Waking up to the delightful although not unexpected news that Barack Obama is the president-elect is a lovely cap on an unforgettable voting experience.

I wasn’t sure when I was going to vote — I’d hoped to do it with a minimum of waiting because I had a full day ahead of me what with computer issues, a pet crisis and a teenager in need of new jeans. I didn’t listen to the news before heading out at about 10 to cast my ballot, but didn’t expect to encounter a long wait at that time in the morning.

When I pulled into the parking lot of our polling place — the local rescue squad — and saw the line stretching around the building and down the sidewalk, my eyes teared up. I was proud to be a part of this and proud of my fellow citizens.

I parked in the overflow parking lot of the church next-door (which had a few empty spaces despite the fact it also was a polling place) and headed to stand in the line, not knowing how long I would be there. It didn’t take long before everyone was talking to everyone else. One woman was asking those around her their opinions of various constitutional amendment proposals on the ballot. Others were talking about the excitement in the air. After about 15 minutes in line a black and white Saturn pulled up and employees from Honest Tea, a company based in Bethesda, handed out free Honest Tea drinks to folks standing in the line. That only added to the party atmosphere.

As the line snaked around the building and up the steps, I noticed my neighbors at the end of the, now significantly shorter, line. They were eligible to go ahead of the crowd and take the elevator, by merit of their age, but they stood in line like the rest, and chatted with their fellow voters.

I saw several people from my neighborhood and people I’d met over the years through school connections. We nodded or shared a few words as we crossed paths.

A woman ahead of me is becoming a Head Start teacher after retiring from NEA. The woman behind me brought her children and her oldest son, who was voting for the first time. The man directly in front of me had his preschool aged daugther who behaved very well, standing in line that long.

Standing in line is not anyone’s favorite activity, but yesterday I wouldn’t have missed it for the world. When my husband voted — he said there was no line and I should have waited until 4 to vote. Nope — I’m glad I went when I did. It was the best hour I’ve spent in a long time.  And the best time waiting in line ever.

I read the blog of a woman I knew a few years ago, and her post today is that she didn’t vote because of the line and then didn’t go back to vote because of the rain later in the day. I feel sorry for her, missing out on the excitement and comaradie of the event.

I’ve met few folks born on February 29th, but the person who stands out is Howard. Howard was a 4th grade teacher whose classroom was on the other side of the partition from the one in which I co-taught my last year of teaching. I liked him a lot - we talked most days during lunch and after school. Not talk about school or the students we taught, but more about life and our personal philosophies on life, love, music and reading. Last I knew he and his gorgeous wife moved to another country to teach English.

Hope he had a fantastic birthday. He must be — what — all of 9 by now?

I’d heard great things about Andrew’s wrestling coach before Andrew was on the team. Then this summer Andrew received a wonderful & personal letter from him welcoming Andrew to the team. Andrew, Dean and I have all received emails from the coach on various matters, all of which have been delightful to read - both in content and form.

Yesterday the coach proved, once again, what a fine role model he is in an interaction with Andrew after an upsetting loss.  I’m not going into details, they are private, but Derek Manon is one heck of a wrestling coach on a number of levels.

Today we’d planned on picking up Dean’s mom and taking a drive in the country. Because Ruth was not feeling well we just visited with her for an hour and then went on the drive ourselves.

Riding with my dad in the car reminds me of when we’d take his mother on drives along the same roads 40 years ago or more. She always told us who’d lived in each of the homes along the way - and was distressed if it looked like a home she’d lived in looked uncared for.

We had a mission - we were delivering flowers to my Grandmother and Grandfather Patrick and to my cousin Jim. Dad thought Jim would like blue flowers. We got Grandma Patrick some white ones. I like the cemetery where they are buried. It is quiet and small. They are surrounded by fellow farmers - some of whom were born in the later part of the 1700’s. I asked dad if he had a cemetery plot. He said he didn’t and didn’t want to talk about it. Funny - he spends a lot of his time talking about the dead. Those who’ve passed recently and those who’ve been gone for decades.

After the cemetery he wanted to drive past the last farm his father owned. The farm he could easily have inherited. He’s obviously somewhat regretful that he chose a different path in life - one that didn’t include farming.

We continued our drive, and then dad thought I’d like to visit mom’s friend Jill and her husband, Gordon. They are quite interesting. He does something technical (writes code for software?) for a living as well as helps Jill raise alpacas. Jill also creates hats and slippers from the alpaca wool. She showed me her creations. I would have bought a hat, but I look awful in hats. Maybe later this summer when we visit again I’ll buy a pair of slippers. Clare might like a hat.

The have A LOT of alpacas. At least 20. And they are beautiful. Two were just recently born - one was born on June 6th of this year. The mother stood next to the baby and chattered to her when we first got there. Cindy said it was because we were strangers. Whatever it was - it was so cool. Makes up for me missing the balloon fest on Saturday.

Dad got tired and I could tell he wanted to go home, so we left. He went to bed and I walked to a nearby restaurant for an Italian Beef sandwich - something I cannot get in Maryland unless I make it myself.

On the way to Paul’s I passed by a cacophony of memories.

• The house that once was the huge pile of dirt where I would practice my Hollywood falls.
• The house where the woman who sold me the cookbook told me she was living on borrowed time
• The house where the mean old man lived who made beautiful Christmas decorations
• Stephanie’s house, that once burned nearly to the ground, but the cats were found safely.
• Paul’s parking lot, that once was The Red Barn, a fast food chicken restaurant. My dad didn’t like eating there because he swore they served fried pigeon.

On the way back I passed the five homes that were built as affordable housing. They still look like projects, but I noticed that the owners have tried to make them attractive. One house has a beautiful door with beveled diamond-shaped glass panes. Another has mansion style (and sized) pillars on either side of the driveway which leads to a carport.

This lot used to house a huge Victorian mansion. On the side was a mulberry bush that, as kids, we would pick and eat the fruit until we felt sick. That mulberry bush is long gone, but I saw evidence of mulberries on the property. I’ll let myself believe the bushes I know are still there, are distant offspring of the mulberry tree I remember.

It’s always fun when I see someone from my past doing interesting and exciting things.

During the month of his 50th birthday, an artist friend of mine in Todmorden, Lancashire, England was in the local news. It seems as if his town entered the Britain in Bloom contest and he designed a plaque for the train station where he has a gallery.

Jeremy and I met in 1974 when we participated in a student exchange program. He and several students visited my high school that spring, and I, along with a number of American students, visited his grammar school that summer. My friend Sue and I stayed at Jeremy’s house. We became good friends and visited back and forth for several years. That we’ve managed to keep in contact after all these years is a good thing - although he is better at it than am I. However I keep up with his doings by searching his name every so often, which is how I found out about this.

I wish Todmorden the best of luck. We got to visit with Jeremy and his family in 2002, and got to see Todmorden up close.

Todmorden in Bloom Website.