The Thoughts I Think

If I were to split open my head, I'm pretty sure a rush of bizarre thoughts would flood out. Like for example, how much cat hair did I swallow when I picked up crazy tabby Cracker while sucking on a piece of hard candy? If I think too hard, I start imagining a hair ball coagulating somewhere in my gut.

Then there's my theme for November: Thank you Lord, I'm not waking up in the Land of Akin. For those who too quickly forget, Todd Aiken is the U.S. Senate hopeful who felt that some rapes were more legitimate than others and that women who are raped, legitimately, have an inborn mechanism to avoid pregnancy. If I think too hard, and too joyfully, about Aiken losing, I remember what happened to John Ashcroft, a hard line conservative. In running for U.S. Senate, Ashcroft lost to a dead man. Democrat Mel Carnahan died in a plane crash shortly before the election. I celebrated Carnahan's post-death victory. Then John Ashcroft went on to serve as the U.S. Attorney General under George W. Bush. Please Lord, don't let Akin end up with a booby prize bigger than what he lost.

Tonight, I worry about sneaky burglars. It's a transient fear. Big Guy will return tomorrow and I'll follow my usual strategy of positioning him between me and the open bedroom door. I used a modified strategy to guard against grizzly bears while we camped in Glacier National Park. I let Big Guy smear stinky crack-healing ointment on his feet at night, even though I thought bears might find the smell attractive. With his two well-greased feet, I figured one Big Guy was enough of a feast for up to two bears.

I think about ants. I'm working on a story about fire ants. Hundreds of them sneak up from their dirt hill home and bite their prey--or as they see it, their attacker--at the precise same moment. It's very painful. Thinking about that reminds me of when Birdie bit Daisy at Disney World. That was a sneak attack, too. And it was very painful. Again, thank goodness, there was only one Birdie and not thousands of biting toddlers all waiting to nip while in line for Thunder Mountain.

And I'm still thinking about ants. I have one ant that constantly crawls around the kitchen counter. I fear that it is the same ant even though I have poisoned it, washed it down the drain, thrown it in the trash and ran it through the dishwasher. I would declare a truce, except I'm afraid the ant will crawl in my peanut butter sandwich. And once I eat the ant, it will live forever in my stomach with the Cracker cat-hair hairball.

I may have to give up peanut butter. I may have to release my Aiken fears. This ant thing has got me thinking.

The Ohio Vote

I understand all the yammering about Ohio and the relentless hedging about which way the finicky state will vote. I had my campaign swing through Ohio. My issue wasn't presidential; it was soybeans. Ohio growers were voting to decide if they would compell every soybean grower in Ohio to pay one cent per bushel to promote use of their crop and fund research to improve it.

 It was a tender, touchy issue. Major soybean-producing states like Iowa and Illinois required that their growers pay into what they called their state "soybean checkoff" program. Growers in mandatory check-off states felt that states like Ohio that didn't pay were riding their coattails.

I worked for the American Soybean Association. It wanted Ohio to participate. State checkoff programs funneled a lot of money to the national organization. The American Soybean Association sent me to Ohio for a one-week campaign assistance stint. My mission was to drive around a checkoff-friendly Ohio soybean grower and make the introductions as he met with newspaper editors and radio broadcasters.

My most vivid recollection of the week was the white Lincoln Towncar that I drove. I could barely see through the steering wheel. The parking lot attendant had to explain how to use the power seat to scoot myself close enough to reach the gas pedal. It drove like a boat. I was a sad and pitiful sight bumping down country roads while trying to read poorly folded road maps.

During that time, a lot of American Soybean Association touched down in Ohio. They joined with the locals to lobby the press, glad-hand the broadcasters and work one-on-one with obstinate growers hoping to convine them to pay to promote their soybeans. As a group, we had a great confidence that Ohio would sway our way. 

But Ohio growers said "no." By seven votes, they turned down the soybean checkoff. Slapped, the American Soybean Association changed tactics. It lobbied and won a national soybean checkoff. Growers in Ohio and everywhere else suddenly had to pay to promote. Stung, they collected the money, but then chose not to give the American Soybean Association nearly as much funding as it expected. The national association imploded. It gave back a building it bought. And a lot of staff, including me, lost our jobs.

Those seven Ohio votes changed my life. If the vote had gone the other way, the American Soybean Association might have never lobbied for a national checkoff; it might have never imploded. Perhaps, I'd still be working at a job not near as rewarding as the life I have now. Even worse, maybe I would be driving a Lincoln towncar.

Vote on Tuesday. Somewhere, someone's vote will change a life. It could be your vote; it could be your life.