All posts by Dona

Voting

Events, Musings, People, Politics, Rave, , , ,

Waking up to the delightful although not unexpected news that Barack Obama is the president-elect is a lovely cap on an unforgettable voting experience.

I wasn’t sure when I was going to vote — I’d hoped to do it with a minimum of waiting because I had a full day ahead of me what with computer issues, a pet crisis and a teenager in need of new jeans. I didn’t listen to the news before heading out at about 10 to cast my ballot, but didn’t expect to encounter a long wait at that time in the morning.

When I pulled into the parking lot of our polling place — the local rescue squad — and saw the line stretching around the building and down the sidewalk, my eyes teared up. I was proud to be a part of this and proud of my fellow citizens.

I parked in the overflow parking lot of the church next-door (which had a few empty spaces despite the fact it also was a polling place) and headed to stand in the line, not knowing how long I would be there. It didn’t take long before everyone was talking to everyone else. One woman was asking those around her their opinions of various constitutional amendment proposals on the ballot. Others were talking about the excitement in the air. After about 15 minutes in line a black and white Saturn pulled up and employees from Honest Tea, a company based in Bethesda, handed out free Honest Tea drinks to folks standing in the line. That only added to the party atmosphere.

Honest Tea Mobile

As the line snaked around the building and up the steps, I noticed my neighbors at the end of the, now significantly shorter, line. They were eligible to go ahead of the crowd and take the elevator, by merit of their age, but they stood in line like the rest, and chatted with their fellow voters.

I saw several people from my neighborhood and people I’d met over the years through school connections. We nodded or shared a few words as we crossed paths.

Mary and Bob, my neighbors. In line to vote.

A woman ahead of me is becoming a Head Start teacher after retiring from NEA. The woman behind me brought her children and her oldest son, who was voting for the first time. The man directly in front of me had his preschool aged daughter who behaved very well, standing in line that long.

Standing in line is not anyone’s favorite activity, but yesterday I wouldn’t have missed it for the world. When my husband voted — he said there was no line and I should have waited until 4 to vote. Nope — I’m glad I went when I did. It was the best hour I’ve spent in a long time.  And the best time waiting in line ever.

I read the blog of a woman I knew a few years ago, and her post today is that she didn’t vote because of the line and then didn’t go back to vote because of the rain later in the day. I feel sorry for her, missing out on the excitement and camaraderie of the event.

Perfection

Life, ,

When I was a teenager I made a goal to someday be perfect. I figured it was in my range of ability — I just had to work hard at it.

I began my training in perfection with my mother’s high school yearbooks. In the mid-20th century seniors could list their pet peeves under their graduation photograph. I made a list of several of the pet peeves of the graduating class of 1954 and vowed to note each and every one of those pet peeves and not do things like “wear red and pink” (easy), “Sing [insert pop song from 1953 here]” (piece of cake), “wear too much makeup” (Ok), and “be a woman driver” (huh? maybe I could just be a good woman driver). I don’t have the list nor the yearbook in front of me, so I’m just guessing at these now.

So, list of pet peeves of high school students from the early 1950’s in hand, I was on the road to perfection.

Then I discovered the advice column in Seventeen magazine. It gave advice on how to be popular — and weren’t perfect people popular? I read it religiously and tried out some of the tips. I’ve already written about the tip about wearing a pendant on my back instead of on my chest. That kind of spoiled the advice columns for me.

The next stage in my quest for perfection (and no, I didn’t manage to avoid all pet peeves) was when I discovered self-actualization. My memory of what I thought self-actualization meant and what I’ve found online differ somewhat, but the idea is the same: to reach one’s potential. Since I was certain perfection was a potential for me, I used this to strive for perfection.

I made a list of behaviors and goals in a journal (called not-surprisingly Dona’s Self-actualization journal — now lost or destroyed) and kept notes on my journey.

When I met my husband-to-be he said that self-actualization was not much different from a cult or Scientology (apologies to any Scientologists who may read this). I believed him and gave it up. I’m not sure he was right — but I think I might have been planning on giving it up anyway. Long time ago — so there is little way of knowing.

Anyway — at some point I realized that I was not going to be perfect. Ever. I think this was about the same time I realized I could never be invisible. Or talk to fairies.

That’s ok. I know some people who are [what I considered to be] perfect. And I don’t like them much.

Whew! Close call.

Indian Summer

Memories, , ,

It’s Indian Summer here in the DC area. How do I know? I know because we had a frost and now the weather’s turned warm again. That’s my definition of Indian Summer. Other people have different definitions, but I’m sticking to mine.

When I lived in Illinois, the sure sign that winter was coming was the Chicago Tribune‘s annual “Injun Summer” cartoon by John T. McCutcheon on the front of their Sunday magazine (if I recall properly). I’m pretty sure that now it is considered a politically incorrect view of this weather phenomenon and I don’t know if the Trib still runs this in the fall, but you can purchase a copy for $5.95 from their store.

I always looked forward to that cartoon. It meant Halloween was on the way and Thanksgiving not too far behind. It was a tradition in a time that traditions were becoming rarer. My first taste of nostalgia perhaps — a reminder of what the summer was like, and would be again after the cold winter of the Midwest.