Chocolate Hummus

I hate election day because it feels too big and too small at the same time.  I think what I really hate is that I feel too big and too small at the same time.  Like I’m doing too much but also clearly not enough.  But I went anyway because I don’t like regret.  I went to my local library to drop off my ballot and beside the 8 foot flags that read “Vote Here” in all their star spangled glory I saw a shopping cart parked filled with the possessions of one of our many unhoused neighbors who utilize this library daily.  This made me feel some things.  

While I was there an older Black man was walking down the steps, pink envelope in hand and from somewhere behind him comes a booming voice yelling, “That’s right young man!” in a tone that can only be described as deep pride and support. Moments later a Black woman of approximately the same age (we never can really tell, can we? A blessing.) appears at the top of the steps and the man turns back to look at her and they both smile and nod.  Her realizing he’s not young, and him realizing she was actually talking to him.  They walked together to the ballot box.  Almost everyone who came to vote in the 20 minutes I was there, was Black. This made me feel some things. 

 I stopped into the library to see what was new and I stumbled upon the free seed section filled with all different varieties of seed and all the information you would need to grow them including the tools you can rent to help in the process.  The library is truly a gift. I took a packet of heirloom red poppy seeds.  Every year I try to grow some and every year I fail, but I don’t stop trying because they’re a symbol of Palestine and so am I.  On the 2 mile drive home I counted 16 women in beautiful hijabs, this made me feel some things.  

Pulling onto my street two squirrels ran by and two magpies conversed in the gutter.  I drove slow down my long block taking in the life that thrives in what was once an olive orchard.  Some of the houses still have olive trees in their yards, many don’t, my house has 3.  Every year that we’ve lived here I’ve picked our olives with the intention to preserve them and every year it’s failed.  But every year I learn a new lesson and I try again next time.  So today I’ll pick my olives and try yet again to preserve as much as I can because the fruits of tomorrow depend on the efforts of today and because they are a symbol of Palestine, and so am I.