obama us and tattoos

I feel hopeful. I really do.

Something good is happening.

You know, dear reader, that I don't have TV, so I haven't seen much of the campaign coverage. And I usually leave politics out of CFTE because I prefer to speak of things that bring us together rather than push us apart.

Fighting the [no] thank you policy at Hannaford's seems more important to me sometimes than who's running for what office.
And it's wearying, all this campaigning. It's sickening. You wouldn't even think someone would WANT the office. I can well imagine President GWB can't wait to get out. MAN, I am hitting the golf course every day of my life from now on.

Why does someone want it?
So they can sit there and make a whole lot less money than their friends? So they can have 25 intractable problems sitting in their in box? [OH GOOD, WE'RE GLAD YOU'RE HERE. SOLVE THIS MIDDLE EAST THING, WILL YOU? THEY ALL HATE EACH OTHER AND HAVE VOWED ETERNAL REVENGE AND WANT TO FIGHT TO THE DEATH. CAN YOU GET WORKING ON THAT RIGHT AWAY? ]Get made fun of on TV shows? Not be able to go anywhere without some Kevin Costner Secret Service dude hanging around and yawning while you're trying to tell a funny story? I honestly can't imagine why they want it.

But they do.
They spend millions and millions and millions on ads and press releases and text messages and talking points and more ads and town meetings and YouTube and every cuckoo thing to get them there.

It's power, I think, the ultimate aphrodisiac for many.

And so we get these completely ridiculous two-year excruciatingly drawn out election cycles. Finally now for a few months anyway, we won't have a campaign. Until it starts again--who will be hanging out in New Hampshire and when will they start? GOD.

But anyway, Election Day itself felt really special today. The road in my town was clogged with cars, the young police officers were very busy (and looked very important) directing everyone hither and yon, the regular clutch of sign-wavers was gathered just outside the legal boundary for such things. My daughter's old boyfriend was there holding up a sign for Bart Simpson (I'm so proud). I had to park down the street at the old school and walk up in the nice weather, which was not a chore. The lady at the door yelled at the driver of the SUV which was trying to run me over.
"I'm trying to save your life," she said.
"Thanks," I said.
The ballot was big. It was about the size of the menu at Applebee's, but not laminated. It was a nice shiny clean white with black lettering. Thick almost like cardboard. When you finish voting, you really don't exactly want to put it in the machine. You want to hold it for a while, maybe walk around and let people look at you. Wow, look at her. She's just voted. You feel proud. In my town you don't have to show ID or anything. You just tell them your address and they look you up and ask you if you are that person. Well, yeah. I always imagine what I would say if they said, "Mary R. Motew already voted, lady." I always secretly hope that will be said so I can be at the center of a voting drama.

But eventually I walked back down the street, got in my car, and fought the traffic jam to get out of there. It occurred to me that in some countries you might see soldiers on the street to protect the order. The losers in some countries won't admit defeat and start civil wars. We don't do that here. Even if we don't like the outcome, we accept it and go forward.

I feel proud for that.
A bientot, dear reader.
love,
becky

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