November 8: Teeth or Belly, Muskrat, Night of the Election

His jaw was underslung, his black eyes close set and glistening, his small ears pointed and furred.  I will have to try and see if he can cock them.  I could see the water-slicked long hairs of his coat, which gathered in rich brown strands that emphasized the smooth contours of his body, and which parted to reveal the paler, softer hair like rabbit fur underneath.  Despite his closeness, I never saw his teeth or belly.

No, Annie Dillard is not describing the current Republican nominee for President of the United States in the above passage.  She is describing a muskrat, although I can understand the confusion.  (My apologies to muskrats everywhere.)

I have just returned from casting my ballot for Hillary Clinton.  My polling place is an elementary school gymnasium.  The parking lot was overflowing, and I had to wait in line for close to 25 minutes in order to vote.  Every person present was as serious as a stroke.  There were senior citizens, eighteen-year-olds, construction workers, teachers, business people, and me. All there to make a choice.  Either Xenophobia and homophobia and Islamophobia and every other phobia you can name.  Or rationality and reason and understanding and kindness.

I have to teach this evening.  Composition.  My students are all very young.  I'm certain, for most of them, this will be the first presidential election in which they can vote.  I'm thinking of taking a class poll.  The results would be unscientific and inconclusive, but I am interested in which way these millennials are leaning.  My guess is that most them probably didn't even cast a ballot.  Myself?  I haven't missed voting in a presidential election since I came of age.

So, good disciples, on this night of the election, Saint Marty gives thanks for the freedom to vote and the freedom to speak my mind.

My apologies to trolls everywhere , too