~:: And Where Did They Bury the Caucus? ::~

Didn’t look like too much here.  But on the roads it was deadly.

And you have to realize that we’d had NO snow in the valley all winter.  Rachel told me that the day we left, the snow was up to her boot tops when she went out to feed the horses.  Two days later we came home and there wasn’t a trace of the stuff left.

Now, I challenge you to understand what you’re seeing here.  That deer-in-an-oval is hanging straight down before your eyes.  But there’s some optical illusion going on with it, and I’ll play with that when I get back from this stupid drive to Santa Fe we’re doing Monday – through the only other snowstorm we’ve had.

And now, the actual blog:

Have I mentioned the fact that I hate sitting still? No. Let me amend that: if I’m the one talking, or if I’m watching something that involves words and that fascinates me (like a movie or, far more rarely, an incredibly good class), I can sit. Otherwise, like when I’m compelled by duty (to faith or family or something as binding, like traffic school), I can hold myself in place by white-knuckling the edges of my chair.  Or by playing Sudoku.  I can listen and play Sudoku at the same time.  Mostly.

It’s obedience and faith that can hold me through the LDS series of Sunday worship meetings, all three hours’ worth.  (Worship meeting, Sunday school, women’s auxiliary).  But since I feel neither obedience nor faith to or in any government, political meetings usually don’t even see me darken the door. Unless I’ve got an axe to grind.

Many years ago (four?), I went to my first caucus meeting. I have no idea what possessed me—probably the word “caucus” which is so puzzling, so reminiscent of something a locust casts off, or some sea floor scuttling thing. I dragged Murphy with me, ostensibly for his education.  Actually, so I’d have a sympathetic ear for my sotto kibitzing.

Pictures of this year’s caucus. I have helpfully put black dots over the heads of people who are friends. There are no dots over the heads of people I don’t know.  If you see a heart in any of these, I’m married to that guy. (snicker) Here is the sad thing: I had color balanced all of these, saving them apart from the originals. Unfortunately, I put the dots on the un-corrected shots. So.  Sorry.

It was awful.  An awful experience. Once of the most deadly boring things I’d ever done in MY ENTIRE LIFE. Finding the room was kind of a mess.  They’d scheduled it in one of the most ancient schools in the city (a junior high, since completely razed and rebuilt as a grammar school), a rabbit warren of hallways.  And when we finally found the place (“Is this the republican room?  Or the other kind?), there were maybe twelve to fourteen people in it.  Which meant no anonymity in sneaking out again.  The chairman was a neighbor, a very nice man; serious, responsible.  But no ringmaster. He started the meeting late (hoping someone else would show up, I expect) and then proceeded to read, word by ponderous word, the entire Republican Platform.

 (Let me say here that many LDS people are republicans. But there are also LDS democrats – I know because I love some, personally. Frankly, I have no idea how they can be LDS and vote the way they do.  And they have no idea how I can be LDS and vote the way I do. Which makes for a very nice balance that keeps us from getting just a little too self-satisfied and formulaic.)

 I was having flashbacks, sitting there in those junior high-sized desks.  Trapped by government obligation. The big, stark clock on the wall with hands that moved with awful torpidity. We gave it an hour (no bell rang) and finally elected our friend, Steve, as a delegate. Then, with no subtlety whatsoever, I grabbed Murphy and we made our escape. And never went to any such meeting ever again.

Till this year. This year, somehow, the caucus become the Party-to-Go-to. People had signs on their lawns.  Computers called us (over and over and over) in case we might have forgotten about it.  Poster-sized card-stock notices were crammed into our mailbox.  And Dawn wrote about hers.  So okay.  We decided to give it one more go.

And wow, was this a different experience. We had a hard time finding the door (in a different, newer, but still warren-like series of hallways) because of the mass of people crowding the place.  Like trying to get on Peter Pan at Disneyland.  Our precinct (I felt SO New York, being in a precinct) met in the school library, and we crammed the place.  One hundred and thirty seven people showed up in that room alone. Dozens of neighbors we know well.  Dozens more we know marginally.  The chairman was succinct, funny and VERY good at working a room.

When they were passing out paper ballots, I jumped up to help and earned the position of Vote Counter for the rest of the evening.  So I didn’t have to sit still hardly at all.  It was great and very American: we all spoke out of turn, were free with our jibes and catcalls, laughed ourselves silly.  We got to ask probing questions about our nominees’ political views, a revealing experience when the noms are neighbors you’ve known for years and worked with at church.  (REALLY?  You feel like THAT?) And Some people had brought their teenaged kids (most of whom were personal friends of mine – the kids I mean). And I ran around the room all night, handing out ballots, collecting and counting and votes, and yelling sly things from the back.

It was actually great fun.  I was even nominated as a county delegate.  But I declined; I am much more happy and effective as classroom monitor, thank you very much.

So, I don’t know.  I think making your voice heard is way fun when you’re in a room full of people you like and trust.  It all felt – very American.  That’s my brand, you know.  American.  Mouthy, pushy, opinionated, outraged but quick to pitch in where it’s needed.  Brands: LDS,  Mom, Teacher, Horsewoman, Genealogist, Friend., G’s other half, American.

I may not appraise for much, but you know – I’m think I’m really fine with that.