My town has been trying hard to get people to vote early. It would be a nightmare to handle 5,200 voters in one day, the town manager says. The town office has been open every day of the week for two months for absentee voting. Two weeks ago there was an RV set up for voting in front of the post office, to lure anyone passing by during Saturday errands. “Beat Bangor!” said a homemade sign in front, and though I enjoy the camaraderie and civic spirit of voting on Election Day, I decided I would help beat Bangor.
I didn’t have my glasses, so had to pass up that day’s chance to vote in an RV. But the next day I took my dog for a walk to the old Grange Hall, where the town clerk had set up to serve the back reaches of town. I tied my dog to a fence post, and walked in. Absentee voting takes a lot of paperwork, so I had a chance to admire the meeting place from an earlier era. An upright piano was at the back of a stage guarded by flagpoles with the US and Maine flags. A scuffed wooden floor stretched to the back wall, which had a refrigerator, sink, and counter for community suppers. I reminisced on youth karate lessons I had waited though on the folding chairs.
Absentee voting really does take a lot of paperwork. I turned to musing about the two people waiting in front of me. They were middle aged, middle class folk, one white and one black. I got to imagining that the white woman was probably surprised to find a black man behind her in line. Maybe she was ruing the changes coming to my Republican town in the whitest state in the nation, a state where there are still many people who never travel more than 100 miles away from home. She gave her particulars to the clerk: “Jane Myers, 78 Longwoods Road.” After much keyboard clicking and paper shuffling, the clerk gave her a ballot. Then the black man stepped up: “Henry Myers.” “Same address?” “Yes.”
I scolded myself all the way home. My dog forgave me, as always.
Baked Potatoes 