"It should be about the issues," someone could be heard saying. "It's not supposed to be a popularity contest." But, I begin to wonder, isn't that what democracy is? It's a popularity contest. The question, I suppose, is what makes a woman or a man popular. None of it seems as important to me as it probably should. I'd rather think about the small of my wife's back. I'd rather just laugh. I'd rather roast a chicken in my new Dutch oven with big chunks of sliced onion, potato and carrot. Election time is approaching, and I've already made my decision. I think, instead of voting, I'm going to run my fingers through my wife's new haircut. It's cute and soft and politically moderate, I think. It would never send us to war. Plus it smells nice.
Since I've hired a crew to take care of the mowing I have to make time to see Chuck, the shed gnome that lives in my back garden. A couple of days ago, on an unseasonably cool evening after a hard rain, I sat in the wet grass, leaned back against the shed and told him about election time.
"Strange," he said, wiggling the toes of his bare feet, his boots tossed aside, "I would expect a leader to choose, not the followers."
"Hmmm, I see what you mean. The president is a leader, but not a ruler, though. The president is just assigned the duty temporarily."
A cardinal lighted on a low-hanging branch of the huge holly bush that spills over the top of the back fence from the neighbor's yard. The bird was so close, almost within arm's reach, and we both sat quietly and watched it, not wanting to scare it away. It was beautiful, bright red - a male - and perched perfectly still, only its pointy head darting quickly this way and that.
"This year I've decided I don't care what the candidate thinks about the issues. I'm voting for the one I judge to be the most thoughtful and decent person." The cardinal, hearing my voice, hopped back onto the fence and, after another glance at Chuck and me, flew off to the north.
For a long time Chuck said nothing. The shadow of the shed grew longer and deeper as the evening waned into twilight. "Your wife's hair is different," he said finally.
"Yeah. She and River have signed up to be hair models for this salon. They get free cuts but they have to sit for two or three hours while the senior stylist uses them to teach the junior stylists. So far we've been happy with the results."
Somewhere nearby a cricket began to chirp. We listened for a while, and then he talked to me for a long time about the local toads and the recent abundance of rain. Although there were concerns, the toads were generally pleased.
Hello, friends. How are you today?
Later. Love.
