Goodbye Bart

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Ah Bart.  Remember him?  He was my attempt to prove to myself that I am not the cat grim reaper (or cat hospice provider as so many of you sweetly suggested.)  I think it is time for me to write his final chapter.

For those of you who missed the early story Bart was a foster cat our family took in back in November when our local shelter became overcrowded with rescue animals from other states.  Our mission was to get him healthy, so he could go to the pet cardiologist to have his level 2 heart murmur evaluated.  (Heart murmurs for cats are graded from 1-6 with the 1-2 range usually not being a big deal.)  Bart was kind of a mess when he came to us, but oh, he was a lover and had a purr that vibrated his whole body.  Over the month we cared for Bart he recovered from a wound on his leg, a multiweek long respiratory infection, a perpetual bloody nose from the aforementioned respiratory infection, and being neutered.  Just when everything was all better and he was healthy enough to go to the cardiologist a surprise gross abscess burst under his chin leaving bloody puss all over his fur and the floor.

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The shelter people told me to bring him in, that they would evaluate this new wound then check with the specialist.  Even with his new ailment, he was cleared to see the cardiologist, so Mr. Bart went for a field trip to the animal hospital, and I agreed to take him back and get his abscess cleared up before he went up for adoption.  Five more days of antibiotics for Bart at the Afthead house, but he’d get to spend Christmas with us!

December 23rd the shelter called with the results of Bart’s cardiology scan.  He had two defective ventricles.  The shelter vets and specialists conferred and had decided that Bart was going to be euthanized.  His condition gave him only 3 -18 months to live, so he wasn’t eligible for adoption.  Two days before Christmas I got this news, and the extra present was that the shelter said that they would allow me, and only me, to adopt him, but I would have to take him back to the cardiologist and be responsible for his heart medication and quarterly/monthly cardiac checkups.  The single thing that could save Bart was my willingness to take on the time and expense to care for a cat who probably wouldn’t live two years.  I pondered all this while sitting in my study stroking what appeared to be a healthy Bart.

The only person I told was my husband, who doesn’t really care about animals the same way I do, and we agreed that no one else needed this news right before Christmas.  We also agreed that I needed time to decide what we were going to do.  (Mr. Afthead leaves such decisions to me, since I am the one with a breakable heart.)  So I put on my happy face and celebrated the holidays with my family, my own pets, and Bart.

In the back of my head thoughts were churning.  How could this happen again?  Why would life be so unfair to give this sweet cat a defective heart?  Could he continue to live with us?  My cats hated having Bart in the house.  They had stopped entering the basement, which is where their litterboxes are, and had resorted to pooping and peeing on my bed until I put a litterbox in my bedroom.  Could I live with that situation?  Bart was sweet, but a destructive cat and had shredded the chair in my study, his domain, and clawed other furniture when given the chance to explore.  Unquestionably I could have trained him, but maybe not before he died or had a stroke: either likely situations given his condition.  And while we really liked Bart no one in the family felt that he was our cat.  We were doing this so that some other family could adopt this beautiful, big purring cat, not so he would be ours.

There were so many ethical considerations.  Should we tell our daughter about what the shelter had decided?  Should she get to help make the decision about what our family was going to do?  Was it wrong for me to keep the news from my extended family over the holidays?  Was it my responsibility to care for Bart until the end of his life regardless of the cost or quality of his life?  Because I believe in science and medicine I didn’t think the diagnosis was wrong.  If I adopted him he would die.  What should I do?

I searched my heart and my brain but in the end I came to the same place I’d come before.  This was too much.  Without telling my daughter anything except that Bart was going back I took him to the shelter and said goodbye.

For two days I held my sadness in and pretended that Bart might be going up for adoption, or Bart might come and live with us to be fostered again.  Eventually I started to tell my friends and family what had happened.  Because secrets and lies have a way of worming their way to the surface eventually one of my friends told her daughter – a friend of my daughter’s – what happened.  When I found out I knew I had to tell my daughter because kid friends talk.  I didn’t want my child’s trust and faith in her mother to be dependent on the ability of a 9 year old to keep her mouth shut.  I got home from work and said, “I’ve got some sad news.”

