MAKING IT COUNT

“They” say that to keep your brain in tip top shape you need to keep challenging it with new stuff.  I consider this good advice and am the kind of person who reads thought provoking books, pays attention to world affairs, and loves to go places and do things.  By these ‘keep it active’ standards of healthy brains mine should be in top notch shape, but lately I’m not so sure.

I forget why I walked into a room.  I get lost in the middle of a sentence.  I can’t find my car in a parking lot.  I can’t keep my kids’ names straight.

Okay.  Okay.  I’ve had trouble with all of these things for decades, but now that I’m in my early sixties they are a bit more worrying.  I’ve always said that all I need is a few more gigabytes of memory installed and I’ll be fine, but the joke is not ringing as funny as it used to.

At any rate, when I was asked if I would like to be a Deputy Returning Officer for the election, I said yes.  I would be learning new things, serving my community, and experiencing the electoral process from the other side of the table.  Not only would I receive a pay check for the day, but think of all the exercise my poor, flabby brain cells were going to get out of it!  I signed up with a bunch of other local folks for this new adventure.

 We began with training a few days before the big day.  I use the term ‘training’ loosely here because the instructor who showed up presented us with everything we would need on Election Day but did a very poor job of telling us what we were going to do with it.  Thank goodness the workbooks we were given did detail the duties very well, but if her job was to instill confidence in the trainees she missed the mark.  I’ve attended countless training sessions over my work life; the last thing attendees are asked to do is fill out a feedback sheet on the trainer and material.  This was one time I really had an opinion to state and there was no opportunity to give one.

Regardless, Monday October 21 dawned and we made our way to our polling stations.  Actually, we were there well before the dawn happened.  In order for the polls to open at 7:30 we had to be setting up by 6:30, and in order for that to happen I had to be up at 5:30.  My poor, flabby brain cells were already in a state of shock.

The many many forms and lists and information and materials we needed were stored in the ballot box so that had to be unsealed, emptied, double checked, and resealed.  Our table was arranged as per the guide’s instructions, the signage was set up, the voter’s screen positioned, and finally our CPS was called over to inspect that we had done it right.  At 7:30 the doors opened and we were in business.

Each polling station was staffed with a DRO and a polling clerk.  There were times when two people didn’t seem like enough, but there were also stretches of time when we only had a half dozen voters per hour.  It didn’t take long to get into the rhythym of duties, but just when we thought we had it under control some offbeat circumstance would pop up and we would have to fill out a correction form to change an address or a registration for someone who didn’t appear on the voter’s list. 

It wasn’t hard work.  But it was long work.

On the whole it was a good day.  We had organized a pot luck lunch approach to feeding ourselves – there was soup and buns, taco salad, carrot sticks, and muffins and cookies plus a big pot of coffee to keep us going.  I was surprised by when the busiest times were – 9:00 to 11:00 being the craziest, and then the noon hour being almost empty.  The afternoon lagged long and gave us lots of time to bond with our co-workers before it picked up again with the crowd who had chosen to vote after work.  The last couple hours before the polls closed were the longest – slow traffic and now exhausted, poor, flabby brain cells to work with.

Still, the approaching magic hour of closing and counting was a little intimidating.  We had mastered the voting part – each voter had taken care of their end of it.  Now it was up to us to make sure that those votes were counted and recorded correctly.  I told my poor, flabby brain cells that we were in the home stretch, and promised them I wouldn’t do anything strenuous to them for at least a week.  (I lied, of course, it’s only been two days and here I am at my computer, writing.)

One step at a time we balanced the number of voters with the number of ballots used, and when we were sure there was nothing missing we set up for the count.  That went very well too so we recorded our results and gave them to the CPS who phoned them in to Elections Canada. 

My brain cells were all limping for the EXIT door by this time but the night wasn’t over yet.  The backup paperwork had to be filled in and filed, then sorted and sealed, initialed and consolidated with the other polls to be returned to Elections Canada the next day.  Elvis left the building at 10:00.

