It's down to the wire. Robo calls are flooding the phones. Texts are clogging the cells. Hit pieces jumping out of mailboxes. Letters getting down and dirty and nitty and gritty. It's the last weekend of the campaign.
Nerve are frayed. Candidates' fingernails are torn. Managers are pulling out their hair. Volunteers pounding harder on doors, saying "Open up; we know you're in there." They think they are the Election Police.
This year is the worst I've seen in a while. Nationally and locally, tempers flare, and hopes rise and fall with the tide of public opinion and punditry.
Of course, we all know why. There's an orange scourge in the White House, TV's pulse with blood red news and snap with changing memes of the day.
Now its guns for rocks,
Now of course the election has come and gone, but isn't over as we watch a slow blue wave roll across the land. Happy for that; anxious waiting for my own races to be called here in California, the down ballot ones I worked on this cycle. A couple are clear winners, a couple probably winners, a couple nail bitingly close.
Waiting waiting.
Eating chocolate, drinking wine. Plus keep out of the smoke of the fires raging not that far away, and this is the middle of November. It's supposed to be raining. Can you say Climate Change?
Off to Cal. Dem. party Exec. Bd. meeting in Long Beach tomorrow.
More later.
Stay safe.
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