Voting

Yesterday I went to vote, and although I am constantly aware that I live on dirt road in the sticks, there are few experiences that cement it more than voting. First we loaded up the children, and drove down the mountain to the municipal building. I remember the first time we went to vote there, I truly did not believe my husband. I thought it was a joke. It's a metal building with garage doors, and piles of gravel along the edges of the muddy parking lot. When you enter, the atmosphere is that of a church supper. Cheerful middle aged women sit at a folding table. They don't have to ask most voters their name. There is only one book to look in. In the corner is another table, laden with casseroles and jello mold. In case you get hungry while you wait...though you never have to wait because it's always pretty quiet. Another cheerful lady handed me my ballot. It was a piece of paper tucked into a privacy folder. I walked into the voting booth, an ancient structure of stained plywood. I pulled the ruffled curtain closed. The pen rolled off the rickety shelf onto the floor, and I grinned at the ladies as I popped out of my allotted space to retrieve it. When I was finished, I put my ballot into the slot on a locked metal box, waved goodbye, and headed back up the mountain.

I am concerned today, that our new President does not value the voters that rolled down muddy country roads to vote. I worry that he does not understand things like the importance of casseroles and jello mold.