“Don’t tell me Bart is dead.”

All I could do was nod.  We cried together about the 8 dead cats she’s known in her 8 years.  She listed each one and the way they died.  Three pets and five fosters all gone.  When we were done with the immediate mourning she told me what I had known all along, “Mommy, we are never, ever doing that again.”  We won’t.  We won’t foster.  We won’t keep big secrets from each other.  We won’t do that ever again.

I love the community at the shelter, and the foster parents.  My foster mentor was so caring when I told her what happened with Bart, and she promised me that my situation “just never happens.”  No one loses 5 out of six foster cats in their first two attempts.  She shared her own sad stories, and even offered to give me a her healthiest foster litter this spring to ensure I have a success.  Behind the scenes I’m sure she raised heck – contrary to the evidence she really thinks I have the potential to be a great foster parent – and a few weeks after Bart died a sympathy card came from the shelter.  It made me cry, but it did not make me change my mind.  This is not my way of helping make the world a better place.  I can’t take any more dead cats.

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Last time this happened I was able to come up with some silver linings, but not this time.  I’m sad for me, sad for my family, sad for Bart, and sad for the shelter and the folks who work there.  Nothing about this was fair or good or worthwhile.  Everyone poured their heart into this experience and the only glint of silver is that Bart was able to live in a warm house with a family for a month, but that seems so pitiful.

In the end, as always, children are the wisest.  This weekend my kiddo told me, “Mom, I think that all our cats that died are part of Adventure now.”  (Adventure is our only foster that lived, and she’s our pet now.)  She started listing out traits of each dead cat and how she saw them reflected in our pet.  At the end of her speech she looked to me for approval and I told her, “Yep kiddo, I think you are right,” because really I don’t have any better resolution.

Goodbye Bart.  We were all pulling for a happy ending, but it wasn’t meant to be.

Tiny Knit Pirates 

Hi Bloggy friends!  I have missed you, but enjoyed my time away basking in the sun and catching beads in New Orleans.  Our Mardi Gras trip started and ended in Houston, saving us thousands of dollars in flights and allowing us to visit friends and their new baby in Houston.  But what was a person to do with 10 hours of driving?

Knit tiny pirates!

Grandma Afthead has been hinting for a bit that her and Afthead Junior’s “pirate game” would be greatly enhanced by some tiny Mochimochi Land pirates, and I am not one to ignore knitting requests.  Thus, I broke out my newly created tiny-knit-kit during the drive back to Houston from New Orleans and started knitting.  What’s a tiny-knit-kit?  I’m glad you asked!

Before the trip I wound many colors of tiny knit yarn onto embroidery floss spools – I use Knit Picks Palette yarn because it is cheap and comes in a bazillion colors.  Then I raided the few Mochimochi Land kits I’ve purchased for tiny bags of fiberfill.  Finally, I found my favorite needles for making tiny creatures, size 1 Lantern Moon Sox Stix, and threw everything into a small plastic pencil box.  Voila!  Tiny-Knit-Kit: perfect for tiny travel knitting!  My patterns were slipped into sheet protectors and clipped into a plastic two-pocket folder.  The whole thing fit nicely on my lap as we drove/flew along.

See!  It even worked on the airplane after I finished the pirates and started on a tiny knit chicken, because that’s what pirates wear on their shoulders, right?  No?  Oh….  Guess I know what my NEXT tiny project will be.

Let me introduce you to my newest tiny knit friends!  We have Orleans Tinypants and his golden jelly bean.  Orleans is knit from the base Mochimochi land pattern with no modifications.

