I’m energized and ready to hit the campaign pavement. Meanwhile, I’m getting reacquainted with my dear darling husband, the dear one who had to work in Milwaukee on election night. He operated his company’s satellite truck so his station could cover Tom Barrett’s (as it turned out) victory party. So… we did what we do: we watched Jeopardy together.

Last week, as the teen tournament chose its finalists, there was a final jeopardy Q & A (or A & Q, if you want to get technical about it) asking the contestants to come up with a word that represented the killing of life, even while the term itself described a substance that could save a life. Antibiotic was the answer, er, question, of course. Two out of three teens answered antidote. Nice try, but close only counts in horseshoes, right? So there I was, remembering all the years that I’d taught sixth grade science, pointing at the television and stating loudly, “If you’d been in my science classes, you would have known that bio- means life!” Chuck just ignored me. Smart guy.

The winner in tonight’s teen tournament was a young lady who was very intelligent, quick on the buzzer, and an all-around strong contestant. She had a mannerism that bugged me, though. When she answered, in the form of a question as always, her body language and facial expression said, “Well, could it possibly be – nah.” This cutesie look could also be interpreted to say, “Oh, I’m sorry I’m right. I’m really sorry I’m so capable. Girls aren’t supposed to be smart.”

I thought we left these attitudes behind a long, long time ago. This inferior female apologetic act bit the dust about the time we earned the right to earn the same as a man doing the same job.

Oh, wait a minute. Soon To Be Former Governor Walker just reversed that equivalent salary gig. 

Never mind. You go ahead and be cute, girl. Just make sure you get informed and vote as soon as you’re able. Then your future employers can reward you for your intellectual assets, not just your lovely ones.

Elections get me wired up. It’s not the adrenaline rush of a candidate running for office. It’s not the excitement of a journalist covering the story. It’s a little simpler than that, but at the same time, it’s more complex.

My profession is heavily affected by public policy. I am a public school teacher in Wisconsin, and public perception of my job can sway those who determine my salary, my benefits, my working conditions, and in general, my job itself.

Elections get me wired because the results matter. An election is never abstract for me. The people in office make decisions that govern (no pun intended) my everyday work. Be it state or federal, every single budget that passes contains elements that drive educational policies.

The polls are open from 7:00 A.M. to 8:00 P.M. I like to vote early and get that task off my shoulders. Then I only have to worry about all the other voters. Will the turnout be strong? Will voters really understand the issues at hand? Will the election results be – well, will my candidates win?

I shouldn’t have been wired on the day of this primary election, but I was. On May 8th I was very tense, and I wasn’t alone in my sentiments. The air around the office (school, virtual style) was thick with moods and nerves and even an occasional strong discussion, er, argument. I kept busy with phone calls and grading. I made more calls than scheduled, held an impromptu lesson online with a struggling math student, cleaned my computer keyboard, drank too much coffee, suggested a photo essay on the variety of coffee mugs in the office, surreptitiously checked my coworkers for their “I Voted” stickers, and then finally reached the end of the day and went home.

At home, I checked the messages (only one, a reminder to vote), hugged the bunny, brought in the mail, threw out the junk mail, and then settled down. Sort of. Since the predicted rainstorm hadn’t moved in yet, I transplanted Chuck’s cilantro from its cute but tiny cappuccino mug into a larger pot and added more seeds. Next, I transplanted the thyme into a pot more suitable for its size. You’ve heard of moving heaven and earth? I just settled for moving thyme.

I watched the news, updated blogs, checked Twitter and Plurk, and shared yesterday’s post (did I call the gov a skunk? Nah) via Facebook. I watched Jeopardy. Nibbled on Chuck’s homemade guacamole. Took out the compost bucket, covered the pail of potting soil, brought in an armload of firewood – you get the picture. I couldn’t, couldn’t, could not stay still. I baked cookies! It was a huge batch of dough (not unlike the size of Walker’s campaign war chest), so it took a while to bake all of it.

Finally, I settled in to watch the election results. The rest of the nation is watching Wisconsin right now. What will they see?

You’ve seen this one already. It’s a symbol of the slipshod lawmaking without care for detail or quality. I searched for something else with which to illustrate the upcoming election and the frightening actions in our capitol.

The next sign reminds me of the early days of the protests. I haven’t seen the term FitzWalkerStan or its Twitter hashtag recently. The situation has become so disturbing that even this kind of cynical humor is no longer present.

no caption required

 I downloaded this from a recall site. It’s significant in its strength.

Then I found this, a seemingly unrelated photo in my archives.

'nuff said

It works.

It’s literal and it’s figurative. There’s a storm brewing in my state.

Skies are clouding over and the temperature is dropping. The radar shows lots of green (rain) with patches of yellow and red representing the stronger storms within. The forecast predicts thunderstorms overnight and through tomorrow.

That’s the literal storm.

On the figurative side we have a storm of ideology, a flood of hard feelings, and the thundering sound of voters wanting their voices heard. There’s a yard sign here and a bumper sticker there, with patches of letters to the editor representing the strong emotions within. This forecast predicts a large turnout for a special election – 30% to 35% expected – and close races in every primary.

I prepared for the literal storm with a fire in the fireplace and my tiny seedlings under cover in the mini-greenhouse. We’ll unplug the computers if necessary to prevent trouble in the event of power surges. After the storm passes, we’ll plug everything back in, reboot the electronics and reset the clocks.

Preparation for the election storm isn’t quite so easy. We can unplug the landline the day before the election to avoid the thundering sound of the Get Out the Vote phone calls. I’ll be  on edge all day Tuesday, awaiting results that carry more meaning than any primary election should.

After this storm passes, the winds of change will pick up. The perfect storm of anger, disillusionment, and disbelief fighting with self-righteousness and misinformation threatens to blow up into a cyclone of another kind. The resulting funnel cloud will touch down on the second Tuesday in June, and its aftermath will be —

I don’t really want to think about the results of the June election. If the vote tallies are higher on the wrong side, we’re in for a dark and stormy period in WIsconsin history. This kind of storm is hard to predict, and even harder on those of us in its path.

Imagine the scene:Mother and two young sons walking around the block: mother walking, sons on bicycle and tricycle. Young man walking dog on opposite side of street, going opposite direction.

Boy on tricycle: Mom! It’s the pizza guy! Look, it’s the pizza guy!

This reminds me of the time I’d had surgery on my left foot and was unable to cook. La Petite and Amigo did some of it, but they were only 13 and 8 at the time. We ordered pizza – quite a bit of pizza. When the delivery came from Pizza Hut and the woman holding the pizza box said, “Ooh, you’re off your crutches!” I knew we’d ordered too often.

Signs of these times are not pizza boxes, but the campaign signs sitting in people’s yards. Amigo’s bedroom window sports a “Reclaim Wisconsin: Recall Walker” sign. Across the street a neighbor’s yard sports two additional signs supporting the recall election. There’s always another side, however.

actual campaign sign: no editing needed

I only wish the other side could spell.