Mixed Metaphors

Red Letter Day

Definition: a day that is pleasantly noteworthy or memorable

Like most of my left-leaning, liberal, tolerant, and progressive friends, family, and neighbors the days leading up to the presidential election were bright. In fact, in the words of friends Pat and Barb MacDonald of Timbuk 3 from their song, “The Future’s So Bright, I Gotta Wear Shades” the lyrics echoed the optimism that though the race was close, most prognosticators predicted Hillary Clinton had over an 80% chance of reaching or surpassing the 270 electoral college votes needed to secure the election. It was a Red Letter Day that then turned into a nightmare night.  As we all know now, she won the popular vote and lost the election. We were shocked and stunned.

The irony is that Pat MacDonald hinted to some darker meaning embedded in the song, and their later EP entitled, Looks Like Dark to Me featured the following lyrics in the title track, “The future’s been bright for so long now, it looks like dark to me.” As it turns out the legacy and progress of the Obama administration was now in jeopardy by President-Elect Donald Trump.

I’ve written a lot in my blog about the belief that things change. We may individually be responsible for our choices, yet we often don’t control the outcome. As I’ve learned the hard way, life is unmanageable.  Leading up to the election and especially after FBI Director James Comey’s announcement regarding the most recent investigation of HRC’s emails from her private server, we were positioned to elect our first woman president.

Red Letter Days

The weekend before the primary began my Red Letter Days. I spent Saturday with my nephew Quinn and niece Gemma, a 14-year-old teenager and a 12-year-old preteen respectively. We have at least one annual date, a gift of experience when they get to spend their birthday and Christmas money from me. Like other years we begin with breakfast or lunch at one of their favorite restaurants.  This year it was breakfast at Monty’s Blue Plate Diner.

Since I’m an aunt and not a parent, I get to be a little more permissive. Our first stop was the Video X-Change so Quinn could purchase a new game, not one that I would necessarily choose. Quinn who is an avid reader and whip smart presented a compelling argument and referenced research that the mature game he chose would not cause him to be more violent.

Next up in our plan for the day was a movie. We agreed upon the new Marvel film premiering that weekend, Dr. Strange. What I enjoyed about the story was that it featured a superhero who gained inner strength and powers — a spiritual warrior of sorts — after being mentored by the “ancient one.” Dr. Strange followed a path of enlightenment before fighting evil. After the film we had a discussion about what we each learned from the story. I learned that I needed to let go of everything I knew before. Oh my!

Following the film we went shopping at the mall arriving at Gemma’s destination, Hot Topic, which specializes in music and pop culture inspired fashion including body jewelry, accessories, rock t-shirts, skinny jeans, and licensed music. I quickly became aware that both destinations, the video game store and now Hot Topic, were evidence of my nephew and niece’s transition into adolescence.  Gemma confessed she had never been to the store before yet, “All my friends shop there.”

Gemma purchased a couple of band t-shirts for Twenty-One Pilots, which she had concert tickets to see with friends in January. As we were checking out of the store the manager wondered if Gemma would be interested in a job. Gemma is model-like tall, attractive, articulate and enthusiastic. When Gemma was asked her age, the manager said come back when you’re a little older.

Quinn still had a large balance to his gift and like most teens replied, “Rather than anymore shopping, I’d like to have some pocket money.” Oh my! I realized that as we wrapped up our day together, the time would soon arrive that spending a day with their aunt would not hold the same appeal, that soon their time will be spent solely with their peers.

I was grateful and somewhat wistful as our Red Letter Day was ending. The good news for me is I had another date ahead of me that I was looking forward to, dinner plans with my ex-partner of 15 years. I was going to tour her new home and make a chili dinner together. A little backstory:

We separated over eight years ago. During that time we reconciled as friends and chosen family members. We remain in each others’ lives. I’m grateful. It’s another reminder that things change, yet some things remain the same. One thing that remained the same was her preference for my chili. Though I had sent her the recipe before, like most comfort food recipes, I don’t necessarily follow the exact amounts of the ingredients. Chili is one of those dishes that requires tasting and adjustments during a number of steps. She wanted to make chili together so she could duplicate mine. My sister Tami, Quinn and Gemma’s mother warned me earlier, “Watch out, once she knows how to make your chili she may not want to see you anymore.”  Though that outcome is unlikely, we shared a laugh together.