Then we have Captain Penn Tinypants, who may also moonlight as a gangsta rapper when he’s on shore.  Captain Penn is a modification of the Mochimochi Land Tiny Pirate pattern, and details are on his Ravelry page.  Basically he’s a row taller than the base pattern, has a wicked gold belt buckle and chain, has a debonair white shirt open to the waist, and his glowing blue eyes make the tiny ladies swoon and strike fear into his crew.  He’s also meticulous about his sunscreen use, which is why he’s such an oddly pale pirate.  Way to be skin cancer conscious Captain Penn!

The pirates were thrilled when we got home and they discovered the piles of dubloons and beads from Mardi Gras.  The two of them have relocated with their booty to Grandma’s house and are having a great time.  Grandma has mentioned that she thinks she’s heard the quiet sounds of pirate rap on still nights, but she might be imagining things.


Ravelry Links for Tiny Pirates:

Orleans Tinypants – Base Pattern

Captain Penn Tinypants – Modified Pattern

As always, thanks to Anna Hrachovec and her amazing Mochimochi Land patterns!

Carnaval Fingerless Mitts

You detail oriented readers might have perused yesterday’s post and left wondering, “Johanna, if you knit those tiny pirates on the way BACK from New Orleans what did you do on the way to Mardi Gras?”  (No one wondered about that, did they?)  Well readers, I have an answer for you.  The first leg was spent completing fingerless mitts for Afthead Junior in the perfectly named “Carnaval” colorway.

Afthead Junior has always been a lover of fingerless hand garments.  Her allowance has been spent on an array of neither practical or comfortable colored Party City fishnet glovelike creations ranging from wristlets to full arm length wonders.

Thus when one of my knitting friends knit her daughter fingerless gloves my daughter begged for a matching pair of her own.

I finished the knitting as we battled traffic heading into New Orleans.  I wanted to her to have them in case it was cold at a night parade.  They would be perfect for catching – fingers free – and the bold colors would attract the attention of the krewe on the floats.  However, the weather in New Orleans was beautiful, so I was able to weave in loose ends before my daughter wore them for our not-cold-at-all five hour drive to Houston.  Aren’t they adorable with her Mardi Gras hat?  Thankfully we still have plenty of winterish weather to come at home, so they will get used.

For the knitters, here are some details about the project.

Pattern:  Little Girl Wristlets by Janice MacDaniels

Yarn:  Manos del Uruguay Allegria, colorway Carnaval.

Needles: Random bamboo size 3

This is a great pattern, and a wonderful yarn.  Afthead Junior is really sensitive to itchy yarns, and she loves these mitts.  Super bonus for parents, the end product is machine washable.  The colorway is beautiful, bright and eye catching.  I recommend these for anyone looking for a quick functional knit for kids.  Plus, I’ve got enough yarn left that I’m casting on a pair of socks for myself out of the same skein.

Let’s end with a totally unrelated picture of Adventure the cat snuggling on a draft of my short story next to the Carnaval yarn, shall we?  This was taken moments after I pulled a good 8 inches of ingested yarn out of the tiny kitty’s gullet.  Yuck.  At a year and a half I hoped she would be farther along the “respect the yarn” continuum.  (Note, I cut off and threw away the kitty chewed yarn.  It’s not included in the final product.)

Wonky Love

Love is not always a humped crimson orb tapering to a perfect point.  Sometimes it’s a little asymmetrical, dirty and rounded. 

Or life has taken a big hunk out of it.  

Occasionally it’s cracked, misshapen, and poorly sprinkled – yet still delectable.  

Sometimes it’s fuzzy and a bit standoffish.

Unexpectedly its feathery alien aspects will push you to new limits.  

Yet pure glimpses into its soft irregular perfection will overwhelm you.

Whatever the shape, size, or consistency of your love today embrace it.  Happy Valentine’s Day from my afthead (and forehead) to yours.img_1238

Afthead Takes Pictures

More Afthead upgrades came with the new year!  Can you believe it?  I mentioned in my last post that I started list of books I’m reading because I “can’t handle another social media time sucker like Goodreads.”  Well, I snubbed Goodreads because I had already started another social media time sucker.  Yes, dear readers, Afthead is now on Twitter and Instagram!  (Instagram is the new one.)  So exciting!

