Elections

One of the greatest things about living in the U.S. is our ability to vote without intimidation or threats. Unfortunately, we cannot vote without lies, slurs, mudslinging, and character assassination. That's become axiomatic. It's what politics has become.

I watched the election results until way too late. Depending on what side you are on, it was either a landslide or a shellacking. Either way, a seismic shift changed the balance of power. Good people won. Good people lost. People you agree with will be our leaders. People we don't agree with as a populace probably are looking for a job.

Term limits would have helped, but we can't expect our leaders to vote on a bill that would put them out of a job. Not going to happen. Even if that is what Jefferson believed. So, we the people have to do our job every two years and vote for the people we want to lead us.

I hope the new guard listens carefully. Some of the old guard did. My Congressman did. He was out in the district nearly every weekend, listening, asking questions. When he voted on major legislation, he knew my position. He didn't have to talk about me as a generic "the people want me to vote for/against" a piece of legislation. He knew, because I told him. He listened.

I wonder if the new guard realizes that it too is on thin ice. If it doesn't listen, if it doesn't connect with me as an individual, not as a "people" he's never met, then he too may be out of a job in two years. My warning to all of the winners: Be careful what you ask for. You may get it.

And one more thought about connecting with the voting public. What's with this teleprompter? Obama, are you listening? Lose the teleprompter. There is no better way to connect with me, the "people," than to look straight into the camera, straight into my eyes. Then and only then will I know you are talking to me, not to a generalized blog.

Get the message, all, and get to work. This infighting has to stop. No more family feuds. No more fingerpointing. We need you to run the country, not play the blame game. Stop whining and GET TO WORK. You owe it to us. We sent you to Washington. We can send you home.

Jury Duty

I've been called to jury duty before. And I've been called to grand jury duty before. Yesterday was the first time I actually sat on a grand jury.

A bit of background. I was called for grand jury while still living in LA a loooong time ago. At that time, the county grand jury sat every Friday for 18 months. Yes, you read that right. I was in process of moving to NY at the time and would be leaving in two months. So, naturally, I was excluded from service. Glad I was. The jury heard the prosecutor's case and reviewed evidence from the Hillside Strangler case. I have a strong stomach, but that might have been overboard, even for me.

Next, in Northern VA, I was called for jury duty. Just plain ol' jury duty. We had a call-in number to use the night before we were asked to appear. I called, only to find that the perp had pled out. Great. Service satisfied.

I was intrigued by county grand jury in VA. Wondered what it would be like. Part of the nearly 50 cases we reviewed were ridiculous. Petty theft (case of beer, a can of Coke and $20 from a vending machine), lots of Walmart thefts. And then there were the dog fighting cases. Not an actual fight, but arrests of people selling pit bulls trained to fight. (I now know what a good fighting pit bull goes for. Must work that into a novel someday.)

And then there were the slimy cases. Child pornography. Murder. Elder abuse. Child abuse. Having sex with a minor. For the life of me, I have no idea what drives people to commit some of these crimes. Still, I got plenty of "material" for future novels. None of it will take place in VA, so I'm safe. Besides, by the time I get around to writing about some of this stuff, the cases will be closed and I'll be able to use the newspaper accounts for research.

You'll have to excuse me. I need a hot shower to wash away alime.

Slaughter at Smith Mountain Lake

We came home one afternoon to carnage on our lower deck. Bodies all over the place. Such mayhem. Such a battle. And one calico-with-an-attitude meowing us out about not being able to help with the slaughter.

Last time she ate anything with serrated legs, she puked blood all over the kitchen. We spent four hours at the emergency hospital. X-rays, kitty Tagamet, one awful enema and $175 later and she was empty of bad legs. And she wanted outside to indulge again. NOT.

Rural vs. Wilderness

When my husband Terry and I were in Alaska this summer, we were struck by the difference between rural and wilderness. Terry grew up in York County, PA, which is a combination of rural farms, small towns and mid-sized cities. I grew up in Southern California. During the winter, I lived in the Los Angeles area, which is about as far away in spirit as you can get from either rural or wilderness. But, in the summer I spent all my free-range time on the Mohave Desert, which I think of as wilderness. We had vast swaths of miles and miles of seemingly nothing.

I hiked in the Rockies and Sierras, love the Great Smokies and Applachians. But the Chugash Range surrounding Anchorage was a mind blower. So were the mountains that form the Turnagain Strait boundaries.

I must set a Mad Max book in Alaska.