Wednesday’s Child

I ordinarily prefer not wading into overtly political minefields in this whimsical blog of mine. Because what’s the point, really? But I would be remiss in not commenting on the conclusion of the most elongated and bizarre of presidential elections.

I turned in a little after one o’clock on election night. The presidential contest had yet to be decided, but it was pretty apparent whom the winner would be. And I don’t mind telling you that I was full of woe when my head hit the pillow. Wednesday morning, of course, confirmed for me its surreal outcome. As per my norm, I pored over Facebook with a Cup of Joe beside me and Morning Joe on the boob tube. The former supplied me with enough hysteria and vitriol to last a lifetime. My personal favorite spleen venting involved a back-and-forth among the most ardent of Hillary haters, who called her every name conceivable—some unprintable—because she didn’t officially concede in the wee small hours of the morning. Were the shoe on the other foot, their candidate would have graciously thrown in the towel toot sweet after the network bean counters decreed. It wouldn’t have mattered in the least that the Electoral College tally was very close and that he maintained a lead in the popular vote. The irony of it all was lost on the spleen venters.

Interestingly, I read that same morning—the day after—how suicide prevention hotlines were swamped with post-midnight calls when The Donald was declared the winner. Coincidentally, I found a green post-it note blowing in the wind on Election Day morning. I was on my way to the polls when I spotted it, and a little voice inside of me whispered in my ear to reach down and pick it up. The note read: “Dear world, this world had been so mean to me so I decided to suicide.” Now, suicide isn’t a laughing matter, I know. It’s not painless, nor is it a verb. Honestly, I can’t say what a suicide note was doing on the ground in the great outdoors. My gut reaction was that it was a joke of some sort, but who knows? Remember, I found it eighteen hours before Donald Trump was christened the president-elect.

Really, I wish the president-apprentice well. He was elected fair and square in our democratic process. And one never knows how things will turn out. I certainly never thought a President Heat Miser possible, but life is full of surprises. In any event, I sincerely hope the post-it note I chanced upon was indeed a fake. Because hope—it’s been said—springs eternal. Let's hope....

(Photo two from the personal collection of Nicholas Nigro)