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Snow Chicken – Instagram Post

I picked Instagram because the past year I found myself taking pictures with the thought “I’m going to write a blog post about this.”  However, life and time move on and I don’t always write the post.  Instagram gives me a platform for writing microstories about little things that tickle my Afthead.

Threek – Instagram Post

So if you want to follow my Instagram feed you can either check it out on my blog – I added the Instagram widget – or you can click the Instagram button in my “Socially Inept” section or you can just look for “Aftheaded” on Instagram.  (This is all if you just didn’t click the links in the post already.)  Already there are sixteen pictures ranging from a snowchicken, bird poop, a threek, and inappropriate rocks: note only two of my pictures actually made it into blog posts, so my experiment is working.  (I mean, if you ignore this post…)  Join my 16 followers for a peek into the visual Afthead world.

 


Oh, and if anyone else has ever wanted to add the Instagram widget to their blog and ended up weeping in frustration, let me direct you to this support post.  I had to add the widget from the WordPress Admin, not from the page where you customize your theme.  Ah, the work I do to keep things fresh and interesting around here.  

 

 

Afthead Reads (and does math too)

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A new year means new blogging features, or at least it does around the afthead parts.  Today, I’d like to introduce you to “Afthead Reads.”  This is a totally self serving new feature, because I’ve always wanted to keep track of how many books I read in a year, but can’t handle another social media time sucker like Goodreads.  So, I made a new page on my site to keep track of my annual reading.  You can access it by clicking “Reading” on the top navigation.  Inside you’ll find a low tech list displaying the name of the book, the date I finished the book, and a rating from one to five asterisks, where five is good and one is bad. If there is no date and no rating then I’m still reading the book.

My reading is categorized into:

  • Read – these are books I actually read in my head all by myself.
  • Listen – these are audiobooks I’ve listened to in their entirety.
  • Read Aloud – these are books that I read to my daughter.

I count all of the above methods as legitimate book reading, but if you disagree with me there are subtotals on each category to make adjusting my reading totals easier.  Now, the caveats:

  • First, any book I finished this year is counted, so even things I started back in December count toward 2017.  I do this because unquestionably I will start a book in December, which I won’t finish so things will mostly even out.
  • Second, I only include entire books I read.  If I don’t finish it, or just page through it, it doesn’t count.
  • Finally, the books I read my daughter which are completed in a single session also aren’t included.  The kid books have to be at least a three night activity.

How am I doing so far?  In January I read 11 books.  Wondering if that’s a lot or a little I turned to my friends at Pew Research Center to learn more.  There I learned that:

“Americans read an average (mean) of 12 books per year, while the typical (median) American has read 4 books in the last 12 months. Each of these figures is largely unchanged since 2011, when Pew Research Center first began conducting surveys of Americans’ book reading habits….”

This was eventually fascinating to me, after I did some web searching to remind myself what mean and median are.  The mean is just all the books read divided by the number of people who read the books, while the median is the middle number in the range of books read by people.  So say five people read 1, 2, 4, 11 and 42 books in January.  The median would be 4 (just like above) and the mean would be 12 (just like above).  I don’t really get medians, unless I think hard about them.  For this study, I’m assuming they present the median because it shows that there are big outliers in the data, like the 42 above.  More about that later.  For now I’m sticking with the tried and true mean or average for my next analysis.  On average Americans read 12 books a year?  I had no idea the number was so low.  Because I’m a super dork I dug into my specific demographics from the study and found:

Women: 15 books in 12 months

White: 14 books in 12 months

30-49:  14 books in 12 months

College +: 17 books in 12 months

So if I continue at my current pace I will have read 132 books this year.  Even compared to the average college educated person that’s a crazy ton of books.  Now maybe January was a fluke for me, and maybe I’m reading dumb young adult books (I am) so that pace might slow down during the year, but the truth of the matter is that I have already read more books this year than the annual average for a person, white person, or 30-49 year old person, and by the end of the week I will have tied the annual woman number.

