Thanks, Joe

With my birthday just days away I was thrilled to get a card from Joe Biden. I opened it up and it said “Merry Christmas!”

Calling Measure B

I rolled into the Safeway lot mid-morning and parked in my usual precinct at the southwest corner. I grabbed a mask, locked the door and began the 200-foot trek.

To my left, on the sidewalk along South State Street, a woman was hunched over a collection of things, presumably hers, and was having a loud tough time of it. Perhaps her things are ornery ones and she was needing to establish discipline. I could hear only her side of the conversation and she was taking no guff. At one point I was about 75 feet from her and her things. She wasn’t old, wasn’t dressed shabbily, and she had nice blonde hair that was orange. The argument with her things seemed to escalate.

And I thought: She’s somebody’s sister. That woman, alone and troubled on a street she probably couldn’t name in a town she might not be able to find on a map, is some dad’s daughter.

And just look: Trapped in such profound despair that she can’t even reason with her tshirts and the apple she’s been saving since yesterday. She’s somebody’s little girl, somebody’s sister. And here she is in Ukiah yelling at a zipper.

My best-kept secret is that I am prone to tears, at times triggered by things others never notice. So as I turned to take a glance back my eyes were misting and I was biting my lip.

Before I approached the checkstand I’d agreed with myself I’d give whatever change the cashier gave me to the woman and her things; it came to a little over 40 bucks. Walking back it seemed she’d settled the score with her belongings and was now arguing with a cell phone.

I got in my car, swung over to the empty aisle she was nearest, and with the window down and some bills folded over I came close and said “Uhh, excuse me?”

Without looking up she snarled either at me or her phone, yelled “F-you! F-you!” a lot, and began jabbing a middle finger in my direction, all with her head down.

Yes indeed, I thought. I brought my hand back in and rolled the window back up.

Well, there’s good news in this I sighed as I slowly drove away. At least she’s not sister or daughter.