Disenfranchised

Technically this isn’t a sin, but I feel I ought to confess to someone that I didn’t vote in the election Tuesday. I know I wasn’t the only one absent from the poles, but since at one point in time, I took an interest in politics, I feel guilty. Plus, I should be setting a good example for my children, especially the 13 yr old in the house who reads the Wall Street Journal cover to cover. (I could justify shelling out $100 for that subscription, even though I can’t bring myself to subscribe to AT&T for the free iphones we inherited.)

I didn’t vote because I couldn’t bring myself to commit. Not only did I find it impossible to commit to a candidate because no one matches up with my ideal politician, but I couldn’t decide what state to vote in. I last registered in Virginia. My driver’s license is from Mississippi. My husband’s home of record is Illinois, and now that military wives can maintain the same home of record as their husbands, instead of figuring out the legalities of each new state of residence regarding licenses, fees, taxes and registrations, I think I could have requested an absentee ballot like my husband did from Illinois. But I feel like an interloper voting in state elections. I haven’t lived in Mississippi long enough to know the state’s needs, I don’t have any legal connection to Virginia anymore, and the little I know about the candidates from Illinois isn’t good. At least Gene Taylor, who lost the election down here to Stephen Palazzo, seemed to be an honest to goodness Southern gentleman. He was pro-life despite being a Democrat, and reminded me of the reasons my grandparents were Democrats.


I suppose I’ll pay closer attention to the elections in a couple years and try to establish residency somewhere, so I can do my civic duty, especially since my husband’s livelihood depends on it. In the meantime, I am trying to cultivate a sense of rootedness even though the landlord called last week and asked if we minded if he put a for sale sign in the yard, if we were pretty certain we wouldn’t be staying. We don’t even have orders yet, and a move is at least eight months out. I feel a little sorry for the guy trying to maintain two homes, but I’m not too worried about having to keep the house pristine for potential buyers. On the other hand, I certainly don’t want to find temporary housing if a buyer does surface. Maybe we could move in with the landlord – his current house is enormous. I also don’t want the kids to start announcing that we won’t be here next year, so we don't lose friends. Today the second graders performed their All Saints’ Day presentation (better late than never), and my first grader kept talking about how he wanted to be St. John next year. Maybe he will be able to wear a camel hair tunic, but at a presentation somewhere else.

My attempt at rootedness?  Nurturing the nasturtium that recently sprouted in one of the planters I seeded last spring. I guess it figured now was a better time to bloom than in the swelter of summer.