50 Days to Fifty™

Yesterday, I told Nan I had ‘the symptoms,’ of course she was curious and wanted to know what ‘the symptoms’ were and why would I have them. I shared that on Christmas Eve, during the day, I was a normal child doing normal child things but something would start to happen around six o’ clock in the evening and a reality set in – Christmas was just a few short hours away – and I would become transfixed and focused on what would certainly be a glorious day for me. Anxiety would set in, my tummy would bubble, I’d become quiet in anticipation and NO ONE had to tell me to bathe or dress for bed twice. I was there already by the time anyone looked up.  I’d even have this crazy, wild hair combed and dressed before hitting the sack in anticipation of the sound of reindeer hooves on the roof. 

My grandmother would be the first to notice the change in my disposition. She’d look at me and ask, “Does that baby have the symptoms?” and I’d nod, followed by a tear or two trickling down my face. I would be that anxious and excited. She’d then say something like, “Come here, Sugey (her nickname for me),” and we’d do things in preparation for the arrival of the Man known as Santa. We’d bake sugie (sugar) cookies, wrap a few gifts for other people, and then sit down to watch one of a zillion animated Christmas programs on TV. And at the height of ‘the symptoms,’ I’d run and get a Xmas plate, load it with sugie cookies and pour Santa a glass of milk. 

This ‘baby’ has ‘the symptoms.’ I’ve never been more excited to see the outcome of a presidential election. More so than even the first time I voted in 1976.  When I spoke with Nan, I shared that something was rising in my belly: anticipation, excitement and anxiety. I’m not nervous about the outcome, I’m nervous about watching it unfold. “The Symptoms” are as much about the process as the end result.

Today I’m going to work fast and furious, in spite of a few obstacles placed in my way. I’m going to clean my apartment, put things in order, pursue my work for clients, take a bath early – get all pretty – and dress for bed. I’m even going to take one of my homeopathic sleep aides just so I can have a restful sleep. And then tomorrow morning I’m going to wake up, walk right behind my complex and vote at six o’ clock. I’ve even checked the weather report for tomorrow: 70 degrees and sunny. I’m ready. Are you? Do you have “The Symptoms” too?

Best and VOTE, Robin fifitydaystofifty@gmail.com

In 1983, President Reagan signed a bill establishing a federal holiday on the third Monday of January in honor of civil rights leader Martin Luther King, Jr.

I wasn’t excited about this presidential election campaign or year until yesterday. During the afternoon, I fell asleep suddenly and had a mini-dream of voting on Tuesday. That dream caused my heart to race and me to wake up every bit as suddenly as I’d fallen asleep. My most immediate thought: I have to vote!

Don’t get me wrong. I was going to vote on Tuesday. But yesterday’s declaration was one of urgency. I have to vote or die a million deaths for removing myself from the process. I can’t afford to do that.

Voting has been an integral part of my journey to 50. I come from a long line of politically active and passionate people. My grandfather was a staunch Democrat and my grandmother was a Lincoln Republican and their passions ran deep. As a little girl, my grandfather would take me to various campaign headquarters to stuff envelopes and  perform other duties. I even as a small girl campaigned for Carl Stokes when he became the first black mayor of Cleveland and on election night I witnessed people literally dancing in the streets. It was like the fourth of July.

All that enthusiasm carried me to my teen years when in the spring of 1976 I registered to vote in my high school library. That was an exciting event for me. I remember discussing it with my grandparents the night before and they were excited for me. That was the year 18 years old received the right to vote. Though I was 17, the rules enabled me to register and vote in the primary as long as I would be 18 by the general election. 

Tonight, I revealed to Nan that this is the first presidential election I haven’t volunteered on a regular basis. 

In Charles and Irene Doss’s house, once you were old enough to vote, some rules changed. I could no longer criticize the government or policies unless I voted. I wasn’t allowed to utter an opinion about anything involving the political process or social conditions unless I voted. 

I value those values. Plus, I’d rather die than not have the ability to flex my voice or my vote… Because somebody – many bodies died for my rights.

Peace, Robin

fiftydaystofifty@gmail.com