Arrias chimed in this morning with some basic civics. We feel is extremely useful, since the talk about “democracy” being threatened in America is really only appropriate if you don’t know how it works. The Founders of our nation- the majority of them- fought a king to ensure matters of public interest were discussed before being jammed down the throats of others. The way to do that was to establish the United States as a Constitutional Republic, which is what most of us around the Fire Ring swore an oath to protect.

Tomorrow is an unusual mid-term election because a lot of people are interested in the various issues. A lot of us voted already, since it is now permitted to vote early. Some add the words “and often” to reflect something unreasonable about reasonable change in the process. Here in Culpeper, Virginia, that includes a stop at the Registrar’s office downtown instead of our election day polling station. To vote “absentee in person,” our version of early voting, we must produce the same identification required to cash a check, purchase tobacco or alcohol or a host of other routine things. It seems a fairly minor inconvenience that ensures some accountability, since some other places require nothing. That includes signatures that match registration, dated ballots cast before the end of election day and things like that.

We had to go back to the last time we voted in person on a mid-term general election day, which was November 8th 2005.

Back then, most of us were still working back up in the National Capital Region. In Arlington, Virginia, the polling station was over at Culpepper Garden, the assisted living building that faces the north end of our residence at the Big Pink Condominium. A small group of us poured coffee into travel cups and walked over to do our civic duty a few minutes after official poll opening at zero six hundred on Election Day.

It was still dark, of course. And with the time-change early Sunday morning there was a touch of jet-lag for some of us, one of the reasons we now vote early. An ancient Alfa-Romeo parked in the lot attracted out attention. Someone had left their lights on Monday night coming in, which made us assume it was a poll worker rather than a resident. The low gleam made the car look like an insect. Splash stopped to do the right thing, his hand pausing as he reached for the door handle open it and turn them off.

Buck was still teaching economics then, and he was alert. He called out “Watch it. It might be booby trapped.” That was a little unusual back then, but a decent point considering we had not yet cast our votes.

In the last General Election, the Presidential contest in November of 2003, the polling place had been a madhouse at opening time, the line snaking around the block. The people supervising the process included a couple of the usual volunteers in the Recreation Room: Don from our seventh floor and the old woman who parks next to Loma in the basement of the building as well as a couple young people. Vic had actually volunteered the year he moved in, and he remembered Bill, the white-haired bureaucrat who was the Precinct Captain.

Don checked me off the master list, Casey checked us off one by one on the tally sheet and gave us our cards to present to the young woman who was directing us early-risers to the machines. When we handed over our cards, Ed activated the machines, and there we used the touch-screens to exercise our constitutional rights.

We all knew for whom we were going to press the buttons and voted without issue. Some of us voted party lines and some liked mixing it up, since that is our right. Whichever option was exercised, all of us were pleased. Except the people who did not get majorities, of course.

The House of Delegates was a problem back then, since the 8th District of Virginia had been redistricted by the State Legislature and there was dispute about the candidate, since there was no one running against him. This is a solidly Blue Precinct, and apparently there was no candidate foolish to waste their time on the campaign. Consequently, some of us had decided to vote amphibian. We didn’t look to confirm what happened, but Splash touched the screen in front of him and went to the “write in” menu and hand typed the name of his preferred candidate: “KERMIT THE FROG.”

There were no issues or other referenda to decide. A few of us thought things should continue the way they are, led by the same people. Others did not want our officials to continue to turn blind eyes to the mounting social problems that may blowing the bottom out the bottom of our society. There were no bond issues to retire the national debt, no initiatives to restore cash bonds for people who are accused of committing violent crimes. There was nothing specific about regaining control of our borders. We had hoped for one offering a choice to say: “Wake up, you Idiots!”

There isn’t one this year, either. That may be something like that on the ballot in 2024, even if the question is indirectly asked through the individual running for President.

We left the polling place in a loose gaggle after the brisk five-minute exercise of the franchise. As we walked across the parking lot Splash noted the lights on the Alfa were fading and just about gone. He decided to do the right thing and turn them off. He walked up to the car and lifted the chrome latch on the driver’s-side door.

It was unlocked, which enabled him to go forward. Buck said that would be how an effective trap might work, be Splash went ahead in an effort to do the right thing. That was when he swing the door open to reveal a gutted instrument panel, the internal wiring hanging in wild disarray from behind the steering column. There was a switch in the midst of the cat’s-cradle of tangled wire, but he was reluctant to touch it. It could have been the ignition, or a disguised detonator. That uncertainty made him back away and gently close the door.

We collectively shrugged and resigned ourselves to the idea that someone was going to have a dead battery, and then walked back toward the condo’s back entrance by the pool. Brown leaves were heaped deeply on the gigantic green tarpaulin that covers the remaining water. Someone- you may have an idea who- suggested a celebratory cocktail to mark the occasion, but that was years ago and on Election Day.

This year, we voted in September, and only celebrated the exercise of our franchise for a day or so before transitioning to celebration of something else. We have accommodated all the reasonable changes, but will wait until they complete the count to commemorate the victories, whatever they are.

But that might not be until Thanksgiving. Buck has suggested changing the phrase to “Election Season.” Splash says he would support the change in the interests of accuracy, but recommends not touching the switch hanging in the middle of all those loose wires. He thinks that would actually constitute a “referendum,” which should require discussion, and hence movement of celebration activity to get ready for it. Like today.

One thing is absolutely clear even to us Old Salts. Vote.

Copyright 2022 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com