"Thank you, thank you, thank You, Lord," Irene beheld the jars and boxes sitting upon cupboard shelves.

She had enough in groceries to see her through, for awhile.  Her retirement and social-security - which had been trimmed, due to budget issues - were barely enough to keep up with things.  Inflation would only get worse, before things evened out.  And, on top of that, the balance remaining on those court costs.   

Enough, she told herself.  The teakettle began to hum.  The water sufficiently heated, she poured the water onto a second-used teabag, which sat in a bone china teacup - yet, another reminder of years gone by, when things like groceries, gas, utilities and such were no big deal.  She and her late Husband, had been, by no means, even near well to do, but meeting unexpected expenses hadn't been worrisome matters.  Up until a few years ago, she had enough, to be able to give atleast some, to people in need - missions, the local pregnancy center and such.  Now, she found herself, not only on the receiving end, but sometimes unable to give a full tithe.  That smarted... 

Enough...  With one hand, she grasped the saucer, and with the other, steadied herself as she made her way into her modest, but whitespaced, livingroom.  She was glad to have, about two years ago, taken the bother to sew herself a real flannel robe - one with a voluminous skirt, that almost reached the floor.  One, that stayed closed, whenever you moved around.  Sure, such could be bought - that is, if you had half a grand laying around.  Beneath, she wore yet another layer of flannel - the half sleeves, frayed, but the gown was cozy.  Beneath that, a threadbare, what used to be, a cotton slip.  

Needless to say, she hadn't yet turned up the heat to medium.  The house was a bit chilly, so she dressed accordingly, a wool throw was folded, standby, on the other large leather recliner.  Near the front door - which wasn't exactly draft-free, an orange picasso-ish sofa, was draped with a heavy wool blanket, and a thick cotton bedspread, and a medium cotton blanket beneath.  Most times, the old woman slept on that.  A heavy white cotton oval throw rug, served as a reasonably soft barrier between the sofa's synthetic upholstery, and the natural layers upon her frame.

Not owning a flatscreen, she switched on her laptop.  The polls out west were closed, to anyone outside the building, but the results wouldn't be confirmed, until, probably, tomorrow around 1 or 2 pm.  So far, the results, didn't come as a surprise; eastern - and, especially, mid-western - state after state - were reporting their tallys. Rowan, Rowan, and more Rowan.   No surprise that accounts of rioting, were also coming in, from several large metro areas.   

Irene nodded off.  Tomorrow, she expected to hear, the candidate she had mail-voted for - the same name, upon her back bumper - would be the nation's next president.  She made a mental note, to be a bit extra careful when driving - and to do her shopping/errands around 9am-ish, when businesses were least crowded. 

The anger would not blow itself over by next week.