The picture to the left is one of the sad tasks I had to attend to this morning. (You may need to click on it for a larger version.) I went outside and removed my Barr-Root Liberty for America lawn sign. Like my TMV colleague Tyrone, I voted for Bob Barr yesterday, though obviously not with any expectation that he would win. At my house we have been very wrapped up in this election for the last two years, though occasionally at cross-purposes but still with good humor. And now, at long last, it is over. The pollsters were vindicated, it seems,, and earned their pay this year in most instances. Our regularly-scheduled quadrennial revolution has taken place in good order and our nation has once again remade itself. Without belaboring the already-detailed exclamations about the historic nature of this event, I will simply offer my hearty congratulations to President-Elect Obama and wish him the best of luck with the hard work which lays before him.
On the subject of work, I find myself this morning thinking back upon an old saying regarding the nature of war. I don’t have it handy, but it essentially states that before a war, we work the fields and wash the dishes. After a war, we work the fields and wash the dishes. Occasionally wars and elections both happen. When they finally end, we get back to work. In addition to taking down political lawn signs, I have a yard full of leaves which need to be mulched, pumpkins and gourds and corn sheaves from Halloween which need to be bagged-up and other odds and ends. This doesn’t mean that I’m shutting out the political world (though truth be told, I could use a short break) but simply that the real world with its mundane daily concerns is still out there.
But before I close out this chapter of our story, I did witness a bit of a transformational moment on a more personal level as a result of this election. In the winter and spring of 2003, my wife and I had been marching in the streets in several cities in opposition to the looming invasion of Iraq. Obviously all of the effort was to no avail, but it was a powerful moment in history. Then, on March 20, 20003, bombs began to fall on Baghdad. We used to fly our American Flag on our front porch most of the year. (Occasionally replaced by one of those crazy, seasonal flags for humorous value.) On that day, with little to no discussion, my wife went outside, took down our flag, rolled it up, and stored it in the closet. Thus began a quiet, grim standoff between our house and the White House over the issue of Iraq. It wasn’t something that we discussed. It was just something that haunted our house like a ghost.
Last night, five years, six months and fifteen days later, we watched the election returns until the decisions were final. We sat together and listened to Senator McCain’s very fine and gracious concession speech. We watched as Barack Obama addressed the nation for the first time as our President-Elect. This morning – once again with no discussion or fanfare – my wife quietly went to our closet and then strolled out on the porch. This is the new view.