Now I’m annoyed.  Really, why can’t there be a reading Olympics?  Maybe I could medal, or at least make the national team, or get an invite to try out?  If I was able to participate in a sport at this level, I imagine I’d be pretty good, but no one other that Pew seems to be evaluating all us readers.

Back to the super interesting math.  Considering I’m one of those outlier readers that made the Pew folks present a median value, now I’m more interested in the median.  For grins, let’s take my range from before and throw in my estimated 132 books in as the top value, so now we have 1, 2, 4, 11, 132 as our range of numbers.  Now the mean (average) jumps from 12 to 30, but the median (middle number) is still 4.  What?!?  Isn’t that amazing?  So knowing the median really helps you know that there are some big numbers at the top of this range, even if you didn’t know the numbers in the range.  For the Pew study, I don’t know how many books each of the 1,520 readers read, but I do know that 625 of the people interviewed only read 0, 1, 2, 3, or 4 books, because of the median value.  That’s a lot of people who didn’t read much.  It also makes me wonder if within the Pew range of 1,520 interviewees I might not even be an Olympic caliber reader because they have a pretty large sample size.  I bet there are some big numbers at the top of the range to bring up 625 not-readers and to a mean of 12.  The more values you have in a range the harder it is to increase the mean.  But I wonder.  Are those big estimates really accurate?  How many super readers are keeping a detailed tally of their annual book consumption?

Uh, wait… have I lost you?  Are you shaking your head and saying “Johanna, this is a reading blog post!  What the heck is up with all these numbers?!?!  You tricked me!”  Sorry about that.  Anywhoo, if you are looking for good book recommendations you can always check out my new page and find the five asterisk books.  (And if anyone hears about a secret reading Olympics, please let me know.  I think I’ve got a shot.  If you are a big reader too also let me know.  Maybe we can train together in a book club.)


Thanks to Unsplash for the image!

 

 

Make your Blog Beautiful

I’m waiting for my first ever guest blogger to wrap up her first ever blog post, but while she dawdles with things like school and birthday parties and spelling tests I wanted to share an amazing photo resource I just found.  Occasionally my day job helps my early morning, late night and weekend avocation, and last week a 5-8:00 p.m. “day job” meeting led me to a remarkable site.  Blogging friends you have to check out Unsplash.

Personally, I love using my own photos in my blog, but sometimes I want to write about something and I don’t have an appropriate photo.  Oftentimes I end up with a blog post that has no picture because I get tired of trying to negotiate all the license terms and general ethics of using pictures I find on the Internet.  I find blog posts with no pictures less interesting, less read, and less liked on Twitter.  Well now there is a replacement for those boring posts: adding images from Unsplash.

Let’s say you have a blog post about how every February you yearn for spring, or even summer’s heat and flowers.  You may not have a recent picture of summer flowers, but Unsplash does.

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Let’s say you are full of angst about politics. You want an image to convey how you feel inside, but you aren’t a professional photographer, so you don’t have a good storm picture.  That’s okay.  Unsplash has you covered.

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Let’s say one of your favorite bloggers just shared an awesome photo site with you.  One that provides “Free (do whatever you want) high-resolution photos” under a Creative Commons Zero license.  You might want a picture that shows how you feel about your blogging friend, this new resource, and life in general. Oh yeah, you guessed it, Unsplash has you covered.

yimy3erbc3o-josh-felise https://unsplash.com/search/happy-book?photo=yIMy3ERBc3o

So go forth my friends.  Write whatever blog post you want about any topic that interests you.  Then head over to Unsplash, and add an image or two.  Make your blogs a little more beautiful, and please, if you use Unsplash I’d love to check out your post, so leave me a comment or pingback.

tznbaktucti-tran-mau-tri-tamhttps://unsplash.com/search/write?photo=tZnbakTUcTI

Oh yeah, check that out.  A picture of a woman working on her WordPress site.  Unsplash has something for every occasion!


