As I drive south from Portland, OR the Trump for President signs that I'd seen driving north to Portland from San Francisco recede in both rear-view mirrors. Everyone voted who they voted for three weeks ago and everything was either going to be great, terrible, or pretty much the way it'd always been.
In the small world of personal politics I'd lost again, as I'd lost every election since I'd become old enough to vote, and people I see in places unfamiliar to me along The Oregon Trail make me ask, "what happened to you," in a sad way, making me look closely at the places these people are living.
I came to grips with Trump's victory about a week ago; yes it was something bad looking and evil smelling that I'd seen on the sidewalk–I could either hose it down or step around it and continue walking. I'd even be willing to grant Trump complete Tabula Rasa–perhaps his way is a new way of governing, a semi-revolutionary approach to the office of President, a combining of inexperience, bluster, untruth, and the persuasive power of purposeful distortions that have created a whole new professional class of corporate CEO's that now rule America in the name of the people–were he not so preposterously vulgar.
I've driven south, over 400 miles, and I'm tired, so I pull over when it's dark and look for a hotel room so I can sleep.
And everything seems ok this morning in Redding, California. I've had a good nights sleep, going for my complimentary breakfast in the Best Western dining room, a room occupied by people like me, people who are only sure they're going someplace else as fast as they can.