Silver lining

It ain’t easy living in one of the reddest spots in a purple state that went for Hillary. Name-calling, vulgar gestures and getting your car keyed are not unheard of. With all that, and given the exceptional nastiness exhibited by Trump supporters, I had to consider whether or not to leave my numerous bumper stickers in place. It didn’t take long to decide to let people know that I absolutely did not vote for the disaster that is splattering the country. Decision made, I headed off to the grocery store on the day after the election.

As I was loading my purchases into the trunk, a car pulled into the empty space next to mine. Getting out of her car, the driver walked over and said “You have no idea how happy I am to see your bumper stickers!”

I smiled and said, “Thanks, that’s not the response I usually get!” Then I noticed that she was wiping some tears away. “Are you okay?” I asked.

“I’ve just felt so alone,” she said. “I’ve been so frightened, I didn’t have anyone I could talk to.”

We stood there and talked for about twenty minutes. After introducing myself, I gave her some information about our local Democratic office and let her know that the office is always open during the week and that we have regularly scheduled events and get-togethers. Turns out she’s another busy working parent who tries to keep up while juggling the demands of family and work; she was pleased to learn that our office is only a couple of blocks away from her job, and she’s looking forward to stopping in and meeting some like-minded folks. I gave her a “Proud to be a Democrat” button, she took my hand in both of hers and said, “I’m so glad I had to shop today, and I really do love your car!” She headed into the store, and I drove home with an unexpected smile.

WE go on.


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Toy Boat

Next

Immunity

If you insist.

If you insist.

Tell me.

Poker players learn to recognize other players’ “tells”, little clues that signal bluffing. In Trump’s case, his tells reveal when he’s, shall we say, misleading his audience. F’rinstance, his voice takes on a nasty gravelly tone whenever he’s accusing others of doing the very things he does. And when he’s fixing to tell an outright whopper, he goes into what he thinks is serious professor mode, dropping his voice and shaking his head as if in sorrow. He couldn’t be more obvious if he tried.

I was thinking that I’d like to play poker with him. Better yet, it’s delicious to picture him playing against my 97-year-old mother, whose white hair and rosy cheeks belie wicked poker skills that have surprised many an opponent with suddenly empty pockets.

Heh.


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Somewhere Gilda Radner is giggling...

Last night there were a number of articles about the scary moment at Trump’s rally in Reno. One of those articles had a number of reader comments appended, one of which wins the trophy for unintended irony: “Thank God Donald Trump survived the assignation attempt!!!”

To be sure, Trump has gleefully survived numerous assignation attempts. He has, in fact, boasted of his experience in that particular arena.

Yes, we can all be relieved that the candidate was unharmed.


But somewhere Gilda Radner is giggling, “Never mind!”



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My arm hurts. And it’s Trump’s fault.

After his petty outburst at the last debate I cobbled up these buttons and gave them to some friends. Then I went about doing other things. But those friends called and emailed asking for more of the buttons, so I dragged out the lever-action button machine and made more. Then our local Dems office wanted some, as did our coordinated campaigns office. Then our world champion class ultra canvass organizer wanted some, three times. I just got home from delivering several dozen to two campaign locations.

Admittedly, it is a bit of a kick to be at the grocery store and spot the button being worn by people I don’t know. Who’da thunk that what was essentially a snarky riposte to a snotty comment would become a lapel adornment for a few hundred people? Meanwhile, stuff I’ve spent days on might as well be invisible. Well, that’s the world for ya.

Given my whining over not being able to participate in door-knocking and phone banking, the Tylenol and ice pack are humbling reminders that there are other ways to help. But my arm still hurts. And it’s still Trump’s fault.

Thanks Hillary!

I am NOT over-confident. However,

I am choosing optimism at this point. So I wanted to do something for our upcoming VICTORY celebration. The theme I was working with centered on a continuity, a philosophy that would carry through from one administration to another. With heartfelt thanks to Nance Greggs for providing the framework
http://www.democraticunderground.com/12512571136, here’s the result.





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