The day after ...

It comes every four years, this election cycle that includes a contest for the presidency. We get to choose, through an old, lame process, the person we want to represent us to the world, the chief executive of arguably the greatest nation ever, on earth.

It's a battle of wits and witlessness. It pits neighbor against neighbor, brother against sister, and mother against daughter...but of course that's often nothing new. Perhaps it's more of a cat vs. dog, jaw and claw, whirlwind of tufts of hair bitten and scratched out in clumps. That's about what this one has been. And it's been a battle between two strays, with only the most narrowly focused partisans actually supporting with no reservations their party's candidate. Or they were paid. Give us a better offer and ... no, there are some things we just won't do for money.

Supposedly, the choice is ours. It's up to us. And it truly is, in spite of all the misunderstandings about the electoral process. We cast a vote and it counts. Sure, there are problems, but there is no conspiracy to disenfranchise you and us.

We voted, and though the votes are mostly yet to be counted, the news media told us last night who won. We woke up this morning to the "first day of the rest of our lives."

The PoorFarmPress has no idea as of this writing who will, who has won. Doesn't matter all that much. As loud as the outcries are, there is little that one human being can do, unless s/he is truly inhuman, to change the course chosen by three and a quarter million people going about their daily business.

We look after our families. We go to work, if we're employed. We try to act like life is ok if we're not. We try our best to pursue some happiness, hopefully having some on more days than we don't.

The contest for the job was particularly distasteful, and drove a few wedges into a kerf here and there. It's been an uncivil war of sorts. And we still live our lives together. We pass each other in the grocery aisles. We wait together at the train crossings. We pass at 55 mph staying on our own sides of the line. If we don't keep our cart of goods under control, we smash into each other. We argue. We fight. And we simply don't get along.

And that's not much fun for anyone.

We've got to live together with differing views. We've got to wait in line with different political leanings.

And we've got to hold our communities, our homes, and our friendships together. We deserve the best that we can give ... to each other.

ThePoorFarmPress is going neutral. We'll be skeptical, as usual, a bit distrustful of power, of wealth that represents power and directs it at times, and we'll wonder at times if we matter at all.

But we'll try our best to be a good neighbor and a decent human being. We'll respect you and your rants, which are sure to come when a belief is challenged.

We'll try not to rant back, because that can be really, really impolite.

And we'll get through this, better together than alone.