Can it really be, this once in a lifetime event, attending
the Democratic National Convention? At the West Virginia State Convention in
June I teased a young woman, Hannah, age 18, from Jefferson County, who was
soliciting my vote for her nomination as delegate to the National, “What? Why should a young whipper-snapper like you
get to go when I have never been?” I, being one whose age is the reverse of
Hannah’s, that is, just reverse the digits.
Of course, I did vote for Hannah and she was a winner. But for myself? It was a few weeks later that my baby
daughter, Valerie, who as Vice President of the Washington State Democratic
Executive Committee, is a super-delegate to the convention, invited me to be her guest. I still can hardly imagine it, but, Hannah, I
hope to see you there.
Now it is just five days before I leave by train from
Martinsburg for Charlotte NC, and after three days there, travel by train with
Valerie to Maryland to visit with family.
A total of seven days. And so
much to do. Like catching up on all the
gardening I haven’t been able to keep caught up on all summer. Weeding the main garden, with its prolific
invasion of jimson weed and that stickery-weed-that-resembles-redroot
pigweed-but-isn’t from a liberal truckload of manure that was spread in the
spring, and harvesting the silver queen corn, the tomatoes, the peppers, digging
the last of the potatoes. And weeding
the back gardens—the kitchen and arbor gardens—with their profusion of
self-sown summer phlox mingled with queen anne’s lace and goldenrod and that
awful grasslike weed-whose-name-I-also- do-not-know-but-may-be-smartweed, which
is superior as a ground-cover to any other weed I know, but at least has the
virtue, if virtue it is, of easily coming out by the handsful. Oh, and did I mention mowing the lawn?
And then there is the barn work, clean out the hen coops and
clean up the barnyard, make sure there is an adequate supply of feed and that
the caretaker (another daughter) knows how to care for them all. As well, replenish supply of dog and cat food
and post their schedules. And don’t
forget the birdfeed. Dispose of trash
and compost and organize recycling.
Not to mention preparing for the trip, checking out the
luggage and planning the wardrobe. And
how come the railroad tickets haven’t come yet?
And how many pieces can I carry on board and how many books can I manage? And don’t forget the camera. And oh yes, personal business, such as a trip to the courthouse to pay property taxes.
And, not least of all, responsibilities for our local
Democrats. I know, I know, of course
they can get along without me, but years ago when a friend cautioned me that,
after all, no one is indispensable, I responded that if we all really believed
that, we would never undertake to do anything.
And now there is the list of pollworkers to be
completed, trying to recruit members for the executive committee and volunteers
for campaign work, setting up headquarters, planning for candidates’ events,
helping to prepare agendas for the meetings I will miss.
And trying, in the midst of all this, to keep up with what
is going on at the Republican National Convention. Did I hear aright? Rick Santorum refers to “the assault on
America and the family?” As in, “assault
on women’s rights, assault on the poor, assault on the middle class, assault on
voters’ rights, assault on entitlements, assault on social safety net?” I dvr all of this, and catch it in bits and
pieces. Don’t know if I can stand to
listen to that wonderboy Paul Ryan, but I guess I must. I prefer to listen, or read, for myself, and
not just take someone else’s word for what was said.
But what really got me up at 3 a.m. is worry about Sukey, my
young cat who scrambled through a torn porch screen yesterday evening, as she
is wont to do (she, after all, having torn the screen herself), and failed to
return at dark.
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