Miss Sadie, the Cowboy and I went to bed early last night. I had been to the polls, and made a good supper, tucking some Italian sausage into the marinara sauce for the spaghetti. The Duo checked to make sure I was sporting an “I voted” sticker when I got back to the Writing Studio and Bait Shop and turned their attention to the interesting sausage. It was a peaceful evening at home. The telephone was blessedly silent at last.
We thought about listening to the reporting of the election returns and decided that the facts would be the same no matter when we learned them. Naturally I woke up in the middle of the night as I always do. I turned on the radio just as the concession speech got to the part about congratulating President Obama. Well, I thought, that’s all right then.
I was going to go back to bed but I got to thinking about what it means that I feel as I do. I can go to the polls, exchange pleasantries with neighbors who have come to vote for the other guy, cast my ballot, and go home to make spaghetti. In the grand scheme of things, and in the long history of the world, this is something of a miracle. It is good to live in a time of miracles.