The Box! The Box! The Box!

Yikes! How I would be so jubilant and relieved if the various elections were over. My reference is not for a moment, but better yet: a lost memory. In fact, if CNN had already exhausted any further analysis and actually moved on, happiness would bounce from pine to pine at Camp Marklewood. As it dissipated into political oblivion, Jon and I would be focused on the December holidays.

However, the election is yet one week from today. Specifically, it is the US Senate race that looms over voters and blatantly flirts with further consternation and, perhaps, even a tragedy of sorts. Oh, I must make certain that there is an ample reserve of my prescribed Zoloft, Wellbutrin, and Gabapentin. For the first time since I first registered to vote in 1974, dread and anger seem tightly woven into a laniard of negativity.

How sweet it would be if today were November 5. I could neatly stuff all the election details and post mortems into a tiny and well-sealed box. Then I best place it into a similarly tiny chest and hide it from sight in “nostalgia purgatory” — the attic.

In an average evening, one might watch, let’s say, three television shows. New episodes of “The Walking Dead”, “The Good Wife”, and “Madam Secretary” would be marred and likely scarred from the fifteen or so desperately partisan commercials that air every hour.

The entire Senate race now appears to be based on otherwise resolved and exhausted issues. The Affordable Care Act and the “life v. Choice” debate dominate the airwaves and YouTube. Don’t get me started on the disrespectful use of the label ObamaCare, especially when its delivery is sarcastic and unkind.

It would be terrific if, at age 58, I might still carry hope and kindness in my robe pocket. I teeter on apathy, Gentle Readers. Mind you, I shall still vote with optimism that humanity will prevail and begin to embrace everyone. We owe each child a future, not to forget food and shelter.

But I am sure everyone is aware of my political leanings. They haven’t wavered in forty years. Except for the “tiny box” proposition.

It could very well be the safest route home from this partisan Purgatory, lest I place that laniard around my neck.

Vote. Vote. Vote.

And, yes, these featured watercolors are in fact also tiny.

(Images: “Postcards for Ants” by Lorraine Loots, 2014. Each miniature is 10cm X 10cm.)

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