10 Years – a Quiet Reflection

My son’s age is a constant reminder of how long I’ve been without my sister, Cristi. This year, he turned ten. This year is the tenth year of her not being here. This day is the tenth year of her not being there, though we found out ten years ago tomorrow.

Every time I think about this, I think about an image of a 29-year-old woman on the brink of blowing up her career (for good), touching all the lives of the students she worked with, and the laughter she brought to my family. Forever frozen in time, and now we only have her memory to hang on to.

We are back, traveling again, celebrating family, sites, and death. Two of the deaths we are going to celebrate are the lives of my grandparents, my maternal grandmother, and grandfather. We will have a memorial around the family farm, celebrating their lives, their legacy. At the same time, our immediate family will hold tight to the memory of our sister, daughter, friend, who died ten years ago, much too soon.

In the midst of this intimate memorial will be nearly 4 generations of people. People who wouldn’t be here or have come together without my grandparents. And, then, of course, there will be the people who couldn’t make it. Maybe it was money or time, or in the case of Cristi, maybe it was because a life was taken too soon. We will celebrate. We may cry. We will share stories. We will laugh.

Then, we will depart and go back to our regularly scheduled lives. Some of our travels will take us to exciting new adventures. Some of our adventures will take us to the normal routines of daily life. Wake up, go to work, go to school, get dressed, eat a meal. We go on living while the dead do what dead people do according to your respective beliefs.

I was raised in the Catholic church. My husband and I are raising our son with Christian (Protestant) – Catholic views. Yet, I hope for an afterlife that is kinder and more loving than that which these religions preach. I dream of an afterlife where our loved ones are walking with us, guiding us, our guardian angels. I dream of an afterlife where we’ve made pacts with each other, and we are each others soul mates. Where we are learning some spiritual lesson, every day, and we have the support of those around us. There is no accident when it comes to where we are.

In this moment, I am writing this at a yummy café near where my mother’s new job is. Near where high school friends are employed and helped me with certain esthetician tasks. Near where I’m meeting another old friend for lunch. Near where I’ll meet up with my family at a beloved fabric store (that happens to be having a tent sale today). None of these things happened the way I envisioned. And, it’s all working out perfectly. I will take this sign on this tenth anniversary of my sister’s death that no matter the heartache we’ve had or is to come, everything is unfolding as it should.

Connecting Women: Why This is Our First Priority

I’ve written about this before, but this is a topic so near to me that I think uncovering and unpacking the layers is relevant, important, and necessary. When I go back to what it is I do, connecting women and holding space for women is the common theme. So, why is that so important?

Connecting to Sustainability

Years ago, I identified that my goal is to educate people on the importance of a sustainable society. This was a beautiful moment because it allowed me openness to opportunities that had just been created and were now available to me. I was able to declare Sustainable Urban Development as my minor at Portland State. I was able to travel to Italy on a Sustainability Study Abroad. I was able to co-author a book on Sustainability. Because my bucket job explorations in sustainability didn’t lead to a paid gig, I kept unpacking what sustainability meant for me.

The Triple Bottom Line is the common definition I use. It’s easy to understand, wrap our heads around, and generally gets the point across. I’ve called it the Three Es, until this new definition. It means that you balance three things equally instead of just one.

In business, the norm is to balance the books. You know if a company is making a profit, or not. You balance the profit books, the economic books. In the Triple Bottom Line definition, you add two books: people (equity) and planet/place (environment). With how we’ve measured environmental success, this piece is easy to measure. We know if we are polluting the environment more than cleaning it up. We know if we are cutting down more trees than planting. We know if our food is contaminated, or not. We know if our water is contaminated, or not.

Connecting people

But people, that’s where things get messy. Because people are messy. We bring all of our junk, or baggage, to the table – no matter what the table is – work, family, volunteering. If we had a bad day at work, it’s often hard to hide it from our families. If family life is stressful, it affects our concentration at work. We are a society that likes easy things, so we don’t deal with the people aspect because it is hard.

And, the hard thing is exactly what we need to deal with. If we want our society to be a better place tomorrow than it is today, we have to tackle the hard thing. I want society to be a better place. I want my son to grow up with kindness, compassion, and opportunity within a setting of health, wellness, wealth, and awesome choices. I want the next generation to have even better opportunities. If we collectively want that, and I think we do, then we have to work together to figure out people.

