK's assassination, though I was only four. My uncle served in the Vietnam war and came back with profound PTSD. I remember the first moon landing, the Watergate hearings, Nixon's resignation, Gerald Ford pardoning Nixon. I remember Jimmy Carter losing to Ronald Reagan, and the profound sense I had then that nothing was going to be the same. I lived through the Bush presidencies, the Clinton presidency, rejoiced when Barack Obama was elected, practically threw up when the buffoon, Trump, was elected, and felt deep gratitude for Biden's presidency.

Now Trump the Buffoon inches towards being sworn into office. Not a madman, really: a malignant buffoon, but someone clearly tailor-made, in his unfortunate cognitive decline, for manipulation by other malignant forces.

No one knows what will happen, or even what is happening now. Gavin Newsom, the governor of California, has promised to protect this state. I am grateful I do not live somewhere else. 

I think the continued challenge for these times is to not throw myself into fear and despair, even though that seems a luxury right now. I plan to never listen to the Orange Reptilian honk away--even as I know I must keep aware of the news and of budding menace. I pray my family is safe, and my loved ones (I really want to say I don't care about the MAGA ones, but I do, even as I'd rather not hear from them again).

Right now, my hope is that I live to see this clown taken down once and for all, via the Midterm Elections first. We erased the idiots once from the White House, and despite Trump's bluster, I still think he will never become a dictator. 

I am grateful I chose to try and find conscious gratitude for the Biden administration. I did not fear dying in a nuclear war then. I did not feel a constantly knotted-up stomach. I had to search out what the man was doing for the country, because it was All Trump, All The Time, in the media. That he had to end his campaign was a tragedy. There were forces around him, too. Harris had racism, misogyny, apathy, and the MAGA need for "bread and circuses" against her. We lost, and the world lost, too--though some don't know it yet.

Tonight the moon is full; the annual flowers in my planters are dying. I planted three tomato plants; we ate tomatoes all summer until we got sick of them. I harvested seven pumpkins (with a last one still on the vine). I have three pounds of seeds from sunflower heads, five pounds of popcorn, and maybe a half-pound of scarlet runner beans. Broccoli is going into planters this week. Harvesting it all was a moment of quiet and centering for me. Learning to dry seeds and corn felt primal to me. Perhaps the skills will prove useful.

What will things be like as the old year ends and the new year begins? One last Christmas for the Bidens in the White House. The next Christmas, Melania might buy some tinsel at CVS and drape it on a coatrack in the Oval Office. 

I have had many, many times in my life where I felt no hope whatsoever: and yet hope was there. Even as the world slides into shadow, literally and figuratively, it is important to find something bright to grasp. It seems an essential search right now for any ray of light.