I'm one of those "super-voters" you hear about: I vote in every election and always have. For one thing, it's nice to catch up with neighbors and friends and the patriotic folks who work at the polls. For another, it's a lovely walk to our polling place at the West Marlborough Township garage. At lunchtime on Tuesday I took a break from the computer (I'm editing a challenging book on epistemology, a branch of logic) and set off down the road. I was enjoying the vocal catbirds and the red-winged blackbirds and was just about to photograph a healthy clump of wild ginger on the road bank when my phone rang: Some delivery people were requesting my presence to unlock a door for them in 25 minutes.
I did some quick time-vs.-distance calculations (Do I return or keep going?), told them I'd do my best to be there, and then seriously picked up the pace. I hurriedly voted, barely stopping to chat (that alone should tell you how rushed I was), and then hustled back, keeping the delivery guys apprised with a series of text messages ("ETA 10 mins"). I was probably 20 minutes late, but they didn't seem to mind too much.
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