Connecting with Women

I am focusing on women for many reasons. I am a women. I was raised by a women, who served our family as a single mother using social services, until she remarried. I have sisters. One sister is the mother of a special needs child. One sister was killed by her boyfriend. That is, one sister was a victim of domestic violence.

I watch all the women in my circle: gay, straight, single, parents, black, hispanic, white – and they all have spaces where they need support. Many women I see are not the sole breadwinners of their families, and that directly affects choices they make. Some women face exclusions that I, as a white women, cannot relate to, and it’s unfair and unnecessary.

So, I see a need for us, women, to come together like we never have before. I see a need for us to cross race, political, and economic lines and see the potential in each of us. I see space for us to thrive together.

When women support each other in joy, we do amazing things. We love. We share. We are kind. We show up with compassion. We gift, and we support. I want to create a society that honors the feminine to bring these necessary things back into our world, massively. Join me. Let’s connect.

Ladies, Take Off Your Makeup

March 2011, driving to the UP, sporting a rocking red drugstore lipstick. It pretty much only looks this awesome when you put it on.

Last month, in my educational newsletter to my fellow oilers, I talked about the importance of spring cleaning, and I related it to the chemicals on our face. Women are exposed to a range of 150 and 500 chemicals, daily. Most of which we do not know the direct effects. A risk averse person might suggest that the average women is a chemical concoction away from disaster.

Societal norms, aside, maybe it’s time for women to take off their make up?

Societal norms, considered, what does it say when we wear make up every day? Men don’t, in our modern age. If we are going to a play, a night out on the town, both genders are generally expected to dress up a little, comb their hair, brush their teeth – societal hygienic and grooming standards. But, aside from a blip into metrosexuality (isn’t it all beards now?), only a woman is required to cover her face, in a painted on mask, to be considered put together.

Let’s take a pause. I actually love wearing make up. I enjoy the whole process. I equate it to art. I think it’s fascinating the shapes we highlight and create and the colors we play with, with paint for our skin. I even find that a powdered foundation keeps my oily skin feeling fresh, all day. Me and make up? Love it. (The more research-intensive part is finding toxic-free varieties.)

What I would like to link together, though, is this requirement that women put a mask on to look their best. It’s a direct implication that women do not look their best without new skin, new eyes, new cheeks, and new lips. Men can simply walk out of their house, and they are applauded for buttoning their shirts or not sagging in their pants. The expectation is different for women.

What does that continue to say about our society? Yesterday was Equal Pay Day for Women. Yesterday marks the day that white women begin to earn as much as their male counterparts in the workforce. If you add other aspects, such as being black, or Hispanic, their day is not yet here. What does it say, about our society?

It continues to reinforce the message that women cannot and will not be enough. It says that we don’t look the part, and we don’t deserve to play the part.

Clarification, I don’t choose to believe this. I feel that if we succumb to this victim mentality we allow the oppressors to win. And, I will not allow the oppressors to win. Everyone deserves a fair shake at this game called Life. Everyone deserves to be treated fairly, no matter what their skin or gender, or choice of make up. Instead of being a victim, I will, however, kindly challenge these micro-oppressions.

Women are not required to wear make up to look their best. Women are not required to wear a dress, or a pant suit, to be presentable. We, this generation and beyond, are shaking the old beliefs and creating our own, because the old beliefs, the old suit, it just doesn’t fit anymore.

I believe our job is to shake those suits that don’t fit anymore. Our job is to challenge these micro-oppressions when they are, again, layered as norms. Our job is to say, “No, that really isn’t how it is and couldn’t we consider it a different way.”

And, today, I’m saying that about make up. Not only is it generally quite toxic to our skin, it can mask who we really are. If we are to truly show up and change this world, we need to show up as we really are. So, please, take off your make up, and change the world.

More to consider

Men like women to wear less makeup? No, they don’t

Make up at work – from the abstract, “Although many women find pleasure in wearing makeup, the authors conclude that the institutional constraints imposed by the workplace effectively limit the possibilities for resistance.”

We Need to Stop Making Assumptions About Why Women Wear Make-Up — Here’s Why – “At some point – probably high school – I believed that learning how to ‘put my face together’ felt like a necessary right of passage because I am a woman.”

I’m not sorry

This is home. My grandparents picked up this property around 1961. 80 acres on one side of the highway, 80 acres on the other. This is what my first idea of a “hobby farm” looked like.

