|a November marsh full of coots|
Photo by J. Harrington
Because the Republican candidate for the Minnesota House district in which we live was found to reside outside the district, our local election season will extend into mid-February. Since the legislative session starts in January, that will leave a number of us subject to taxation without representation. Thanks, Republicans! At least we probably won't have to put up with an extended period of negative ads.
I'll probably get hate mail from snow lovers, but, in the interest of protecting and extending our spell of unseasonably warm and mostly sunny weather, after voting this morning, I hustled our snow blower to the shop for "seasonal service." In the past, I've volunteered to buy a new snow blower every year if that would serve to make snow blowing unnecessary for the year of purchase. When we first bought our "grown up" snow blower, I think it got used twice all season. Frankly, I can live with that but don't let the Better Half or the Daughter Person know that's what I blogged. This year, I'm hoping the blower gets serviced and back in its stall before the snow flies. I elect to enjoy this weather while we have it.
My Mother Goes to Vote
We walked five blocksto the elementary school,my mother’s high heelscrunching through playground gravel.We entered through a side door.Down the long corridor,decorated with Halloween masks,health department safety posters—we followed the arrowsto the third grade classroom.My mother stepped aloneinto the booth, pulling the curtain behind her.I could see only the backs of hercalves in crinkled nylons.A partial vanishing, then reappearingpocketbook crooked on her elbow,our mayor’s button pinned to her lapel.Even then I could see—to chooseis to follow what has alreadybeen decided.We marched back outfinding a new way back down streetsnamed for flowersand accomplished men.I said their names out loud, as we foundour way home, to the cramped house,the devoted porch light left on,the customary meatloaf.I remember, in the classroom convertedinto a voting place—there were two mothers, conversing,squeezed into the children’s desk chairs.