A favorite memory from teaching 6th grade – more than ten years later, I still remember this class and this day.

The entire school was bouncing. I expected the building itself to go boing, boing, boing any time, with the amount of pre-holiday energy inside it. One of our specialists commented, “Ms. M. has the ‘too-cool-for-school’ class this year, and you have the energetic one.” She was right. My class, full of really nice kids from wonderful parents, has turned into the elementary equivalent of Animal Planet. Since tranquilizer darts are frowned upon in public schools (I’m KIDDING, I’m kidding!), I had to resort to creative drama to bring them to attention.
My class, as a whole, had been quiet exactly twice the previous day.
The questions of the day revolved around Christmas and Santa. All. Day. Long. “Is Santa real?” “How many reindeer does Santa have?” “Is Santa Claus real?” “How did all this Santa stuff start, anyway?” “Is Santa real?”
They were 6th graders, ages eleven and twelve. They were old enough to know the truth, but did they? I couldn’t take a chance on destroying someone’s innocence and having their parents hit the roof. So I gave them my stock answer: it depends on who you ask. Well, that didn’t last long.
During my graduate program, I took a class in storytelling from a professional storyteller. I relied on those skills to get the students’ attention. When they asked me how many reindeer there were, I stopped, put on my hmmm, there’s a story in here somewhere pose, and waited for quiet. Amazingly, quiet descended almost immediately.
“How many reindeer? Well, it depends on who you ask. If you ask Clement C. Moore, he’d have said Comet, Cupid, Donner, Blitzen, Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, and Vixen.” They were almost nodding along with me. Some were counting on their fingers. “Now of course you recall the most famous reindeer of all.”
“Rudolph!” they chimed in.
“And Rudolph makes nine. But there’s a tenth reindeer, too. Do you know her name?”
One highly gifted child knew. “Olive!!!”
Yes, Olive the other reindeer… you know, the one who “…used to laugh and call him names.”
And that was just math class.
The “Is Santa real?” question wouldn’t die. They finally cornered me during Classroom Guidance on my “It depends on who you ask” with the statement “We’re asking you.“
Thank goodness for the Internet.
I found a copy of Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus, told them the story, and read them the editorial. For those few moments, they were spellbound.

That year my class left me exhausted and happy every single day. They wore me out with their energy, and they energized me with their enthusiasm. And every year around this time, I remember the way they listened and absorbed my answer to their question. Yes, young ones, there is a Santa Claus. He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist. The most real things in the world are those that neither children nor men can see.

Wishing you a wonderful holiday with family and friends and your own generous spirit of Santa.

Yeah. As if I didn’t already know it, this text message exchange confirmed it. I am not one of the cool kids. 

Amigo: Stan Lee, founder of Marvel Comics, has died. 

La Petite: He was as legendary as his superheroes.

Me: Sad. I guess he wasn’t Superman.

La Petite: Mom, that’s DC Comics, silly. 

Hillary Clinton wasn’t on the ballot this election, but her influence was. Across the country, in large states and small, women followed. She wasn’t on the stage breaking a glass ceiling this time, but the cracks she’d already made allowed those who followed her to shatter what remained. 

Look at the firsts in Congress. The first Muslim women. The youngest woman. The first Native American women. First black woman from Massachusetts. First women from Iowa.

My excitement at these firsts is tempered more than a bit by the inner voice saying, Geez. What took so long? What took the voters of the United States so long to start electing a Congress that looks more like the electorate? 

Without dwelling too much on the past, let’s look toward the future. A future, I can hope, in which candidates for any office will be judged by their qualifications, their positions on major issues, their training and education, and not their gender, race, or any other artificially limiting category. 

And with every step we take to integrate our government, we’ll feel it. Hillary’s legacy. She won’t be on the ballot, but the challenges she faced and the trails she blazed will always be there, making the way for the women that follow.  

I had a tough time sleeping last night. I kept flashing back to election night 2016. I remembered exactly where I was (in the back room at church while Amigo rehearsed with the barbershop chorus) and how I learned of results (on my laptop computer, hooked up to the church wifi), and how I kept thinking no, no, no, no, no. It wasn’t just that my idol, Hillary Clinton, had been defeated. More than that, it was the feeling that millions of Americans had been misled. Fooled. Taken advantage in the worst possible way. 

So I tossed and turned. I gave in and picked up the Kindle and read for a while. Chuck’s ThreadWords game was on level 9, so I didn’t bother playing. Of course, my mind wandered, and I couldn’t concentrate on the book. 

Flash back to election night 2008: I stayed up late watching the results, texting La Petite, who was working for her college newspaper. She had voted early – her first presidential election! – because she knew she’d be busy with her journalistic responsibilities. I was watching television news at home while she was watching in her newspaper office with her journalism student peers. Back and forth, getting more and more excited as he took state after state, we kept texting, texting, and tearing up at the thought that we were watching history. Even John McCain’s concession speech was moving. Classy, that Senator McCain. Very classy.

Fast forward to 2012. I was an even more active volunteer that year. I could walk into the local party office, walk past the life sized cardboard cutouts of Obama and Biden, and be greeted by name. I voted early that year. And then, November 1, just days before the election, I had a stroke. Gliding into the MRI machine, I kept thinking “Thank goodness I voted early.” Election night 2012 found me just like 2008, texting La Petite as I pondered stroke recovery. Chuck, typical television engineer, was out somewhere covering the results.