I love, so much, the outpouring of support, love, prayers, and friendly thoughts to me and my family in this time of grieving. The kindness in the thought expressed, “I’m sorry,” means a lot. But, I need to acknowledge that I am not sorry.

I was sorry when Cristi died. Hers was a life cut too short, unfinished. She was my sister, and I felt robbed that we didn’t get a chance to adult together. I was very sorry when she died. And, I really appreciated the sentiment expressed, then. No one really knows what to say in times of such a tragic situation.

I found the words, “I’m sorry,” were the best choice for others also experiencing grief. “I am sorry that this thing is happening that is causing pain.” But, pain is life. Life is full of promise, joy, pain, happiness, tears of sadness and gladness. So, in a sense, I am far form sorry that you are experiencing that we are experiencing this human existence to its fullest. I am glad that we have the opportunity to feel sadness and grief over a life no longer with us, immediately right now.

How lucky am I that, in this immediate instance, I have a grandfather that lived to be 93 years old. Though he wasn’t always lucid the last ten years of his life, by all accounts he lived a full life. He married his high school sweet heart, he served his country, he raised a large, boisterous family. He provided for his needs, his children’s needs to the best of his abilities, and supported the next generation. I am so happy that I get to call him my grandfather, and I am so happy that he had this rich story cultivated around his values and his expression of life.

I am not sorry he died. I am not sorry he lived. I am not sorry for his story, as it was a glorious one.

In reflection, there are a few things I am sorry for. I am sorry that Alzheimer’s consumed his existence these last ten years. I am sorry that dementia made him into a man I didn’t recognize. I am sorry that old age brought bloating and other ill-health side affects that mostly made him unrecognizable. I am sorry that the last time I saw him, five short minutes, was largely spent with him sleeping.

But, I am not sorry I did get to see him in his end of life. I am not sorry for that last hug. I am not sorry that his life helped me reshape what I think about aging and the aging process. Like leaves that wither and die in the fall, all life has a season, and I truly believed my grandfather and grandmother lived their season to their fullest. I am not sorry I got to witness so much of their life.

Thank you, Grandma and Grandpa, for continuing to show me what love and life can look like, even past your end of days.

In memory of…

I took this picture September 2004. I came over, from Oregon, a long weekend to celebrate (surprise!) Grandpa’s 80th birthday. The cool, beautiful September, with the crisp temperature and changing colors. This is how I will remember my grandparents.

It’s Thursday. It started out as a normal Thursday. But, now, it will forever be known as the day my grandfather died. He was 92.

He lived a long life. He met his sweetheart in 7th or 8th grade, and they courted through high school. He served as a nurse, stationed in Germany, during World War II. We didn’t call it PTSD back then, but I was instructed never to ask about the war (to any of my grandparents), rather to listen kindly if they shared stories. Grandpa Woodaz didn’t share any stories.

Uncles talking, about what? Does it matter? This is a common occurrence. Groups of men gabbing, outside, on the farm.

Growing up, I thought of him as fierce. Like my grandmother, he was always there. We spent a lot of time on the farm when living in the UP, where I was born. One entire summer, we lived with my grandparents. I remember being told our car needed to be fixed.

We would wake up and go to bed with the rest of the farm, which included my grandparents and my uncle. He was the youngest and finishing high school. Together, they had ten children, never loosing any, within an almost 30 year span. That uncle, Danny, was an uncle when he was born. Their legacy includes over 40 grandchildren and many, many, great and even great-great grandchildren.

My grandfather offered me my first beer. It was likely Pabst Blue Ribbon. I was 8. I had a sip, because, why would you say no to Grandpa? I hated it. And, boy did he laugh. His Polish blue eyes twinkling, and the smile that lit up his whole face. Contrasting with his deeply tanned, brown skin, and white hair, always short in a buzz cut. We often saw him after he came home from work at the paper mill. And he always asked, “Do you want a whisker rub?” The worst kind of cheek-to-cheek kiss a child could ask for, with his five o’clock shadow, like sandpaper on your baby soft, childhood skin. And he would laugh, and laugh.

Munising Paper Mill

Sometimes, he wouldn’t laugh, and the fierceness would come through. When I was about 5, my cousin, Darryl, did not obey my grandfather, and he climbed on a flat bed trailer that was on the property. The wood was rotting, and Darryl fell and cut his lip. The next thing I knew, Darryl was in Grandma’s chair, in a timeout in the living room, a little blood coming from his lip. How could he be in trouble when he got hurt? He did not listen to Grandpa, and that’s why he got hurt.

