Monday Monday (Anne Stuart)

First off, go vote. I'd tell you to only go vote if you're voting for Obama, but I firmly believe in democracy, so go vote even if you're misguided enough to want John McCain. I know it seems like one voice won't be heard, but it will. If nothing else it will be excellent karma and you won't have to spend your next lifetime as a worm.

Second, it's November, and time for gratitude. But then, isn't it always? Right now my life is incredibly fine -- I have a book to write that I'm loving, kids who are deliriously happy where they are, a mother who's finally feeling at home, a sister who's getting better, and the best husband in the world. What more could a woman ask? (Well, less pain would be nice but if I had to choose I'd go with the pain).

Third, we've had snow. I gotta admit I have a secret love of snow. I know I'm not the one who has to shovel it or use the snowblower. I don't even have to work on the firewood or bring it in. I can just look out our windows (and we've got a lot of them -- our house is mostly wood and glass) and watch the snow pile up and feel warm and cozy inside. By March I'm sure I'll be sick of it, but right now it's Fall and Thanksgiving and Christmas are coming and my family is happy so it's no wonder I look at the snow like it's a wonderland. Besides, I'm someone who hates heat. I don't wear a coat until it's in the thirties, no gloves (unless to drive) until the twenties and no hats until it's ten below zero (that's when I button my coat as well). I'm a tough old Vermonter after having lived here for 37 years.

Come to think of it, I moved here just around this time of year. I'd been living in an apartment in the Bronx with my three friends, working at the Rockefeller Foundation, going to rock concerts and living for music. And it was time to leave. I bought a Dodge station wagon, loaded it with a million boxes of records and books and had my brother-in-law drive me north. In retrospect I must have been crazy. I had a manual typewriter, a vivid imagination, and not much else. And look where I am now. Not sure if that needs a triumphant emoticon or a rueful one, but you know, I'm happy with who and where I am.

My father had died the year before on election day. He was only 58, and he'd had a troubled life. He was a charming, loving man, but he was also an alcoholic with addictions to prescription drugs, and he ended up breaking his neck on the stairs when no one was around. So election day always brings a shot of pain. He was a really lovely man, despite his flaws, and I still miss him so many years later.

November is the time I start nesting. I'm sewing up in my son's room while he's off tramping around New Zealand, and I'm making cushions for the living room, decluttering, organizing the kitchen (I've got this cool doctor's stool that I can scoot around the kitchen in so I can cook while my knees are so bad). I know it's early but I'm also starting to get ready for Christmas -- buying presents on-line (not much shopping this year due to the funky knees) so I need to pace myself. But for once Jenny Crusie's mantra feels right. Nothing but good times ahead.

Yeah, I know the economy is in the tank. I know the world is in a terrible mess. I suppose I should feel guilty and moan and stuff, but you know, even one little beacon of happiness here in the bleak Northeast Kingdom of Vermont has to help the world.

And that happiness will increase tenfold on Tuesday if things go the way I want them to.

Which brings me around to my original point. Go vote. Wait in line 8 hours if you have to (and the people who do so have me awed at their dedication). We can be the greatest country in the world if we only choose to do the right thing.

And the first step in that is go vote.