Naturally, our conversation gravitated irresistibly toward November 5th and its presumed chaotic aftermath. Neither of us was of much help to the other, as neither of us could fathom the mindset of what appeared to be about fifty percent of the American public who professed a preference for Donald Trump over Kamala Harris. There seemed to be so many factors militating against his fitness: from a history of bankrupt businesses to extramarital affairs; from undisclosed personal records to the opinions of respected people who knew him, like Michael Bloomberg, Rex Tillerson. and John Kelly; from mercurial behavior to obvious lying, hyperbole, and a measurable decline in mental acuity. Any of those seemed to us to be enough to disqualify anyone – like the spectacularly failed candidacy of Mark Robinson for governor in North Carolina – yet the polls, if they’re to be believed, show the race in a near-dead heat. Clearly, Bea and I are naifs in the political world.

During a quiet afternoon period Saturday, in the belief that her efforts might make a difference, she hand-wrote, enveloped, and addressed some thirty get-out-the-vote letters to people identified as Democrats in Michigan who haven’t voted recently. I could only admire, but not match, her commitment. While she frets seriously over the bogeyman of a Trump 2.0, I remember feeling the same way I do now when Supreme Court Justice Scalia (now, there’s a name to conjure with!) opined that counting all the unrecorded Florida ballots would cause irreparable harm to candidate Bush. I could see it coming then, and grimly told myself, “I can outlive that [expletive]”. Which, of course, I did, quite handily. But my chances of repeating that stunt are markedly poorer this time. Still… This approach helps engender a philosophical attitude toward whatever may transpire after all the shouting, lawsuits, and judicial pronouncements have at last simmered down. I suspect that, as last time, very little will change – except that, in the event of a Trump win, we’ll have four more years of hyperventilation from, among others, Wolf Blitzer’s Situation Room.

I had foolishly thought, early in the campaign, that Mr. Trump’s cynical recorded remark about grabbing women’s genitalia would sink him; later, his unbelievably crude imitation of a handicapped reporter. Silly me. That bravado seemed to resonate with presumably real men frustrated by new social restrictions on insensitivity. There wasn’t even a blip in his general approval ratings. Meanwhile, the media stood by, apparently stunned into nattering reproach. It reminded me of the tenth-century Icelandic saga hero Egil Skallagrimsson, who as a six-year-old, humiliated in a ball game by a ten-year-old, picked up an axe and slaughtered his tormentor, receiving from his mother a delighted comment about what a great Viking he was going to be.

Then, of course, nettled by the jibing of his debate opponent, there was Trump’s frothing meltdown about (legal) Haitian immigrants dining upon the pets of Springfield, Ohio. I thought at the time, “Now, that was clearly unhinged.” So did his handlers, who nixed any future debates. But he got away with it scot-free. Most recently, triggered by FEMA’s request for more money for disaster relief, he cultivated the dark seeds of division by claiming that aid was being withheld from right-leaning parts of the nation. The responses from citizens gainsaying that slander have been vivid, but have received only a fraction of the attention by the media.

The result of all this – the apparent fecklessness of the media, the clearly effective attempts to divide Americans from each other, and the all-too-obvious trashing of the “government” – is, in my mind, at least, a solid resolve to attempt to understand those with whom I disagree strongly, and to continue to try to thwart the self-serving designs of the elderly real estate speculator from Queens. It’s too late for the great advice both Bea and I have for Kamala, but in this high-pressure atmosphere of charges and falsehoods, the key thing to remember – always – is that accusation is confession. If you want to know what Mr. Trump is up to at any given moment, just look at what he’s accusing others of doing. In my experience, it never fails. Accusation is Confession. You can take that to the bank.