Like my time with Quinn and Gemma, I realized that my relationship with my ex was changing. When we reminisced about our shared memories, we acknowledged that for the most part we had to go back a considerable amount of time. Though we have spent time together, some during significant events in our lives, we no longer shared that thread of day-to-day life. For myself I was aware that our paths had diverged significantly and like my time with my niece and nephew, this Red Letter Day was bittersweet.

Just prior to election day, I became a member of the secret social media group, Pantsuit Nation. Connecting with other HRC supporters, men, women and children, the excitement escalated in anticipation of electing the first woman president, and equally as critical was defeating Donald Trump. I enjoyed seeing women (and men and children) picking out pantsuits to wear on election day. I was moved by the stories and dedications to family members who were now gone and did not live to see the day a woman was elected president. I too had made the decision to dedicate my vote in my mother’s memory.

I posted this on Facebook:

I hail from a blue-collar, working class family. My mother, Ethel Mae Lenzke, worked full-time beginning in the 1950s in between giving birth to six children. She was a soft spoken woman who was my first role model and though she would have never called herself a feminist, she was. Mom died earlier this year, and tomorrow I dedicate my vote for Hillary in honor of my mother who hoped that she would live to see the day that Hillary, a woman, would be elected POTUS. Though she did not live to see this historic day, her daughters, granddaughters, and great granddaughters will!

Election Day

My Facebook posts on election day, certainly a Red Letter Day:

5:08 a.m.

Today’s the day! This is a Red Letter Day, one to remember and talk about for generations. I have my pantsuit ready and soon I’ll be standing in line at my polling place. I waited for today to vote for the experience of joining my neighbors on this historic day when we elect the first woman president.

5:16 a.m.

On 11/4/2008 I voted for Barack Obama. It was a Red Letter Day and a few months after my committed relationship of 15 years had ended. That day I cast my vote and held on to a vision and hope for the future while letting go of the past. I wrote this poem:

Full of Myself

Indian summer, presidential election day, November.
A joyful, hopeful day to vote,
be a citizen, stand in line, greet neighbors,
watch others curiously sample the school bake sale.
Outside, sky blue, translucent,
air fresh, breeze gentle.
Fallen leaves in orange, tan and scarlet,
blanket my feet, making crisp noises, shuffling,
almost skipping as I walk.

After voting, I drive to work
all the windows open,
music playing at maximum volume.
A smile breaks full and widens across my face;
emotions rise, tears fill my eyes.
I realize, I have let you go,
at least the binding attachment
of who and what we were to each other.
Like spinning in circles together,
our weight, a counter balance,
as our hands hold on to each other,
whirling, then letting go,
you are launched away from me
and I am lighter and free of you.

I’m momentarily dizzy
then grounded and content.
I’m present in this moment.
I soak in all that I can,
my senses fully engaged,
my spirit fills with each breath I take in,
I am full, full of myself.

LLL
11/04/08

8:07 a.m.

I arrived at my polling place, O’Keeffe Middle School in my pantsuit before the polls officially opened, The lines were already beginning to form and snake around in a serpentine manner. The poll workers opened the polls with a fanfare. Voting and registering seemed to be flowing well and voters were enthusiastic. Since my polling place is a school a Bake Sale was in progress. I was voter #39. America is great today and getting better. Grateful.

Nightmare Nights

After work and the excitement of reading social media, including posts on Pantsuit Nation, and updates by friends and family on Facebook throughout the day, though I rose that morning before 4:00 a.m. (a side effect of the time change ending DST), I was ready to slip into my PJs, get settled in on the couch and watch the returns come in.

By 9:00 p.m. the results of the East Coast time zone states were already coming in and the Central Time Zone polls had closed. The media was beginning to call some states and soon many of the states that were predicted to land in Trump’s column did just that early on giving him a lead in Electoral College votes. Some states including VA, FL, PA, OH, NH were too close to call. I was feeling anxious and uneasy in the pit of my stomach and tired. I fell asleep.

I woke up just before midnight to the bad news. Trump was ahead though some states were still too close to call. But now the trend had flipped and it would take a miracle for Hillary to gain the electoral votes she need to win. Since I was watching CNN, the commentators and supporters of each candidate were weighing in on the probable outcome.

