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.

It was a dark, dark night in the state capitol. In the dark of the night, a killer did his deadly deed. This was not a crime for attention or a plea for help. A pen scratched across the paper, quickly, in the hopes that no one would hear. Then, there was silence. Silence, until the scene became public.

Once upon a time, about two weeks ago, on a very busy Tuesday, a friend and former colleague ran for local office: County Board Supervisor for her district. After the April 3rd election, she had lost by 19 votes. Careful examination of the absentee ballots found two more votes in her favor.