A Missal to Myself
Wow! It’s been some kind of week, hasn’t it? Of course, our eyes were all collectively peeled for the election outcome. I didn’t sleep well on Tuesday night after I watched David Brooks, the esteemed columnist and PBS commentator for the election, become visibly dejected after he calmly said he thought Trump was overperforming.
Before I woke up on Wednesday I knew what the outcome was because I had been checking my phone in the middle of the night regarding electoral college votes. Obviously, this contributed to my not sleeping in more ways than one.
I feel sick. I’ve amazed myself at realizing how much I wanted Harris to win. You see, I’m a convert. Once a staunch Reagan Republican, I no longer align myself with that party. In truth, I haven’t in many years. As others have said, they no longer represent my values. At all.
But, political alignment aside, I feel sick because of what we’ve just shown our children.
In my humble opinion, we’ve shown our children the following:
- You can bully people
- You can disparage people
- You can act crudely while running for arguably “the most important position in the free world”
- You can use money and bribes to get what you want
- You can take people’s rights away
- You can lie
- You can have questionable morals or no morals at all
- You can be divisive
- You can be rude and unprofessional in your use of language and actions
- The environment doesn’t matter
- Women are second-class citizens
- and the list goes on.
I’ve always been a proponent of role-modeling behavior. Our children watch. Our children listen. Now, they’ve listened to the rhetoric surrounding this election and seen a very unkind, self-centered person win a most coveted position for world leadership.
Is this what we want our children to emulate? I sure don’t.
Still, many voted for this person – more than half – a majority and enough to win the Presidency.
I’m sick because I feel our world is in trouble.
As a former nurse, pediatric nurse practitioner, and environmental educator – the roles for which I was formally educated – I see health care and the environment as major issues.
As a woman who fought hard to have children – trying over and over and over again – until something clicked and I had my three boys, I worry about women’s rights.
Unfortunately, living in Northern Wisconsin we are surrounded by people who voted differently than we did. And although I wholeheartedly support their right to vote the way they want, I question how they arrived at which candidate to support.
What were they thinking about? Especially women, what are they thinking? I ask you.
First and foremost, I see a felon in our Oval Office. This is someone who, I feel, ignited and supported an insurrection against our democracy. I think our Founding Fathers are rolling over in their graves with fear and trepidation for what is happening. I’m sorry, John Adams*; I know this is not what you wanted.
As I drove home last night from an unsatisfying volunteer experience at the gardens where I was previously and still welcomed but felt out of place last night, I had some resolve.
I can only be myself. I can only continue to hope for the best. I can only continue to be a role model for our youth. I can only continue to work to educate and protect our environment by first educating myself on environmental issues and then educating others. I will continue to work to improve the lives of those who touch mine.
My resolve reminded me that I am not alone. This atrocity (and I do believe it is one) did not happen to me in isolation. It happened to many who share my values and thoughts. We need to stand firm, continue to be good people, and continue to fight for others. I know I will, and I have faith you will too.
I’m taking a break from our news. I’m staying away from social media and rhetoric. I am getting to know the person I’ve found myself to be throughout this ugly campaign. I’m a commoner – one of the people and a naturalist – one of this earth, and deep down, I’m still a nurse who believes in helping others. Four years will pass. It always does.
Other issues this week
In the meantime, I’ve also been consumed with worry about my Dad. His health continues to decline. We’ve finally got him some supplemental oxygen and an okay from the insurance company for oral immune therapy to fight his cancer. While these are both wins – that took five months to arrive at – I both see and feel his time becoming short. This saddens me greatly.
With all this, I haven’t written much poetry or worked on my novel this week. I need to get back to both. I have things I want to say and write but the words are swirling in my head right now. I need to return to a sense of calm to make sense of things for the page.
Animals Give Comfort
Last week, I wrote a poem about our cat, a very unusual and social breed called the Manx. She follows us to bed each night and after a period of stroking and petting while she sits on my chest for ten minutes, she makes her way to my side of the bottom of our bed.
There she remains, facing outward, looking towards the door for the entire night. We’ve begun to refer to her as our “guard cat.”
My Manx
every night
she sits
on the end of our bed
watching the door
waiting
for something to come
or morning to arrive
guard cat
All rights reserved, Draft,
© Carol Labuzzetta, 2024
Callie is on a car trip with us to see my Dad.
She travels well. And brings a smile to his face when we visit.
© Carol Labuzzetta, 2024.
Today is Poetry Friday. Our host for the round-up is Cathy at her blog, Merely Day by Day. Thank you for hosting, Cathy.
* John Adams is my favorite President.
My intention in writing this post is not to divide but to understand. I believe everyone has a right to their own opinion, and therefore a right to vote the way they want. I wrote the post to share my feelings about this week. I’ve never been as affected by an election as I have this one. Perhaps it’s my age. Perhaps, it’s that I finally know who I am and what I value. By describing that, I do not mean offense to anyone else.
I know that in time, “this too, shall pass.” – attributed to King Solomon in an English poem called Solomon’s Seal, by Edward FitzGerald, 1852.
The Apples in My Orchard 
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