A HOUSE DIVIDED

Last week when Fox News anchor Bret Baier interviewed Vice President Kamala Harris on his 6 PM show, a friend texted, “WOW! A political program YOU and MR. WONDERFUL can actually watch TOGETHER!!” 

You would think……but no. We live in the Wells Woods — a Battle Ground unto itself. And we, here at 26 Grist Stone, are a house divided, even when my candidate stars on That Other Channel.

So Mr. W. watched the interview on his TV downstairs and I settled in front of my TV upstairs. Most evenings, he’s glued to Hannity, and I’m all in with Chris Hayes and Rachel Maddow. We sit in our respective corners, actually on different floors, cheering and rooting for our candidates. Never us twain shall meet or agree. 

Can this marriage be saved?  Stay tuned — only a few more weeks. 

Yesterday we drove to Biddeford on errands, passing political sign after political sign along Route 1.  When I spotted a HARRIS-WALZ poster, I grinned. When he saw a TRUMP-VANCE sign, he gave a thumbs up. Our XM Sirius car radio is permanently set on Blue Grass Junction until after the election because I can’t bear hearing Harris Faulkner say one more flattering word about Trump and he gags when Nicole Wallace mentions that Harris leads by one point in Arizona.

We reflect the polls — if not the country —  in microcosm. A virtual tie! Each of us wonders: why is this so close? “Trump is unhinged,” I say. “Kamala is a left-wing radical,” he retorts. Nothing moves our needles. Interestingly, McDonald’s, where Trump flipped fries over the weekend and where Kamala worked as a teenager, just declared they are “not red, not blue — but golden, like the arches.” They’re simply not endorsing either former “employee.”

My friends write or whisper, “Is Mr. Wonderful going to vote for Trump?”  When I nod, they say, “OMG, that must be tough to live with.” (You have NO idea!) Meanwhile, I walk downstairs and hear Himself in the sun room, yakking on his cell phone to cousin Ray. “I honestly think Trump is going to win big. Did you hear what Kamala said the other night in Pennsylvania? Oh God no, Val is still on the other side.” 

Twenty-seven years ago we didn’t have “other sides.” We vowed: “For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish….” There should have been a political codicil.

So we take afternoon walks and look for common ground. “Wow, check out that fabulous red maple tree!” In the evening, we sit in our fireside chairs and read, occasionally venturing into the safe topic of our kitty cat  Sunshine’s virtues, tricks and appetite.  (“I don’t think she liked her turkey and gravy tonight.”) If Siri is listening, she’s yawning.

I am a political soul, raised in a Democratic family, where Election Day was sacrosanct, if not as important as July 4 and Christmas. My mother even won a radio “jingle contest” in the late 1950s for her entry: “Remember in November, Tuesday is Choose Day.”  (Mom also liked to remind me, “Val, some people are Methodists or Episcopalian. We’re Democrats.”)

Mr. Wonderful, who is the kindest, gentlest, sweetest man I know, is not overtly political — he’s just for Trump.

But we do have a few other differences. He’s rooting for the Los Angeles Dodgers and I’m gung-ho for the New York Yankees to win the World Series. He likes Moxie, I prefer Diet Coke. He sets the heat pump to 79, I reset it to 71. He likes creamy Jif, I favor crunchy Jif. He’s read Elon Musk’s biography twice, I’m about to devour Bob Woodward’s WAR. 

My fervent hope, when the winner is announced in November, is that we we can stop sounding like Alice and Ralph Cramden and resume our own  honeymoon. NO PROMISES.