the day before

there's lots of anxiety and hope around work today. a workmate announced that she had no time or space to even consider a president mccain. it was nice to have such an optimist nearby.

while walking outside during pouring and blowing rain, i noticed a woman without any rain gear, and invited her inside my umbrella. she was a bit surprised, and i offered, "there's room for both of us, and i'm walking your way."

she immediately warmed to the idea, and as we walked side-by-side, she asked me if i had heard about obama's grandmother dying today. i said i had, and she said that she was thinking so much about today and tomorrow, and i looked her in the eye, and said,

"isn't it remarkable that we live in a place where we can discuss this topic openly?"

and she said, emphatically, "oh yes! yes."

and she was on her way.

pride

mom and i were talking about voting the other day. i shared that i'm the type of absentee voter who doesn't fully trust the mail-in system; i walk to a poll and hand my ballot to an official at a polling place, or in some cases, i've inserted my ballot into a voting machine.

mom asked if i were certain the rules permitted this type of voting, because in her precinct this practice was not allowed. (a bit unnerved, i promptly consulted the official guidelines in california and learned that i was in the right. whew.) mom knows these things because she's an official--a head official--at her precinct. what does this mean? it means she spends 16 hours each election day checking rolls, answering questions, and ensuring all rules are followed and voters are satisfied with their experience. mom's a marvel: the last time she worked the polls for the recent primary, she was diagnosed (and not contagious) with walking pneumonia. her sense of duty led her to work that day, even though i--and likely others--encouraged her to call in sick.

i'm not sure what led her to be a poll worker, but i imagine it has much to do with a feeling of responsibility to her community. this is the same drive that led her to be a nurse, to volunteer at our school library and then our public library, the same impulse that leads her to say, "are you ok?" and the same altruism that sparks relief in all when she arrives at a time of crisis.

each election day i think of mom, hoarse from talking all day, and playing her part to ensure our rights are protected.

lines

lengthy lines snaking to reach polling places
bring tears to my eyes.
makes me remember what's important.

(nytimes slide show)