We are lucky, privileged,

                                                 

and grateful, but only

                                                 

respect can move us

                                                

forward.” 

     Yesterday morning, I was lucky enough to get a personal tour of a huge pickle packing plant (Yeah, kinda like “Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers”) that I am evaluating for writing a magazine article.  I kept thinking about the upcoming vote. 

     Yesterday midday, an old friend and his wife arrived from out-of-state for a two-night stay over.  They hadn’t voted.  Another old friend called for some last-minute Election Day advice (I recommended Joe The Plumber).   

     Yesterday afternoon, I was privileged enough to have my marketing and branding guidance sought in a client meeting with two very engaging brothers who run a  hundred year-old business.  Driving there and back, my radio and my mind were filled with the vote.

     Yesterday evening a college I do some parttime teaching for asked for help with enrollment efforts.  I thought of a political campaign.

     This morning, I went out to breakfast with our houseguests after rain cancelled my first “winterball” softball game, then took a ride with them to visit a stormy ocean and bay, cruise a riverbank road, and stop at a few shops along the way.  The thoughts about who best to captain our nation’s ship in stormy seas dominated the sightseeing.

     Then, Kathy and I went to vote (not for Joe The Plumber, by the way).

     This afternoon, I was back to some 80+ emails, and a book editing project.  How is this vote thing doing?

     Woven through each minute of every hour – the vote.  My unconscious mind would not let go of the vote.  Now, maybe other people don’t regard the vote with such respect and anxiety, but I do. 

     My Mother’s Mother was born in Ireland.  My Father was born in Armenia.  Neither lived lives worthy of public recognition, and dirt poor was the answer to how are you? questions.  But both had undying respect for the right, the privilege to vote, the vote. 

     All of my parents’ hard times and suffering existences seemed to be repaired and cleansed every four years with the vote. 

     It was as if every Presidential Election Day, they had the chance, the opportunity to wipe the slate clean and do something truly important in life that came along with the promise of being able to be champions of their own fate by the choices they would make for America’s President and Vice President. 

     And when it turned out that their choices lost, which happened more than not, they would the next day pick up the fallen mantel and march themselves forward with energy and enthusiastic support for even the winners they they found distasteful and disconcerting only the night before. 

     Because:  The Presidency represented, was the symbol of, the freedom they enjoyed in their humble existences.  Sadly, that symbolism has died in recent years through the devisive politics of the loud minority.  Let us pray for return to respect of the office.  Halalpiar

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