Anchor Struck

I could never quite get rid of that bundle of nerves in my gut whenever I railed about Trump, mainly because he always bulldozed through whatever got in his way. But I’m going to adult-up and give him his due. His smackdown of the Dems last night was a political tour de force.

By no means do I respect him now, but consider this: a convicted rapist who recently raved about Haitian immigrants eating pets was able to convince large numbers of women and black men to vote for him. He depicted Hispanic men as murderers and terrorists, and they flocked to him as well.

I thought Harris ran a decent campaign built on reproductive rights, but I woefully overestimated her female support. The Swifties and suburban women just didn’t show up in sufficient numbers. Talking with my spiritual sister Ducks just before the election, I speculated that misogyny was a driving current this time around. And it won big.

My heart will go on, as co-Canadian Celine Dion observed, but today it grieves for my kith and kin below the 49th. I would move to a cabin in a forest if I weren’t already here.