Election 2024

The Day Before the Election

“Hello?”
“Oh…Hi! This is Carol, a volunteer for Team Harris-Walz and….”

“Lemme ask you a question.” The Man from Pennsylvania interrupts my spiel, barreling right into my words. “What’s your favorite color?
“Blue.”

“Me too. Lemme ask you another question, What do you like better, Ford of Chevy?”
“Ford.”

“Me too! I have a Ford truck parked in the drive right now. Hey! Do you like to mow your lawn?”

“No.”

“Me neither. I….”

“I have to go now,” I interrupt him. Why I’ve gone along with his random questions so far is beyond me. I think I was just so happy to finally reach a real person instead of everyone’s Voicemail that I was swept away. Plus, he didn’t give me a chance to protest.

Now I hang up. Not letting him ask another stupid question. Is this what political phone banking is for? Answering stupid questions from stupid men in stupid states?

I sigh. Dial the next number.

“You have reached 918.555.7865, please leave your message after the tone.”

“Hi, this is Carol, a volunteer with the Harris Walz team and….”

 

 

 

Nazareen School, Holy Bible, 1937

Election Day

“I tell you, it doesn’t matter who wins. Man or Woman. Republican or Democrat. Red or Blue or Purple. There is only ONE person in control and that is God.”

            I’m trying to yank my swimsuit on in the Richmond Plunge Women’s locker room. Had I asked her who she had voted for? Or was this proclamation of God as the only one in control something that was volunteered into the community air of the locker room? I can’t recall. And it hardly matters. She’s going to say what she believes no matter what others think.

            I never know what to say to those who have this belief. My first reaction is shock and increduality.  I mean, ‘c’mon, God is in charge? Since I don’t believe in God this is easy for me to say. But another part of me thinks, well, if this gives her comfort then let her continue on.

            She struggles now to pull on her sweatpants. Trapped in a wheelchair, her life is one that I can’t imagine. Maybe a belief in a being that has all the control is the only way she can get through the day. And the pool. She must feel so free floating, out of the confines of the chair, the water’s embrace taking her to places she can’t go on land.

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            Today, after her proclamation, I don’t respond. Just nod and continue on with my preparations to get into the pool. She’s busy too. Her dressing so much more labored than anything I struggle with. Her heavy black sweatpants still crumpled at her feet; she’s taking a rest before carrying on. Staring out into the vacuum.

            Heading out to the pool, I let the God Comment float around in my brain. Nothing I could say that would change her mind, I’m sure. It must be nice to have no responsibility for anything, especially politics on a day like today. I sit at the edge of the pool, dangling my feet into the aqua water, before jumping in and swimming swimming swimming.

           

Day After Election Day

Turning at the wall in the shallow end of the Plunge, Harp Woman stands on the deck in front of me. She motions to split the lane. I nod, yes. “Good morning,” I greet her.

            She stares at me for a split second, then shakes her head, “It’s NOT a good morning.”

Whoa! I know it’s not. Kamala lost. And it wasn’t even close. The Rapist Lying Crook has won. Given permission by the American people to run things his way.

            So, yes, it’s not a good morning for anyone who voted for Kamala. Myself included.

            But, hell, I was just greeting her. I didn’t literally mean that it was a ‘good’ morning.

            This is how upset people are. They, I imagine cuz this is how I feel, feel like they’ve been punched in the gut. Hard. All of their efforts to bring Kamala to victory were for naught. I had spent many hours the past weekend phoning folks in Pennsylvania and Nevada, urging them to vote.

            And, yet, I know that many of them didn’t. Though my hope is that some of the dozens of people I left the scripted voicemails for were prompted to cast their ballots for Kamala. No way of knowing, of course.

            Today, the day after, I’m at the pool. Where else would I be? Swimming is my salvation. My church. My religion. Yes, I don’t believe in God. And yes, I know that the world now is dangerous and scary with this crook in the Whitehouse again. But all I can do today is swim.

            Tomorrow is another day.

            Will I fight anymore? Make any more phone calls? Talk to the naysayers.

            You bet I will.

            But for today, I’m going to just let the water carry me into another more peaceful world full of blue light and luscious embrace.

            Harp Woman is in the water now. Chugging away with her bright pink turban on.

            I can only hope the pool helps her too.

            She turns at the wall, not interacting with me anymore.

            From the looks of it, the pool is doing its work. She’s swimming. And sometimes, that’s all we can do.