They had 10 kids. TEN. Can you imagine? I can’t. We’ve stopped at one. I’m guessing that’s one reason why it was a never-ending parade of weddings when I was a little girl. All the weddings were held at the Hall. This was a community building, and every single reception was held in this hall. We had a formula for weddings. From my young eyes, it looked like: potluck made by all the gray haired aunts, kegs of beer, and a DJ who played polkas. The building was like a large pole barn with hard, concrete floors. They were perfect for dancing, and boy did our family dance. I have memories of begging to polka with Grandpa. Why? Because you didn’t actually need to know how to dance! He would spin you around, and you would fly. Uncle Tommy was the only other person who would dance with you, like that.

Eventually, Grandpa retired. And, then, he was home all the time. But he never stopped moving. He was always puttering to and fro. Coming in the house, periodically, for another cup of coffee. When I was younger, he’d open the fridge when the day was done and get a beer. That stopped after some time. Coffee, though. Never ending coffee. After my Uncle Danny returned from his tours in the Navy, the coffee got better. You see, Danny spent time in Seattle. So the Midwestern, watered down brew turned into good coffee. When it was the Midwestern brew, we had a church coffee pot in the kitchen. And it was never empty. The coffee was always on.

Sherry shared this photo. This is a GREAT way to remember Grandpa.

Eventually, age settled in. But, it was after they both turned 80. Though I’ve heard that the human body has the capacity to live to 120 years old, because our life expectancy is in our 70s, I was amazed they made it that long. That feels like a long, full life. The end of life cycle turned into a challenge as health related issues arose. That’s not how I will choose to remember either of them. This image in 2004 is how I will remember them. Vibrant and full of life. The laughs – everyone always laughing. The big, giant bear hugs (and yes, this is why I’m a hug person), the traditions old and new, the pride of our Polish heritage. I miss my grandparents, as they were, every single day. I cling to hope they are reunited, maybe ready to recreate their love story.

Thank you Grandma and Grandpa for showing me what love can look like.

Hi! It’s me. It’s been a while. Let’s connect.

I love writing, but finding my blogging voice has been quiet, silent, for a long time. I had an amazing experience a week or so ago, so I thought I’d write about it.

I have friends all over the political spectrum, but your vibe attracts your tribe, and my tribe is left-leaning women who resonate with creating a women-empowered economy, and even smashing the patriarchy. We know that it’s our time, and we want to do this journey together. A journey where we create a more love-centered, compassionate world. A world where we seek win-wins, instead of wars.

This election has a lot of us riled up. RILED UP. I have confessed, multiple times now, that during Obama’s administration, I fell asleep politically. Instead, I chose to focus on my family, things near to me that I could control. I missed out on great speeches, some political decisions I think are disastrous and don’t represent my values, and some political decisions I would have appreciated celebrating.

An old man was elected to the presidential office. Again, someone who espouses values that I do not agree with, at least they come across as the opposite of compassionate, win-win decisions. The campaign, from that vantage point, seemed to be a campaign of anger, hate, and riling people up for violence. Again, values that I do not espouse, nor do I want represented in the office we hold most dear in this land.

So, what’s a girl to do? We march. And, march we did. The early estimates, for Portland, guessed that 20,000 to 30,000 women would show up. The final estimates guessed that over 100,000 people showed up to say, “NO,” to the current administration and the policies that have been promised.

When Bush was president, another president whose values I did not hold in similarity, we marched. But, then I stopped. Much like falling asleep to the Obama administration, I fell asleep to the things I didn’t feel like I could change.

Hopefully with age comes wisdom. And, this time, the people who have chosen to help organize these marches have also organized actions. 10 actions in 100 days. I have cultivated a left-leaning tribe, and the people in my tribe are ACTING. Some are signing and sharing petitions, some are making calls, some are attending town halls, some are protesting injustices, some are doing all these things. A friend and I hosted a Huddle (action number two), and that felt great.

Though we invited a handful of people close to us, the majority who showed up were strangers to us. Other concerned women who want a world that is more compassionate, loving, and inclusive of all of our differences. We talked, and I had the opportunity to serve, gifting the group my facilitation skills.

