On our way to vote, my husband was full of stories about the enthusiastic young people he had encountered at the community center that morning. All first-time voters, he thought. At our polling place, there was no line. We signed in and took our ballots. Once inside my cubicle, I paused to savor the moment. My husband peeked around the corner to ask if I was all right. “I need to let it sink in,” I said.

We had invited a few people over to watch the returns that night. I took care of some small details while my hubby did last-minute shopping for our party. First, though, I called my friend to tell him I’d be thinking of him in the hours ahead. “If it was Hillary Clinton,” I said, “I know how I’d feel.” Race trumps gender when it comes to suppression, though, so I could only imagine what he was going through. He said when he was young, his mother had told him that he could be anything he wanted. But probably not President of the United States.

The returns came fast. By 11:00 p.m., we knew Barack Obama would be the 44^th president of our country. We opened champagne and toasted the man who had achieved the improbable. When President-elect Obama and his family took the stage for his acceptance speech, the energy in Chicago’s Grant Park was palpable.

The next morning, I turned on the television to watch the cable news shows. To make sure it was still true. Again, they showed the crowds in Grant Park. Reverend Jesse Jackson, his lower lip trembling, tears streaming down his cheek. Around the world, people chanting, “O-ba-ma. O-ba-ma.” A newsperson spoke of a black man who had told him he could finally look his young son in the eye and tell him he could, indeed, grow up to be president.

Before anyone says, “See? It was about race,” I need to tell you it wasn’t. Senator Obama’s lineage faded into the background as his message was heard by people who opened their ears and listened. In the face of the country’s financial collapse and attacks on his character, his steadiness and chief-of-staff demeanor impressed doubters. Life-long Republicans voted for a Democrat for the first time in their lives. A friend of ours, like his father before him, had always voted the GOP ticket but he said this election would be different. He and his wife volunteered at a DFL call center.

If it wasn’t about race, then what? Hope. It was about hope. And change. I see it already in people’s faces. Those who aren’t crying tears of joy are smiling. Smiling at each other because now, as President-elect Obama told us, the election is over and it’s time to roll up our sleeves and get to work. Side-by-side. Shoulder to shoulder.

Partners.

“What would you like to eat when you come to Grandma’s for the Halloween party?” He was silent for a time. Then, he said quietly, “Do you think we can have pumpkin muffins?” I had expected him to say pizza or chicken fingers. I assured him we would, indeed, have pumpkin muffins and asked if they were a favorite because his mother made them for him. She never did. He’d made them at school with his class and he remembered they were very good.

“Pumpkin muffins,” I told my friend, the baker extraordinaire, when I asked her for a recipe. She searched the Internet and offered a sheaf of papers. On each page, a recipe for pumpkin muffins. Flour, shortening, sugar — I didn’t have one ingredient in my cupboard. I scanned the shortest pumpkin muffin how-to and started a shopping list. After the fourth ingredient, I decided there had to be a better way.

“Do you have pumpkin muffins?” I asked the bakery employee who answered the telephone at Cub. They did. She said I could order them with or without cream cheese frosting. I made another call to St. Paul to find out if the muffins he and his schoolmates baked had been frosted. “No frosting,” he said.

A few days later, my husband and I were shopping at the natural foods store in Burnsville. Strolling through the bakery department, we spied not only pumpkin cupcakes but pumpkin bars, also. We put some in our cart to test at home and got extras for our neighbor. After all, she is the official neighborhood baker. She agreed on the excellence of the cupcakes.

We still needed a main course. Everyone voted for pizza. Days before the get-together, I ordered pumpkin muffins — no frosting — four large pumpkin bars and eight pumpkin cupcakes slathered with cinnamon butter cream frosting. I added a dozen pumpkin-shaped sugar cookies to be safe.

Right on time, our guests arrived carrying the pizzas they’d picked up on their way. The table was set with fall flowers, orange skull-shaped drinking mugs, a scary skeleton tablecloth and pumpkin-colored napkins. To either side of the floral arrangement, plates were piled high with pumpkin muffins. Another held the banana pumpkin bread my neighbor sent over for the occasion. My grandson took his place and stared at the muffins.

“We have pumpkin cupcakes, pumpkin bars and pumpkin-shaped cookies for dessert, too,” I told him. He sighed and placed his elbow on the table. He crooked his arm and rested his cheek on the palm of his hand. His eyes still on the muffins, he pursed his lips before he turned towards me with a puzzled look.

“I might have made a mistake,” he said. “Maybe the muffins we made in school were apple.”

