Columns

This column will run after the election is, mercifully, over. Yet, because of deadlines, I am writing before the votes are tallied. Which means that right now I am either still be exhaling a long sigh of relief at having narrowly escaped being “governed” by a bi-polar, loose hinged, racist, misogynist lunatic or looking at property in Vancouver.

Exhausted from the election season? Take down the campaign signs and put up a harvest wreath. Or a Christmas wreath. You’ll be getting in touch with your pagan roots.

The 2016 campaigns and election are finally over, thank God. Not since the 1860 election of Abraham Lincoln and the Civil War, has a post-election America been more divided. Seldom has more debate, protest and howling been subsumed with so little nourishment or constructive results.

One of my favorite features of Facebook is the time capsule/memory thing they do. A week ago one of my favorite videos of all time popped up, and I watched it a few times, soaking in the memories. In the video, Thomas is about six. He is staring at our Thanksgiving turkey, which is sitting on a platter on the counter, waiting to be barbequed. He tells me, “I’m going to talk to the turkey.” In answer to my question of why he wants to talk to the turkey, he informs me, “Because.” (Well, of course. What was I thinking?)

I call upstairs to my two teenagers, “Dinner is ready.” I am in the kitchen and I make note that the clock on the microwave reads 6:15 p.m.. I don't get a response from either one. So I try again. “Dinner is ready,” I call again, a little more loudly. Time on the microwave now reads 6:20 p.m. I still have gotten no response as I wait patiently. I realize I have two options. I can either get really mad or I can stay calm and go upstairs in person and tell my teens that dinner is ready. I know they are both on their phones, aren’t they always? On this particular day, as I am making my way up to their rooms, a memory takes shape in my mind and makes me laugh out loud. When was the last time that happened? I can't wait to tell them the story at dinner. If we ever make it there.

Thank you

It is raining, hard, as I write this column. There are no birds on the river’s edge and the oak leaves are blowing with abandon from the nearby trees. Squirrels, who earlier I watched gather acorns in preparation for the storm have retreated into their nests. All seems cozy and well with the world.

Your choice

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