Sticking to resolutions

 I thought I'd write, yesterday, about the current voting situation in Ohio. I know we're insignificant, but in my lifetime it was "Bush by a Buckeye", and I wasn't amused.

Of course they're all Republicans down in the state house, south of Route 30. Some less qualified than others. The Secretary of State ruled there could be only one drop box per county for absentee ballots.

The Ohio Democratic Party said LaRose was disenfranchising voters, and sued to overrule his "arbitrary and unconstitutional" ruling. And then they all spilled into the ring, throwing suit on suit. Alternating judges ruled for and against; LaRose said no mater what, one box per county.

I began writing about this freaking stupidity, got a headache and a stomach ache, and went to bed. I'd broke my resolution to let politics alone, unless I had to, you know, just be involved. I've met Frank LaRose, back in my political days. Just another hack, working his way up the ladder to governor. I went to high school with his uncle.

Here's another story from yesterday.

I had a late morning appointment with one of my favorite doctors, the endocrinologist. We've known each other almost twenty years. Before the appointment, there was the usual call from Cleveland Clinic, asking me to confirm I'd be there, telling me the new protocol of being questioned and temperature checked at the door, blablablablabla.

On arrival, my usual door was blocked. I know I've complained of this about the Cleveland Clinic medical center housing my primary. This building also was down to one entrance, and is half again as big. So I set out on the quarter mile trudge around the building, questioned, checked, forced to squirt sanitizer at the new entrance, quarter mile back, then an eighth mile corridor to the doctor. 

I was late.

I asked the doctor the location of the nearest exit, and he told me to use the steps just outside the door, go down that corridor and I would exit by my car. We had a short discussion on defying authority, and then I declared, "No, by god, I'll go down the elevator and use the blocked entrance."

"But it's locked!" said the doctor.

"If it is, it is illegal, and I will call the Fire Marshall!"

"You would, wouldn't you!"

He knows me.

But I chose the entrance across the hall from his door. I hadn't recovered from my earlier walk. I started down, twenty plus steps per flight, from the third floor. Somewhere on the second floor set I heard the clatter of feet way above, starting down. It was lunch time.

When I reached the second floor landing I realized there was no noise behind me, so looked back. There were three of them, creeping along at my pace, silently. 

"You all please pass me now, and thanks for not startling me."

With smiles and "Have a good day," they trouped on by. I carried on, walked the last corridor to the exit door. I stood a minute to get my bearings, and there it was. My car.

No, not Frank LaRose or politicians. My very own Pig and zinnias.