This has been an exciting year for me. A political junkie by way of my family tree, I have been engrossed in the current run to the White House since the first candidate threw a hat into the ring. My choice for president was eliminated in the primary so I moved on to a person I now think is even better qualified. Not vote? My parents would roll over in their graves to learn that one of their children treated Election Day like any old Tuesday.

I’ve written about watching election returns with my parents in the rec room of our house in Minneapolis. Over and over, I’ve told the story of standing next to my father on the corner of Park and Franklin to watch presidential hopeful John Kennedy’s motorcade pass by. As my children were growing up, their dad and I never missed an opportunity to take them to the polling place with us on the Tuesday following the first Monday of November. One year, the line in the elementary school gymnasium snaked back and forth a few times and our grade-schoolers waited patiently until it was our turn to close the curtains behind us and cast our votes. It must have made an impression. It’s been a real treat for me to talk politics with my grown son, his wife and teen-aged daughter this year. The family, even the younger children, watched the debates and everyone has given serious thought to their choices. This mother’s political heart bursts with pride.

I’ve had no qualms sharing my opinion about my candidate. Even though they endorsed his opponent, this newspaper never stopped me from expressing my opinions about their choice. I’ve received e-mails from readers who said, “Way to go,” and also from those who feel I’m off my rocker. That’s what makes our country great, isn’t it? We can agree to disagree and still be friendly. Settle our differences with our vote.

We’re lucky. In Minnesota, where voter turnout gives us bragging rights, we can register at our polling place on Election Day. My husband, who will serve as an election judge, says it’s an easy process. In Minnesota communities with small populations, residents have already mailed in their ballots. There is talk of mail-in balloting being more widespread in the future. It would help those who have a difficult time getting around or can’t wait in long lines. For me, though, the longer the line, the bigger the goose bumps when I mark my ballot.

Afterwards, I’ll hurry home to turn on the TV. See what the pundits have to say and wait for the returns. No matter how long it takes. I’ll watch the concession and victory speeches. The champagne will be chilled by then. The noise makers warmed up.

How about you? If you’re not a registered voter, go to the Minnesota League of Women Voters’ website: www.lwvmn.org to get answers to your questions. There’s even a voters’ guide if you’re still one of the undecided. The hotline will be open Nov. 3^rd and 4^th: 651-646-1699.

Voting isn’t just your right. It’s your obligation.

I saw the Hardball interview. Incredulous, I moved closer and closer to the TV to make sure I heard her correctly. For Bachmann to say later that she was “misstated” or was, as her spokesperson said, “backed into a corner” is far left of the truth. Especially, when we can watch the interview again and again on YouTube.

What is going on? John McCain took the microphone from that woman at the Lakeville rally and said she did not have to fear Obama. He said the same thing to a young man who expressed his concern about bringing his unborn child into a country with Obama, someone he doesn’t trust, as its president. I should have thought, “Go, John,” but McCain playing “good cop” while his cohorts play “bad cop” doesn’t fool me.

While McCain’s had Sarah Palin doing his dirty work, bad-mouthing Obama, he’s been able to keep his hands clean and not be blamed for mud-slinging. The practice dates all way back to the Garden of Eden. Eve wasn’t the only one to take a bite of the apple but she certainly is the one who gets the most blame. The McCain camp sends Eve, Sarah “Pit Bull” Palin, from state to state to say biting things about Obama. Then, when asked about it by David Letterman, McCain just squirms in his chair and says, “There are a million words said in a campaign … it’s part of the political scene.”

Now, Bachmann has given into the temptation of spreading falsehoods. Fortunately, many people in our nation did not take McCain’s stance after she appeared on Hardball. Within a few hours of her Friday interview, $30 thousand had been sent to the campaign fund of her opponent, Elwyn Tinklenberg. Within a few days, donations to Tinklenberg’s campaign had climbed to well over $800 thousand. — donated by those outraged by Bachman’s words. I was one. I even sent an e-mail to people in my address book asking them to do the same. I do not live in the sixth district but her sentiments scare me. I am not alone. [There is even a movement to have Bachmann censured by her peers in congress.]

General Colin Powell, a Republican who recently endorsed Obama, said of Bachmann’s comments, “We have got to stop this nonsense.” Powell said her remarks were “over the top.”
My mother said, “If you can’t say something nice about someone, don’t say anything at all.” That might be difficult for politicians. Still, these pit bulls in lipstick, out doing the dirty work for Senator McCain, have gone too far. If they can’t act more humane, maybe a muzzle is in order. Especially, for Bachmann. She’s forgotten how to be Minnesota nice.