Joy! Bringing women together, who showed up, ready to engage! Joy! Listening to all their varied stories while we thought of what we want our world to be. Joy! Seeing the actions that sprang up. For example, a committee formed around one woman who is interested in exploring a political office! Joy! A group was created so that we can stay in touch and engaged.

If you want to know more about the Huddle or other events that we have planned, send me a message. I would love to connect with you. Stay with me, as I continue to fine tune and realize my own story. As we connect together, we will share our stories together and create a world we want.

Question Authority

Two of these friends, being silly, in front of our decorated picture window. It reads something like "Make Love... Make Peace..."
Two of these friends, being silly, in front of our decorated picture window. It reads something like “Make Love… Make Peace…”

The last time I eagerly uttered those words, it was the spring of 2003. I was living in Lansing, Michigan. I was in my early twenties living with other white people who were also in their early twenties.

A typical Friday night for us was sharing a meal, inexpensive wine, and stories. We were all left of the center. And, we all agreed that George W. Bush was not our president.

On the day, in March 2003, when Dubya declared war against Iraq, it was one of these wine nights. We sat around our friend’s small living room around their even smaller television. Some on the floor; some on the couch. I felt like the TV was so close it could touch our noses. The live declaration was announced, and suddenly our country was launched into war, despite lack of congressional approval.

The last declared war I had heard in my lifetime, was by Dubya’s father. I was in 7th grade. I remember calling my early teenage boyfriend, aghast, that our country would send young men to their death. I have relatives that have served, many proudly. Many who have been affected by some sort of “shell shock” or now “post-traumatic stress disorder”. Why would we willingly send loved ones to “fight for our freedoms” when they came back broken and hardly free of acquired demons? The irony was not lost on me, and the only conclusion I drew then, and now, was that there has to be another way.

I was living with a group that also felt there had to be another way, so we did the next best thing we could think of. We participated in what was called the largest ignored protest. We made signs. We marched. We chanted. We felt validated in our questions by surrounding ourselves with other like minded left of the center, socialists. I joined a group, The Greater Lansing Area Network Against the War in Iraq (GLANAWI for short). How can this be happening in my lifetime? Didn’t we learn the lessons of WWI, WWII, Korea, Vietnam? Apparently not.

And there was a chasm – support our president because it’s the right thing to do… Or?

Have you ever had a boss you thought was out to lunch? Maybe this boss was even chosen by a bunch of smart people. Yet, you watch them railroad meeting after meeting and shoot down idea after idea. You watch them fail to listen, repeatedly, and you see this is why they are not succeeding. You see them handle communication awkwardly, or not at all. You see how they make staff divisive, instead of loyal. And, then, you watch them lie.

I’ve had a few bosses like this. And, when my friends and I watched Dubya, that’s what it felt like. Clearly a clever man for having reached the presidency, but how could he be making so many poor choices? How could he be sending people he’s never met to their sudden death under the guise of freedom?

And, there, I was validated again – our role was to question. Our role is to never stop asking questions. If we don’t understand something, our job, with all respect, is to ask questions and never stop asking questions until we get satisfactory answers. And, even then, we can’t stop. Our job is to push them to be their best. Even when their egos are so inflated they cannot see that we are truly helping them because we do believe in a greater America. We believe that we can be our best selves and this is not it.

When I was in my early twenties, we declared our message through childish posters drawn and hung around our craftsman, duplex, bungalow. Now, I write in this forum, and I actively question and challenge when face to face. I’ve learned some things about interrupting oppressions, and I use those strategies with a guarded heart.

Join me in questioning. We deserve to live in an America that truly does embrace all, all of us with our warts, our varied colors, and our varied ways of doing this thing called life. No one person is more important than another, and we all have an important role to play. You matter. I matter. We matter, and our job is to remind them that we matter. And we will not shut up until they listen.

Peace in Grief

I wanted Hillary Clinton to be the first woman president. I admired her grace and stamina since she was the First Lady of the United States. I never really understood why she was vilified so much in the press. I never understood the severity of the scandals like Whitewater. When it came to her husband’s more solicitous affairs, I chalked that up to what most politicians do, he’s just being vilified for it.

