It's been an interesting week in the 'ol USA. We elected a reality TV star President. (Not a misprint.) In Portland, Oregon, where I live, there's a collective feeling of disbelief and fear. You can see it in people's faces. You can't avoid discussion of the election, be it on social media, traditional media, or two folks standing in line for a 15,000-calorie pumpkin latte. Rioting in the streets? Check that one off, too.

My own reaction was typical me. I shrugged my shoulders. You win some, you lose some.

But the week wasn't over yet. The Universe had more surprises in store for our family.

My beloved 93-year-old Oma was seriously injured yesterday. She was likely walking to open the shades in her apartment when she tripped and fell, smashing her head. She lie on the floor in a pool of blood, her neck twisted in the corner between the wall and door. She was conscious but unable to move. They believe she was lying there for "at least a couple hours".

Absolutely heartbreaking.

I went to the hospital to see her. She's messed up. She looks like she got in a fight. And lost badly. Her brain is bleeding.

So, yeah, Donald Trump is President. I don’t care. My sweet Oma is fighting for her life.

Update: Rest in peace, Oma. I will miss you so.