The election inspector

When I went to vote yesterday, I was greeted by the ladies behind the table, the election inspectors, who dutifully looked up my name in the rolls, asked for my photo ID, and requested that I sign in. And I remembered fondly my own mother being an election inspector in our small village in upstate New York while I was growing up. Every election day she was up at the crack of dawn to go down to our school, which was the polling place for the village, where she would remain from 7:00 in the morning until after 9:00 that night. The tables for the inspectors were set up outside in the hall leading to the cafeteria, so at lunchtime as my friends and I waited in line, I could see my mother and wave to her, even stop by the table to talk to her. She always dressed up and looked nice, wearing jewelry and lipstick, which she rarely did except at church. And when my friends and classmates would ask in awe, "Is that your mom?", I'd proudly say, "Yes!", and for one day I'd feel kinda like a hot shot, because my mom had such an important job.

She would often bring her own lunch, but if the school happened to be serving Rice & Meatballs that day (basically spaghetti sauce with meatballs served over a mound of pasty white rice), she would usually splurge and get that. She just loved the rice and meatballs.

During slow times, she and the other ladies (there were no male inspectors at the time) would talk, read, or work on knitting or crocheting to pass the time. And of course, coffee would be plentiful, as were the cakes and cookies which helped sustain them through a 14+ hour day.

How strange it was for my sisters, brother, and me to come home after school on election day and not have my mom there . . . to eat supper without her . . . to spend the evening without her . . . to go to bed without a good night kiss from her. We were lost without her.

My mother died two years ago today after a long battle with Alzheimer's. I'm still lost without her. I love you and miss you, Mom.