I had put in a 15 ½ day for the election and yet had to ask my husband how it had turned out when I got home.  The results weren’t what I would have chosen but I was too tired to care.  I took my poor, flabby brain cells to bed.

They had their revenge though; it took them at least another hour to settle down so I could go to sleep.  And they’ve been whinging and moaning about their sore, aching muscles ever since.

Obviously I need to push them harder.  No wonder I can’t keep my kids’ names straight.

CALL OF HARVEST DUTY

“What are you doing?” 

The question was asked by the tired voice of my husband over the phone at 5:30 on Wednesday.  He needed help.  Well, actually, he needed fuel ... in a grain truck ... so he could empty his combine hopper and carry on combining.  Could I please head up the road till I found the truck driver who had put too much faith in his fuel gauge, pick him up and run him back to the half ton with the fuel tank on it?  Please?  Every minute that they couldn’t get on with the harvest was a crisis; Mother Nature is not being kind this year.

There’s no saying ‘no’ to a request like that.  I had spent all day outside finishing up my own kind of harvest.  After the better part of three weeks spent away I had come home to gardens that needed cleaned up, deck planters to put away, and bulbs to plant.  I ached everywhere and the cold I had been fighting for the past week had evolved into an exhausting cough.  I really hadn’t planned on leaving the house again that day, but oh well, this sounded like an easy enough mission.

I turned off the burner on the stove, threw on a jacket, wrapped the old denim blanket around the passenger seat and off I went.  I found the neighbour’s new hired man right where I was told he would be, dropped him off at the fuel truck and headed home again.

The weather had been glorious all day; sun shining, the breeze strong enough to dry but not so crazy to cause trouble.  The sun was at the perfect angle to show off the brilliant yellows and oranges of the fall leaves.  I only had my phone for a camera so I didn’t stop to take any pictures knowing that I couldn’t do the scenery justice – I would just commit it to memory instead.  I was hungry and supper wasn’t cooking itself.

“What are you doing now?”  The same tired voice over the same phone twenty minutes later.

Well, by this time I had heated the hamburger back up, browned it, and was about to pour the water and milk in to produce the simplest thing I could think of for supper ... Hamburger Helper.  If he had called even 30 seconds later the noodles would have devolved to goo while I was gone on my next big adventure.  I reached over, turned off the stove again, and asked what the new mission would be.

They had finished that field and needed to move up north to the next one.  There were three combines, a tractor and grain tank, a grain truck, and a tractor and auger to move but only 4 men to get the job done ... and time was a wasting.  Could I please follow Paul in the tractor up to the new location and bring him back to pick up his combine? 

This time I actually asked if it was okay if I did this in my pyjamas.  He laughed a little and said he didn’t think anyone was going to care.  I agreed.  Josh hadn’t said anything on mission #1.

That’s the kind of thing you get away with as a farm wife.  I had come in from my very strenuous day, taken a shower, and decided that 5:00 was a perfectly acceptable time to put pyjamas on.  The chances of seeing another soul for the rest of the day are next to nothing when you live seven miles from town ... well except for the days that you do.

Once again I pulled on my jacket, slipped into my Uggs, and hit the road.  If I had listened to that little warning voice in my head I would have made myself a ham sandwich too.  Mission #2 took way longer. 

First there was the very slow trip up behind the tractor.  This time I did stop and take pictures of the fall colours – there was lots of time.  Then back to pick up the combine, where my mission was extended to taking Josh back to the grain truck and leading him up to the new field because he had never been there before.  I really should have seen this coming; of course it was going to involve multiple trips.  While I waited for him I started searching the car for sustenance.  I found an almost empty package of breath mints in the glove box.  It kept me alive.  I offered a few to Josh but he said he just knew that he would eventually work his way back to the vehicle he had left his lunch kit in.

There was another round trip to get him back to pick up the tractor and auger.  My breath mints were long gone, it was way after dark, and I still hadn’t cooked supper.

But at least my day was done.  The men went until 3:30 for the second night in a row.  All I had to do was finish my lazy man’s supper and go to bed ... and I was already dressed for that.