Yes.

I did not vote yesterday. True to my word, and only after debriefing my husband on his electoral experience, I exercised my right to recuse myself from the process in the event that “BITE ME” was not a ballot option. It is unfortunate that election day had to fall on the absolute nadir of my concern as an enfranchised citizen of this country. Yesterday found me not just dispirited but absolutely hostile. The back and forth hissing of negative campaigning had all the maturity of Karen and me on a long distance car trip circa 1965. (“She did.” “She did not.” “She is.” “No, I’m not.”) Too bad these televised exchanges of venom had no cosmic Mom or Dad to yell, “Break it up.” All we could do was hold on till today.

In the year 2006, with the human intellect supposedly at the peak of development and technology at humanity’s service, what we had to observe was the candidates for public offices looking about as classy as Saddam Hussein on trial. Pathetic. And what it all boiled down to was my thinking, “I’d take the trouble to get to our polling place if there was a spot on the ballot marked BITE ME…I LOATHE YOU ALL.”

Rick’s family has a tradition of voting against all incumbents. Just on principal. This never struck me as particularly wise, but not as totally senseless either. Until yesterday, when he said he had voted against any incumbent judges or whatever. That let loose a torrent of bad feelings on my part, since my incumbent sister lost in her primary bid this year and is now looking for a new profession (in all honesty, she was fed up with the law and had already started studying medical transcription…) and a more affordable house. But anyway, the comment was enough to start me ranting about my sister having to downsize and start over, and even her poor little Fred, the miniature wiener dog, will have to go through some disturbing life changes. Not to mention the children.

The first Tuesday in November just happened to be a confluence of bad feelings. Despite my political (in)activity, I am determined to not let my feelings rule my actions. That should make life interesting, since we are heading into, as the song should say, “The Most Affective Time of the Year.” Warm and fuzzy. We all want to be warm and fuzzy. The phones should start ringing soon with parishioners looking for their fix of warm and fuzzy.

Do I know of a soup kitchen where they and their children can help on Thanksgiving Day? You know, so they can learn about love and sharing? Well, no, I don’t off hand.
But I know of a disabled woman, just released from a long term nursing facility, with no resources and no way to get to a food pantry. And she’s too young for Meals on Wheels.
And she doesn’t fall within the parameters of other social service agencies. And the local Catholic social ‘outreach’ people thought she was a little bit too terse – maybe even hostile – to be a recipient of their “luv.” (Which I would be, too, if I had nothing, and no way to get around and was a diabetic with no food and didn’t want to wind up back in the hospital.)

So where were all the warm fuzzies? Does anyone call asking to be put on a list to called upon with an irregular request at an inconvenient time? Not too often. Not since I started working here.

The bureaucracy of love and concern is often as mind numbing as that of government. If someone fell down on the sidewalk and asked for a hand to get up, would I say, “Wait there. I’ll go look for which committee is in charge of that. Or I’ll find some phone numbers that may be of assistance to you?” That is absurd. Unless the person who falls is so heavy you can’t help them. Or so injured that you need the EMTs. Otherwise, just do it.

I found someone who would go to the Jewel and pick up some staples and drive up to Waukegan to drop the food off. Not that she wanted to. It certainly didn’t give her a warm fuzzy feeling to buy food for a stranger. Shopping for a stranger on a day when she would have been hard pressed to work up enthusiasm for doing marketing for her own family. Seeing that the recipient was gracious and grateful didn’t give her a warm fuzzy feeling. That feeling crept up on her much later. But that’s not what mattered. It’s not all about the warm fuzzy, is it?