Thanks to Unsplash for the amazing resource, the artists on Unsplash for the images above, and to the Daily Prompt for the theme: Replacement

Knit-auguration 

At last the big day is here, the dawning of a new administration for the toys.  Crowds of historic proportions were expected and arrived this morning: extra Lego sheets had to be added to accommodate everyone.  Tiny Knit Zombie Trump and Tiny Knit Hillary are sitting together and enjoying the pre-inauguration entertainment.  The gathering has a festive celebratory air.  Every toy feels like they have representation in this new government.  Every toy feels like their voices were heard.  Every toy is excited about the changes that are coming, and has confidence in their new leaders.  Let’s go to our on the ground reporter, George Snuffleupagus,  for an up close perspective.

Thanks!  Well before we go to the ground, let’s check out the birds-eye-view.  Crowds stretch from the stage all the way back to the Lego Washington Monument.  The future president and vice president took a risk – there is no security – but so far even the toys that showed up with weapons are peacefully gathering.  It’s as if they just want to express their right to bear arms, but not hurt anyone.  Wow!  Look at the size of that sword down there!

The media is here and busy interviewing toys.  Several polite discussions have broken out when toys nearby had a perspective different from the toy being interviewed.  There’s just so much respect and tolerance, even here in the far back where you can barely make out the swooping hair of Tiny Knit Zombie Trump and sunglasses of Tiny Knit Hillary.   Everyone seems so happy to just be part of this day.

Thankfully with the money this team saved on security they were able to install large video screens so the crowd can see from anywhere on the Lego sheets.  This incoming administration really understands how to make investments where they are needed the most.

Sorry George!  Gotta interrupt you.  It looks like the entertainment part of the festivities is over and Tiny Knit Zombie Trump is going to take his oath of office.  Let’s listen in.  Oh, wait.  He doesn’t have a mouth.  Well, he’s looking very vice-presidential as he moans and nods… and there, he’s done.  The crowd’s reaction is deafening.  There is a palpable excitement from the trolls, vikings, mad scientists, and conservatives.  Oh, now it’s Tiny Knit Hillary’s turn.  The crowd has quieted.  Let’s hear what she has to say.  Ah, again no mouth.  Well she holds herself with a very presidential posture as she puts her hand on the toy plastic book she chose for today.  George, do you think the color of the book has any significance?  George… are you there?

Sorry, I can’t seem to get my emotions under control… *sniff*  This is just such a momentous day.  Two parties putting aside their differences for the good of all toys.  I just….I can’t….

Ah, and we’ve lost George due to the roar of the crowd.  Well, let’s leave him with his emotions, and watch as President Tiny Knit Hillary and Vice President Tiny Knit Zombie Trump hug each other, and then address the crowd with inclusive gesticulations.  I can’t imagine what they must be feeling looking over all their constituents. Oh, look, spontaneous hugs are breaking out all over.  Knits are hugging Legos.  Evil doers are hugging kids, but in a good way, not a creepy way.  Such solidarity.

Well there is nothing more to add.  Today is a day of peace, cooperation, and tranquility and our toy nation is a model that other nations can only hope to emulate.  Let’s pan out to enjoy one last look at the crowd on this momentous day.


 

An unexpected, and tinge late, additional post in a series of tiny knit presidential dilemmas.  See the sixth post here, fifth post here, fourth post here, third post here, second post here, and the first post here.

Thank you to Anna Hrachovec for the amazing tiny knit patterns!  Please visit her site at http://mochimochiland.com/.

Presidential Equality

February 3, 1870.  That’s when the fifteenth amendment stipulated that
“The right of citizens of the United States to vote shall not be denied or abridged by the United States or by any State on account of race, color, or previous condition of servitude.”

To be clear, all men regardless of race or color had the right to vote.  It would be over 50 years before women of any race or color could vote.

