Anticipation

 I was up and out on a mission this morning. Vote, then meet friends at the pickleball court to:

    1) make full use of this 70 degree November weather and   2) evict all election thoughts for at least a little while

On the way, the Doors came on the radio and like a true child of the 60s, I blasted it all the way to the voting site at the high school in a very un-grandmotherly fashion. And why not? It was “LA Woman” after all, the one with the lines Don’t you want her madly? Don’t you need her badly? Hopefully prophetic (as long as we skip the rest of the lyrics).

          I also perked up at the two campaign camps set up on the perimeter of the building, Harris/Walsh with a little rent-a-canopy and four people, while the Trump/Vance area was a chair and one lone guy holding a sign.

          And maybe they’ve always been there for other election cycles, but a town police truck parked at the ready, facing out, reminded me that what was once a routine task every four years is disgustingly now a fun combat opportunity for some people.