I find it interesting, now that Hillary served as FLOTUS, to being elected two terms as a senator in New York, and then serving another five as Secretary of State, that Politifact and other sources mark her as one of the most honest politicians. A few theories explain that this idea of her being a “liar” is basically the same lie being repeated so often that it felt like truth. [1][2][3][4]

So, we have a woman, unfairly caught up in scandals, made loud by the media, and trumped up as truth because the lie is repeated over and over. It’s hard not to see that as misogyny. And, when men tell you that it’s your imagination, it’s hard not to see that as more misogyny and “mansplaining.”

I feel pain for this. I am so sad that the greatest glass ceiling I know of is still unbroken. I am confused that 53% of white women voted for the candidate who was known for misogynistic comments throughout his celebrated career. I am heartbroken that this vilification continues. I am devastated that we can’t seem to come together to find a solution that works for all of us.

So, this is when I turn to my essential oils. Right now, I want forgiveness and peace. I firmly believe that President-Elect Trump deserves a fair shot. I believe in our constitutional democracy, and that we need to trust in the process, no matter how flawed and unfair it seems. I believe that we owe him respect as our future president. I believe we owe ourselves acknowledgement that he is smart and clever for having won this tough seat. I also believe that we must stand taller, prouder, and louder in the face of oppressions and interrupt them. We can do it with peace. But, we must do it.

We must interrupt women hating comments with a loud, “Ouch! Would you say that to your mother?”

We must stand up for our neighbors when they are being bullied.

We can find courage in our secret groups, but our courage needs to be outed and loud.

We need to talk about our beliefs.

We need to ask questions to others about THEIR beliefs. If we really want to affect change, we must first seek to understand, and then be understood. I have oils for that too. Start with Lavender, the Oil of Communication. You might be surprised at its calming effects while you find words you need to say.

We need to understand that we have far more in common than things that divide us. And, we need to find conversations around those commonalities. Then, we can pick apart proposed solutions until we find one that fits.

I envision a future where clean air and clean water are no longer fought for because we all agree they are inalienable rights to every single human on this planet.

I envision a future where we have robust gardens of nourishment in every food shed, so local places can support themselves.

I envision a future where we stop digging in our sacred ground and we turn to energies that move and shine all around us.

I envision a future where we bring up leaders who love learning and who are excited about affecting positive change for their own futures.

I envision a future where our basic needs are met so well that we can all work on our dreams and goals with fewer hurdles, barriers, and upper limits getting in the way. (I have an oil for that too… start with Wild Orange, the Oil of Abundance.)

I envision that we all honor the divine in you and the divine in me. That we all recognize life is precious and must be taken seriously, with light hearted fun to pepper things along the way. We all deserve to be here. We are all Children of God. We all have purpose, and we can do this together. We can do this with love.

t-10-vi-52_4-fear-love

What Makes America Great

The husband and I were discussing this after running errands prior to picking the kiddo up from school. In 2004, I came to some conclusions. It doesn’t matter what end of the political spectrum, or grid, you are on. What matters is that most people simply care about those they love, however they define it. And, most people, want those they love and care about to succeed. In 2004, after deals were struck for oil barons, I theorized GW cared about his oil friends.

I care about my farmer friends and family. I care about my union working, manufacturing friends and family. I care about those who serve in a variety of ways. So, it was hard for me to relate to someone making deals that didn’t directly affect those I care about. Or rather, it was hard for me to relate to someone making deals where the side affects adversely affected people and things I cared about – environment, local wages, etc.

I firmly believe our common values unite us. We don’t, however, spend enough time talking about those values. Sometimes, we come to solutions before seeking to understand the other side, and those solutions are at odds. I often think that’s what we’re fighting about.

I get that there have been many stories showcasing horrific examples of misogyny, racism, homophobia. I have hope those are rare examples. Horrific. Awful to those who had to experience first hand. Yet, I hope those are rare instances. The last surge of hate before real, loving change happens.

In light of this thinking, watch Ellen’s take on “What Makes America Great.”

The Only Constant Is Change

I love exploring sites like 27o to Win or Nate Silver’s 538. Places dedicated towards numbers, polls, and results. And, I also like to remember that things rarely stay the same.

Living on the “Left Coast”, California, Oregon, and Washington are foregone conclusions for the election. Growing up, the states around my home state of Michigan were thought of blue too. But, what do the results say? Times change. Take a look at 1904 to present.

1904 to present, presidential elections

make action GIFs like this at MakeaGif

I’m excited to see how this year pans out. I’ll be donning a sort of #pantsuit on Tuesday expressing my hopes and desires.