Number Seven, Number Seven, Number Seven

Last time he won I was angry. Angry at the misogyny that allowed him to win.

This time? I’m just scared.

As I was lying in bed this morning under the covers with my eyes shut, trying to will away the fact that I needed to get up, I thought, “Well, at least my kids are straight, cisgender and male.” And then I wanted to cry because that thought had gone through my head.

I went to sleep before the election was definite but every time I woke in the night, which was often, I checked my phone and watched the electoral votes climb.

I’m afraid of the future with Republicans in power and the Supreme Court in their pocket. I’m afraid for all of us but particularly for people of color, for immigrants, and for anyone that doesn’t live and love in the seemingly prescribed way. As always I worry most about my babies, all four of them now.

I voted by mail given my sometimes slippery grasp of mobility, but the other four, Ernie, Leo, Owen and Trinity, all traipsed off together to vote. I should have made them take a picture. It made me think of my Dad who was always an election judge, and then of my grandfather, who well into his 90’s would put on a jacket, tie and fedora to go vote. It made me miss my mother. Made me miss her and Ernie having political discussions together.

The first time I voted in a presidential election was 1980. If I’m not mistaken, I voted for John Anderson. I had just turned 18, it was my first semester of college, the idea of an independent candidate was exciting. Hell, I was 18, it seemed like anything could happen.

I didn’t have the best of luck with my presidential votes for a while. I guess I have voted for the winning candidate five out of 12 times. Geesh.

1980 John B. Anderson       

1984  Walter F. Mondale     

1988  Michael S. Dukakis     

1992    Bill Clinton      

1996    Bill Clinton      

2000   Al Gore           

2004   John Kerry      

2008    Barack Obama            

2012    Barack Obama

2016   Hillary Clinton

2020    Joe Biden      

2024 Kamala Harris 

Part of the reason I’m scared this time is because of how different our world is since 2016. It’s a far more vitriolic and divided place. I worry about my four babies, but I worry for all of us. All of us.

I went for comfort food for breakfast. It seemed appropriate. Quesadilla with cheddar and crunchy salad greens with some perfect avocado on the side.

Last night, roasted chicken thighs with smoked paprika, salad turnips and arugula. What won the plate? The turnips. You just never know.

Onward. It’s the only way to go.

Love,
Cynthia