I slept better with 2008 and 2012 in mind – even with the stroke memories. 2016 was different, and I didn’t go back there. I went to sleep instead. 

And this morning, Election Day 2018, the Major Midterms, I lined up at the polls next to Lee Snodgrass, a candidate for state senate. Take that, Mr. President. The grass roots campaign machine is moving again. 

Oh, my goodness, I hope I’m right. 

November. Thanksgiving happens in November, but there’s so much more, too. We’re hosting Thanksgiving with our new kitchen, so I might have to call on the Fairies to help, but first – well, we have a few more things to accomplish first. 

Amigo and his barbershop chorus have an important gig on Veteran’s Day. At 11:00 on the 11th day of the 11th month, he’ll be at the county courthouse with the rest of the chorus warming up to sing the National Anthem and more. Some years they sing God Bless America; sometimes they sing the Armed Forces medley. All years, we listen as all the churches surrounding the downtown area ring their bells at 11:00. It’s a powerful moment that tugs on my heartstrings every time. 

But first! Amigo and I will go to the Sweet Adelines’ Salute to Veterans on Saturday the 10th. The Sweet Adelines are the women in barbershop harmony. Last February, at their Sweetie Pie social, Amigo held the winning ticket for their Pie of the Month for a year. We’ll meet up with this month’s pie baker on Saturday, and she’ll deliver the pie for November. I anticipate a fresh homemade pie, a good concert, and an all-around pleasant afternoon.

To add to the busy schedule, Chuck will miss both concerts. He’ll be at a train club event. Ah, well, Amigo and I will save a little pie – if he’s lucky. 

Chuck is feeling lucky in one way. When he worked for the television station, he always, always had to help put the local holiday parade on the air the Tuesday before Thanksgiving. He’ll be working that night, but it’ll be a regular shift building fire trucks. Nothing to worry about here, folks, nothing to worry about. 

With all of that in mind, I think I’d better plan the menu and order the turkey. Organic and fresh, the best kind, from our local neighborhood meat market. Yum.

It’s a familiar rant. “Would it kill the budget to add captioning to the commercials?” Super Bowl commercials, at least, have no excuse. With the millions they pay for production and air time, the expense to caption the commercials would be a drop in the bucket. A small drop, at that. 

Here we are, four television days before election day, and it’s almost impossible to watch a newscast without an overabundance of bureaucrats and lawmaker wannabes talking at us, the viewers and voters. How many are captioned? My unofficial estimate: about half. 

So why bother? Why take the time and spend the money to add closed captioning to an admittedly short run for a commercial? Here’s why. 

1. The baby boomer generation is aging into hearing aids, and they vote. The baby boomers, not the hearing aids, that is. If a candidate wants his/her platform known to this valuable demographic, captioning is a great way to do it.
2. When a commercial (or program) is captioned, the mute button only mutes the sound. The video still has a chance, a remote possibility if you will, of penetrating the consciousness of someone looking in the direction of the television screen. 
3. If a non-captioned commercial follows one with active captions, sometimes the last caption remains on the screen. Imagine this: incumbent Scott Walker babbling at the camera as the top of the screen announces: Tony Evers is committed to you, for a change.

And that, my friends and family, is irony enough for me.  Go Tony!

Just once, I’d like to hear a story about the president and not react with “Idiot” or “Figures.” 

Just once, I’d like to hear a doctor make my health care decisions without saying, “We’ll have to wait for the insurance company’s approval.” 

Just once, I’d like to watch the news without having to mute the pre-election commercials. 

Just once, I’d like to see a political commercial that doesn’t make me cringe or think, “This is misleading, to say the least.” 

Just once, I’d like to take a walk without foot pain. Hey, I had to put in something realistic. I’m in the middle of laser treatments; I should start feeling relief soon. 

Just once, I’d like to answer the phone without screening out all the political calls and the unavailable ID calls and the unfamiliar numbers and… you get the picture.

Just once, I’d like to stop worrying. Okay? Just stop worrying. 

I was feeling kind of down about the whole Stupid Boot thing. I saw a picture from the downtown farmers’ market on Facebook, and I was really bummed. It doesn’t feel right to stay home on Saturday mornings when I could be marketing. So…Chuck arranged to go grocery shopping at the store that has a small market in its parking lot on Sundays, and I was much, much happier. He’s a sweetheart, that man of mine. 

I stopped at the Democrats’ office to pick up a Tony Evers for Governor sign, and the greeter at the door didn’t greet me. She apologized almost immediately; she said I looked like I belonged there. Trying not to read too much into this; it’s the first election cycle in a long time when I haven’t been actively involved.

I used up the last of the zucchini from the picture (above) with a batch of zucchini chocolate chip cookies inspired by Barbara Kingsolver’s Animal, Vegetable, Miracle. I’ll use the rest in tomorrow’s beef stew. 

We emptied the basket in my closet that we call the Goodwill basket. We toss things in to donate, and when the basket overflows, we take inventory and take it in. We had some excess kitchen supplies, too. Purging feels good. 

So here we are, in mid-October. I’m very limited in my walking ability, but I’m coming to terms with it, sort of (see above). Readers, what is October bringing to your life?