Lost and Found

PREQUEL

November 6, 2024

This morning, after learning the news, I felt like the Scarecrow without a brain, the Tin Man without a heart, the Cowardly Lion without an ounce of courage.  All my parts and pieces were blown all over the Yellow Brick Road.  The road that was intended to lead me and others to a first in American history… a woman president.  I thought, If not now, when? We are ready.  I was wrong.  Again. 

Along with my good friend and blog assistant, Lynnette, I decided to STOP.  Take a minute. Take a deep breath. Declare a moratorium on questions that have no answers.  My friends, you and I need to absorb where we are in this country.  That alone will take all the minutes and deep breaths everyone can spare.  And I mean EVERYONE. No matter who you voted for.  This election campaign was a doozy. It has brought about a seismic shift of the ground under my feet. What does that even mean?  I don’t know.  I do know it is the next day, and my breathing is returning to normal.  The moratorium has passed.   So let's Blah, Blah, Blog.

---

Lost and Found

I confess.
I almost lost it.

After 91 earth years, I knew me well enough to realize this year’s presidential campaign would raise my anxiety levels significantly. Elevated stress levels for this old lady were never going to be a good thing. So, the night before the election, I made what I thought was a non-stressful decision.  I was not going to watch the election returns.  Instead, I would watch a little Marx Brothers… Duck Soup, which is a humorous reminder of the vagaries of politics, read a little Louise Penny, a reminder that in the books I favor, there is an inherent morality; the punishment fits the crime.  After which, I would go to sleep and await the arrival of my fairy Godmother, Imogene.  With an American flag in one hand and her magic wand in the other, Ima (her nickname) would awaken me, along with my fellow Americans, to the election of the first woman president. 

When I awakened on November 6, 2024, it felt like April 12, 1861 (start of the Civil War), October 24, 1929 (start of the Great Depression), December 7, 1941 (start of World War II), September 11, 2001 (terrorist attacks) all were rolled into one tragic event.

If you think I speak in excessive hyperbole, I think not. 
I lost it.

Full Disclosure:  The frontal lobe of my brainball desperately wanted the dream of a woman president to become a reality.  All my other lobes knew the truth. 

Not Yet! (what a great title for a book)

There is no more important process to recovery than acknowledging the hurt, the disappointment, the pain, the unfairness, the lies, the anger, the assault on one's hopes and dreams.  Here it comes…

This covers some of what I am feeling.  However, allowing someone else to rant and rave dilutes my emotional relief.  So permit me to do a little rant, a little rave.

First, I am disappointed in the male human animal. It’s 2024, almost 2025, and they're still operating out of The Cave.

Yeah, yeah, many of them think they left the cave only to discover at the first sign of female incursion their departure was only a sabbatical.  At the first sign of females attempting to climb out and away from the sand mountain, the glass ceiling, damn if those same men didn’t turn face and slam on the brakes.  Dragging their women behind them as they scurried back to the cave.

But bigger than my disappointment with men is my utter heartbreak with women in yesterday’s election.  I forgot. It was women led by Phyllis Schlafly that prevented passage of the ERA.  Not men.  

And it’s women that provided the fodder for further feminine dissembling.  One of the most talked about television ads in this campaign was a Julia Roberts voice-backed cartoon showing a woman at the polls with her husband, indicating she could vote her choice and then lie to her husband that she had actually done HIS bidding.  I think I divorced my only husband (Alright already, so it took me 27 years.) because I didn’t want to have to lie and manipulate just to keep the peace.

WHOA!  Who is carrying who back to the Cave?

Like I said, this morning, I thought I lost it.

And, in truth, for a while, I had, and periodically, the feeling of “not again” washes over me, still.  However, I have discovered, and it may be a very personal observation that I want to… no need to share with you… I will not, I cannot holler, “UNCLE”!  

Son of a gun.  Would you believe it? 

Out from this old Musical Comedy soul of mine, every Pollyanna song ever written about picking myself up, dusting myself off, to start all over again comes pouring out of me.  Is it a cliche?  You betcha.  Does it help?  You betcha.

Ok. guys.  I am giving you whatever time you need to pull yourself together.  Cry, scream, tear your hair… but please remember we have been through this before… It has taken millennia to be acknowledged as a person in our own right, to be able to vote, to have control over our own bodies… it’s the sand mountain, the glass ceiling the second sex was “gifted” with… by men and, yes, women.   Ain’t that a kick in the butt.  Just because you’re different you don’t have a right to be?  Utter crapola.

Do not… I repeat, do not allow it to end here. Take a break. Go out to the Deli. Order some Chicken Soup.  Be sure they use dill in their recipe. Chicken soup without dill doesn’t restore the soul.  Do whatever you need to do to refresh, recalibrate, and re-everything.  Maybe we aren’t who we think we are.  Maybe we are only living a movie version of the American way.  If we want to move forward,  we have to see ourselves for who we really are.  My mother always said, “Reality is relative.  Especially the ones you live with.”

I’ll tell you what helped me get back on track.  Maybe it’ll work for you.  

Extend your right arm.  Place two fingers on the inside of your wrist.  Feel it?  Is it working?  Shut up.  

You don’t need anything else for a return of your revitalized spirit, hope, and dreams. I don’t know about you, but instead of looking for a scapegoat or blaming or finding fault, truly my favorite pastimes, I’m going to take a good, long, hard look in the mirror (a task I avoid with alacrity (love that word)) and tell myself,

“Self!  Stop with the whining. Forget the zits and warts, and think about what you can do to make it better!”

The key to all of this venting is to be truthful.  You know about the truth, don’t you?  It will set you free.  But first, it really pisses you off. 

If I can be honest with myself and others, maybe, just maybe, the next time, Ima (remember Imogene, my fairy Godmother?) will return with her magic wand and get it right.   

Right??? 
Of course, right!!!   

Love, Sally-Jane

P.S. Let me be clear: my hurt and disappointment are not just about me. I have three daughters and eight grandchildren, and like most of us, I am worried for them and the rest of the world family growing up in a world of control and exclusion. 

My daughter Lori sent me this poem. And then my friend Lynnette sent me this video clip of a young person reading the same poem. It reminded me that as long as we have young’uns like her, we’ll be all right.