The only bright spot in this nightmare night was Van Jones responding to Trump supporter, Jeffrey Lord’s assessment that Trump’s success in the polls was a “miracle.” Jones responded.

“People have talked about a miracle. I’m hearing about a nightmare,” Jones said. “It’s hard to be a parent tonight for a lot of us. You tell your kids, don’t be a bully. You tell your kids, don’t be a bigot. You tell your kids, do your homework and be prepared. Then you have this outcome and you have people putting children to bed tonight. They’re afraid of breakfast. They’re afraid of, how do I explain this to my children?”

He summed up the sentiments of millions of people, especially parents. I stayed awake long enough to witness the dismissal of Hillary supporters waiting at the Javit’s Center who earlier assembled for a victory celebration and announcement of Hillary’s election as the first woman president. Instead, before I went to sleep I heard Trump’s speech as the presumptive winner and around 2:00 a.m. an announcement is made that Hillary conceded defeat to Republican President-elect Donald Trump by phone. I could only go to sleep wishing that in the morning it had all been a bad dream.

I woke up from the nightmare night and realized that no degree of denial or magical thinking would change the outcome of the election, Trump was the President–Elect. My Facebook posts that morning:

6:04 a.m.

Like many of my friends and family, I’m stunned. I woke up dizzy this morning, physically and spiritually, after knowing the outcome of the election before going to sleep after 2:00 am. In my view, many voters thought they elected an outsider and change-maker in Donald Trump, someone who would make their lives better and “Make America Great Again.” Instead we as a nation elected the alt-right, dangerous people like Steve Bannon, and conservative Republicans who’ve we’ve witnessed go off the rails, many who will be appointed members of his cabinet. These will be the people who will have his ear, including Vice President-Elect Pence whose record towards LGBTQ people is enough to cause fear on a personal level. We need to coalesce with people of color, women, the elderly, disabled, new immigrants, non-Christians, the unemployed, the poor, disenfranchised, and the young, whose lives will be most affected by the legacy of Donald Trump. We have a lot of work to do, beginning in our communities, our State and America. Now it’s up to us to “Make America great again and ensure freedom for all.”  

7:10 a.m.

Today’s to-do list: Cry, get angry, and get to work, and I’m not referring to the place where I collect a paycheck, I’m talking about the work of citizens, fighting the good fight for freedom, equal rights and protection for all. I invite you to join me!

The work day was a day of mourning and grief, messages on social media and Facebook updates from friends and family expressed the same shock, then fear, as stories of alleged violence perpetrated by Trump supporters had already transpired. Speculation was rampant about how the new world would look and the gains we would lose. It was simply devastating and soul-crushing.

The next day November 10^th was more of the same, yet the night before people had already moved from despair to action, protests were breaking out and people were taking to the streets. That morning I posted on Facebook again, trying to inject some humor to help me cope.

5:53 a.m.

WARNING: Humor Alert!

I understand that the election of Donald Trump is a serious issue and should be treated as such, however, can I just say that electing Donald Trump for POTUS and having a colonoscopy in the same week seems like too much crap to bear? I’d rather flush him down the toilet!

Yes, true story, that evening my nightmare nights continued as I prepped for my colonoscopy the next day. When I went to sleep that night I had vivid dreams and the next morning I posted this update: 

I know my mind is working overtime and my subconscious fears are surfacing when I dreamed last night that I was playing board games with Putin. The good news is he conceded to my win. Oh my!

What’s Next

Now the organizing and strategizing begins, the reactivation of activism. For me and many like me, it’s finding our voices, speaking out, acting out, and become visible change agents again. In some ways I feel reenergized and return to a familiar place from over 40 years ago, to my feminist roots and years working on social change.

I added some buttons to my blue jean jacket in hopes that there are Red Letter Days ahead. I will not be silent or invisible.

Related reading from Mixed Metaphors, Oh My!

Karmic Takedown

Ode to Blue-Collar Working Class Heroes

Voting: Our Right & Responsibility

Seeing Red in a Blue State

Back to Blue: Restoring Wisconsin’s Progressive Roots

What Color Is Your Truth?