Pre-election ramblings. . .
I am not drunk, but I might as well be: I have had Moroccan Lamb Shank Stew, red wine, and tapioca pudding. My belly is happier than it has been in a long, long time.
Kipp came in from playing outside this brisk afternoon.
“I know what you’re making,” he said. “Rice Pudding.”
Uh—nope. That would be the aromatic lamb shanks & the red lentils that you smell.
Maybe it was the cinnamon in the sauce that confused him???
Anyway, I am now fortified to vote.
An elderly woman called after supper asking me if I was going to vote and for whom. I remember my dad telling me when I was very little that how you vote is private and you don’t have to tell a soul. But, she caught me in a happy, well-fed state of mind and heck, what did I have to hide?
“Kerry,” I told her.
“Thank-you,” she said. “And don’t forget to vote!”
As if! The fact that I don’t respect Bush at all and desperately want him out of office is almost secondary. What primarily runs through my mind is that women once had no say in the matter, and now that we do, nothing could stop me from exercising the right.
But here is a sad tale from my youth:
The first time I could vote, it goes without saying that I was young, but I was also very unappreciative of the suffragettes.
While in college in Milwaukee, my friend Suzy and I were heading to the polling place.
“Who are you going to vote for?” she asked.
“Mondale,” I said. “And you?”
“Reagan,” she said.
I’m not sure how long we pondered the situation, or how long we furrowed our brows, but realizing that our votes would just cancel each other out, we turned the car around. Instead of exercising our right to vote, we exercised our right. . . to go bowling!
7:17:22 PM 
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