This week’s election actually went smoothly for me.
Although early voting was an option, I decided to follow old routines and show up on November 3. We’ve had rain or drizzle almost all week, but not a drop fell on me when I went out Tuesday morning.
I can’t say I was, or am, cheerful about voting. But at least I didn’t get wet.
A much more immediate exercise in frustration has been this household’s efforts to make several organizations keep on receiving our money. I am not making that up.
First, though, I’ll talk about my father, this season, and a good idea.
Boots, Birdsongs, and Dad
One of my father’s varied, diverse, eclectic, and scattershot interests was birds.
To the end of his days he could see them. But somewhere along the line, he lost the ability to hear them. That didn’t keep him from having a record of birdsongs: the old analog sort, a 33⅓ RPM long play record, a very flat disc of plastic about a foot across.
Dad also had a sense of humor.
One time, after we moved to 1010, he and old Boots, our cat, were in the basement. Dad put the birdsong on his turntable and lowered the tonearm. Boots came: not running, but briskly, ears perked and looking around for the bird.
Then Dad lifted the tonearm. The birdsong ended, of course, but Boots kept looking for the sound’s source. Dad lowered the tonearm again, lifting it after several seconds, and repeating the cycle.
After a few repetitions, Boots noticed the correlation between my father’s actions and the intermittent birdsong.
Dad, telling me about the exercise, said that Boots exhibited a feline ‘ah, I understand’ expression, and allowed his attention — and presence — to drift.
Autumn
Leaves started changing color a few weeks back and have, for the most part, fallen. Except for evergreens, of course.
Which reminds me, I should start spending a half-hour or so around midday at the table with a full-spectrum light on it.
SAD, Seasonal Affective Disorder, isn’t on my laundry list of disorders, but I’ve found that getting lit up during the dark months helps me feel less dismal.
That’s not quite the right expression, but you get the idea.
There’s more to managing my mind than bright lights — and several prescribed medications, which have emphatically helped. For example, I keep trying to follow my father’s example: paying attention to what’s around me, and remembering to rejoice.
Autumn Yard Work (II)
Life passing
Leaves falling
Birds flying
Clouds floating
I’m watching
Rejoicing
(Bernard I. Gill)
It’s not exactly a new idea:
“Rejoice in the Lord always. I shall say it again: rejoice!”
(Philippians 4:5)
And it’s not limited to specifically Christian works:
“…Oh, what a beautiful Mornin’
Oh, what a beautiful day.
I’ve got a beautiful feelin’
Everything’s goin’ my way….”
(“Oh, What a Beautiful Morning” , from “Oklahoma!” (1943) via allmusicals.com)
Routing Number SNAFU
Some experiences do not lend themselves to feelings of delight and celebration. Except maybe when they’re finally over and done with.
Something of that sort is happening now.
The local bank we use has changed hands, been renamed, merged with another bank — as with so many things, it’s complicated.
Among other things, the local bank now has a new name: and for some reason cannot continue recognizing the routing numbers we have been using.
Nobody in this household is exactly “healthy”, so we have long since used automatic payment options for routine transactions.
We may still be able to use automatic payment options. Provided that we can convince an assortment of big, important organizations to let us change our routing number to one our bank will recognize.
That sounds like a simple, straightforward process.
Which it probably is. For anyone who knows the internal workings of insurance companies, government bureaucracies, and other organizations. And either has up-to-date telecommunications accounts and tech, or lives near the requisite offices.
I suspect, and hope, that whoever set up this mess intended to ‘protect’ folks like us from identity theft and other criminal actions. But I wish that whoever’s making decisions realized that some of us are — well, like us.
Simple — Maybe — For Someone — Somewhere
We live in a town that’s about halfway between the Minnesota state capital and Fargo, North Dakota.
Our internet connection is pretty good.
Two of us, adult children who have remained in the household, have cell phones; but neither my wife nor I do.
That puts us in an awkward position.
Particularly since we are not, apparently, allowed to change our contact information. Doing so might make it possible for us to change our routing number the ‘proper’ way.
On top of wondering how we’ll keep paying some bills, I’ve been feeling a bit guilty about my wife being stuck with these tasks.
She has been swimming — daily — through red tape, dealing with occasionally-helpful — but in one case condescending — folks who might, given opportunity and awareness required, have made it possible for us to continue paying their employers.
Sorry. I got carried away there.
Backing up a little: I’ve been feeling a bit guilty, since my wife has been dealing with chatbots and people who have on occasion been helpful.
That’s partly because she handles household finances and can make informed guesses about which particular arcane factoid is the immediate ‘you must have’ item.
Another reason for her shouldering this responsibility is that she’s not me.
We share a — distaste — for nonsense and ineptitude. But she exhibits a great deal more patience than I do. Which, in situations like this, doesn’t take much.
Besides, I suspect her voice is better suited to the task. Mine has been compared to that of James Earl “Darth Vader” Jones. Not the most comforting thing for some phone jockey to encounter on a stressful day.
However, on the ‘up’ side, we still have until the year’s end to sort out this mess.
Civic Duty and Changing Diapers
Along with some fraction of the folks in this country, I voted on Tuesday. The last I checked, ballots were still being counted, which didn’t surprise me. We have a lot of voters, and working out the score takes time, even with today’s technology.
Election results haven’t left me enraptured since I started voting, over 57 years back.
On the other hand, what’s happening this time around could have been worse.
For one thing, as far as glancing over an article or two told me, nobody got 99% of the vote. For another, although I’ve seen quite a few triumphant headlines, there’s been nothing approaching the exultation I remember from President Clinton’s ascension.
Something that’s pleasantly surprised me is how few post-election lawsuits have been cluttering my news feed. Maybe that’ll come after the usual op-eds cycle through: telling us how we should feel about the results, and how we should vote next time.
Necessary, if Unpleasant, Tasks
The astute reader may notice a certain lack of zeal in my attitude toward politics in general and elections in particular.
It’s true. I’m not devotee of any politico, party, or ‘great cause’.
I think being informed about what happens in my town, county, state and nation is a good idea, and see voting as a civic duty. But I don’t remember ever being a big fan of any candidate or party.
Chatting with our oldest daughter about this — here’s what she said:
“…I disagree about voting being a civic duty. It’s a right. People who care and have a definite opinion should vote. Anyone who’s just voting because they like a particular candidate’s hair should not.”
(From a Discord chat with my oldest daughter (November 6, 2026))
What can I say? She’s right. Voting is a right. A valuable one.
I also see it as a necessary job. It’s important, but I’m no more impassioned about it than I was about changing diapers.
And, happily, there’s a very great deal more to life than either.
As usual, I’ve talked about that before:
- “Satan, Sin, Politics, and Making Sense Anyway” (January 3, 2026)
- “Another Autumn, and a Poem” (October 25, 2025)
- “Good Night, Boots” (June 14, 2025)
- “Voting As If What I Believe Matters” (October 26, 2024)
- “Principles, Priorities, Politics: and Being Catholic” (September 21, 2024)
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