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So you guys sort of know me by now. I’m a nice lady. I love babies and little kids and puppies. I watch shows about unicorns and neighborhood helpers and Scottish Vikings with talking dragons.

I try wicked hard to be appreciative of all the people in my life who are helpful and kind. Thanks, nice grocery store produce guy who always smiles and says hello! So grateful to you, kind stranger who holds the door to the library open for me!

You get the idea.

I work hard to be the kind of person who will have acquaintances come to my funeral just because “She was just such a nice lady!” …

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They say that times goes faster with every year. It’s as if the reward for surviving a year on earth is to make you ever more aware of how little time you have left.

I remember being a young child, and the way that each season took on its own lifetime. Winter was endless repetitions of snowfall, sliding down snow mounds, and frozen toes. Every school day contained an entire lifetime of social interactions, moments of boredom, and waiting for the bell of freedom to ring at last.

Why did time move at such an oozing, ponderous pace?

And why does it race by now? Why does it seem like summer has hardly come when the leaves start to turn? …

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OK. So I have been really good during this entire uncomfortable pandemic disaster.

I have, like, hardly complained at all. I’ve been washing my hands so much that my cuticles. Actually. Hurt. I ordered some high end special cuticle cream but, whatever. They’re still dry and sore. It’s awwwwwwful!!!!

I’ve been wearing a mask every single time I step foot outside my door. I mean, yeah. I don’t want to catch any creepy crawly virus thingy. Especially this new one. It comes from, ugh, bats. So gross. So even though my nose gets itchy and my glasses fog up, I still wear my mask. …

The first few minutes of grandparenting.

I was a happy and grateful mother when my kids were little. After several years of infertility treatments, motherhood was my greatest gift.

But in spite of how happy I was to be a Momma, I was also a seething bag of fear and anxiety while I was raising my children.

My brain spent its limited energy worrying about everything. And I mean EVERY. THING.

Would she choke on her first piece of toast? Would he fall off the bed if I laid him down in the middle and surrounded him with pillows while I grabbed some clean clothes? What if I accidentally dropped him out the window? Or onto the hot stove? …

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Well, it won’t be our usual Thanksgiving this year, that’s for damn sure. We won’t gather in our house, surrounded by 30 or 35 of our favorite relatives and friends. There won’t be a 25 pound turkey with ten different side dishes. I am not anticipating 7 pies and a cake, plus boxes of chocolates, two delicious vegan appetizers and three kinds of bread.

It won’t be a full day of beloved faces moving in and out of our kitchen. We won’t be celebrating for two full days.


Here we are.

It’s Thanksgiving 2020.

The election is (sort of) over. The weather is turning (sort of) colder. And the damned Coronavirus is raging across the globe. …

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Oh, how the world has changed in the past ten days.

Back on November 2, 2020, Donald J. Trump loomed over our every thought. He cast a shadow larger than Mt. Rushmore. Our every waking moment was filled with the fear of what Trump might do if his desire for a second term was thwarted.

On November 3rd, most of us were filled with a flood of emotions that sloshed back and forth in our hearts. We teetered between terror and joy. All-day, and long into the evening, we cried tears of fear and tears of hope. Would he be defeated, at last, this lying, cheating, self-serving evil spirit of a man? …

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I voted for these two. And for their baby brother. I voted for the kids my sons haven’t had yet. I voted for the children my nieces and nephews haven’t yet conceived.

I voted for the kids whose parents were desperate enough to bring them across the border in search of safety.

I voted for the children of my children’s children. And for the children of people I haven’t met. And the children who will one day be the friends of my children’s children.

I voted for the future.

I cast my vote this year for the earth. I voted in the hope that we can still find a way to stop California from burning. I voted because I believe that humans are creative enough to utilize the power of the sun and the wind to heat our homes and power our factories. …

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“scared.” by giarose is licensed under CC BY-ND 2.0

It is November the first, year of our Lord 2020.

The night is dark. An icy rain patters against the roof.

I shiver as I scroll through the headlines.

Covid deaths are rising around the globe. Caravans of crazed Trump supporters are blocking highways and bridges. They nearly drive a Biden bus off the road. The polls sway back and forth, yanking me from hope to despair and back again. Gun sales are soaring. Grocery store shelves are frighteningly devoid of toilet paper and yeast.

November first.

A gust of wind scatters crumpled leaves across the driveway.

The candle in my Jack-o-lantern flickers. …

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When I was a little girl, my Nana was often a part of our holiday celebrations. She sometimes came with us on vacations, or on the daytime adventures that my Dad arranged to keep us all entertained.

Nana had a way of laughing even when things went wrong. I have a vivid memory of her hiking with all six of us kids and my parents through “ The Flume “ in the White Mountains of New Hampshire. I can hear her laughing as a sudden storm overtook us. We were suddenly drenched and cold, and none of us was happy.

“We’re making memories!” Nana called out in her laughing voice as we slogged our way through the dripping path. …

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In one short week the Presidential Election of 2020 will officially happen.

That is to say, the official date set for the 2020 Election will come and it will go. If we are very lucky, by the time it passes we will finally know who’ll be the President of the United States for the next four years.

If we’re not so lucky, everything will still be up in the air and the entire nation will be suspended in a state of anxiety until a final vote count can be reached.

Of course, even we do have a winner by the night of November 3rd or 4th, we still don’t know whether the loser of the contest will accept the results. …


Karen Shiebler

A Mother, a grandmother, a progressive voter. I write because it’s getting harder to march and because words are my only weapon. I blog at

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