August 18, 1920. That’s when women received the right to vote in this country. My grandmother-in-law, who turned 100 this year, was born when women couldn’t vote. A woman with whom I spend my holidays had a mother who could not vote in the first election of her daughter’s life.  I find this unfathomable.

Never in my life have I questioned my worth when compared to my male counterparts, and I am grateful for that.  Along the way key points of the women’s intelligence dogma missed me.   Somehow I managed to excel in reading and writing AND math and science.  Girls are bad at math and science?  Who knew?  In 3rd or 4th grade I made the gifted and talented program in English, but not in math, which I found unacceptable.  Whatever stipulation the school set I must have accomplished, because I was in both the math and English G&T program from then on.  I scored a perfectly even 650 math and 650 English score on my SAT.  After high school I received scholarship offers for acting and engineering programs, and went the engineering route. My class ratio started at 8 men to every woman, but I never thought I shouldn’t be in an engineering college; I just found it really easy to find a date on Saturday nights.  After getting my degree I went to work for a big management consulting shop and picked the most challenging technical track I could find, without ever thinking if a girl belonged in that role.  Now, 20 years into my career I lead a team that is half women and half men and not a day goes by when I question if one of my male colleagues is better at his job than I am, because they are not.  We may have different skills and strengths, but they are not better.  My husband, as I have mentioned before, has had the same career duration as me and we make exactly the same amount of money.  My life is a symbol of the equality between men and women, and until recently I believed with all my heart and soul that gender equality was a reachable goal for this country.

In 2008 I held my baby girl and marveled that Barack Obama, a black man I voted for after caucusing for Hillary Clinton, was elected as president.  So much social change has been catalyzed during his 8 years in office.  Why shouldn’t the barrier of a female commander in chief be the next to fall?  In my mind it was a foregone conclusion, so I sobbed on Election Day when my dream of celebrating President Hillary Clinton’s win with my little girl evaporated.  How did a highly qualified woman lose to a man who has never served a day in office?  I don’t want my daughter live in a world where boys are just assumed to be better leaders than girls, because I have never lived in that world.  How dare this election destroy my 42 years of proof that men and women can be equal in this country?

Misogynist is being thrown around everywhere and peppers casual conversation in my circles.  Misogyny, according to the old hardback Merriam Webster Dictionary on my desk,  means the hatred of, contempt for, or prejudice against women or girls.  Filled with vitriol the word is spat meaning the first two words, but my fear is that it’s really the third.  Hatred and contempt could be focused on a single candidate or person.  It could mean that Hillary Clinton and her actions kept her from becoming elected.  However, I am terrified that the real problem is that the 48% of voters are actually prejudiced against my gender.  That is a much bigger wall separating women from the presidency, because that isn’t a candidate problem it’s a cultural issue.  My fear is that somehow outside of my bubble lives a country that still thinks women should be seen and not heard, honor their husband and father, and stay barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen.

We still have a chance to have our first woman president before the centennial anniversary of women’s suffrage, but on the eve of this inauguration day that historical occurrence seems unlikely.  Friday I will watch Hillary attend the inauguration as the wife of our former president and worry that I live in a country that doesn’t think a woman can take the oath of office.  I will wonder if my father’s adoration and pride in me over the years would have been enhanced if only I’d been a boy, even though that thought seems impossible: he always seemed so proud of me. But he voted for our new misogynist president and I believe he is excited about the direction our country is going.  Is my own bubble more fragile than I ever imagined?  I will worry that my daughter will have to overcome obstacles that I was lucky enough to avoid through pure dumb luck.  And I will hope that the pace of change has accelerated from the late 1800s and we don’t have to wait 50 more years – the duration between black’s right to vote and women’s right to vote – before this country’s prejudice of women ends.  Will my daughter’s granddaughter be the first woman in my family to have a presidential female role model?  Will that far off progeny finally live in a world that I falsely believed I inhabited; a world where men and women are equally respected and valued?  Time will tell.