Some election memories

Gosh, I can really work myself into a tizzy over elections!

Last night, my wife and I were up late supervising "out time" and "bath time" for all of our chinnies.  We introduced Racheli, our newest little rescue, to Chihiro, the first of the "new brood" of Schwyzer chins.   Given that the four chins we adopted from Michigan are happily paired (naturally, in our inclusive household, one same-sex and one opposite sex couple), we want to see if Chihiro Pango Massionfruit and Racheli Scrappy Doo can be cage mates.  The first meeting ended in furious chasing, snapping, and mutual attempts at dominance, so the short term answer is that these two gals would rather be single.  But we’re not giving up just yet.

So it was a late night, and we were both up at five this morning.  I did an easy 7.5 mile run through the Arroyo as the sun came up on what will be a warm election day; I tried to use the rush of endorphins to calm my nerves.  It didn’t work as well as it usually does!  I came home, showered, dressed, and stopped by my polling place in Northwest Pasadena to cast my ballot.  No need to wait, but a steady stream of folks were making their way in and out.  Though I can think of occasions where I’ve had last-minute changes of heart in the booth, I had none this morning, and voted exactly as I suggested in my Sunday post.   I have the little "I voted" sticker riding just below the Lacoste alligator on my lucky lime-green polo shirt.

I have followed elections since I was seven years old.  Raised the son of a mother who loved politics, I worked on my first campaign in the 1974 California Democratic Primary; we were supporting someone named "Roth" who lost the gubernatorial nomination to none other than Jerry Brown, who all these years later is now running for state Attorney General.   I remember meeting Mr. Roth (what the heck was his first name?) at a campaign rally at the Monterey Peninsula Airport.  He flew in on a tiny plane and came out to meet us.  He shook my hand while a straw hat band played, of course, "Happy Days are Here Again".   (Oh, how I still love that tune!)  Two years later, my mother and I worked on our first successful local campaign: we helped elect Leon Panetta, later Clinton’s chief of staff, to Congress.  Leon Panetta was the first candidate I can remember supporting who actually won; my memories of disappointment are older and more ubiquitous than memories of triumph.

I do have happy election memories: 1976, when all the kids in my school wore Ford-Dole pins and I was teased for my Carter-Mondale button.  I remember lying on the dining room floor on election night thirty years ago this month, my dachshund curled up next to me.  I was allowed to stay up very late on a school night for the purpose of listening to the results on the radio (we had no TV at the time).  I had a map of the 50 states with their electoral votes listed, and as Carter closed in on his win, I colored them in for him.  We were jubilant that evening!

The 1986 and 1998 midterms were also filled with relief and pleasant surprises.  Of course, my happiest election memory remains 1992, when we swept Clinton (and a lot of terrific women senators) into office.    Fresh out of my first marriage, living in a tiny studio apartment in Van Nuys, I danced in front of CNN in utter elation.

And of course, I’m used to having my heart broken: 1980, 1984, 1990, 1994, 2000, 2002, 2004.   Though some good things happened in those years, for the most part, they summon up memories of bitter disappointment.  Alas, that’s what it has been to be a bleeding-heart liberal these past three decades: defeat after defeat, with the occasional sweet victory.  (It’s a lot like being a Cal fan, or worse, loving — as I still do — the Golden State Warriors.)   

Every election night, I call my mother — I will call her tonight.  Whether we will rejoice or lament together, I don’t know.  In a little more than 12 hours, I will.