Imposter Syndrome

IDo you think you are an impostor? Are you what you claim to be? Or do you think that you just have the rest of us fooled? There have been many real impostors throughout history, and many are still running around today. The whole identity theft problem has people pretending to be who they are not at its core. But my topic isn’t about them. Those people forge credentials and know exactly what they are doing. The impostor syndrome, ironically, uses their hoax to identify a problem many successful people deal with. It is also something I think I see in a lot people who do things such as art and writing. I may suffer a bit from it.

Imposter syndrome is a term used by clinical psychologists Dr. Pauline R. Clance and Suzanne A. Imes for high-achieving people. It is marked by an inability to internalize self-accomplishments and fear of being exposed as a “fraud”. Many of these folks are quite good at what they do, and it often comes easy to them. For whatever reason, they feel like phonies and worry about it. This is not a diagnosable mental illness. It is a syndrome – a complex condition with characteristic combinations of opinions, emotions, or behaviors. I want to apply this at another level. If you do ‘x,’ are you an ‘x-er?’ If ‘x’ is art, are you an artist?

PO-Sterling_Riggs_Elvis_Impersonator_(7725109804)I have been certified to teach high school social studies since I graduated from college back in the dark ages. I have never taught as faculty for even one day. Am I a teacher? I am certified, but to me, unless I actually teach, I am not a teacher. So why is it that the people who do the art, take the classes, make things that are art, will not want to say, “I am an artist.”? I also know people who have not produced a piece of art in years, but will not hesitate to call themselves artists. I have no issue with that. If I can, but chose not to, should I call myself? I think the answer is yes, but it’s up to you.

I’ve taken dance lessons, practiced and practiced, then more lessons. I danced often. People would come to me and complement me on my dancing. They would say, “I wish I could dance like that.” I would look at them and ask, “What makes you think that you can’t dance?” Some people come by it naturally and learn quickly. Not me. But I did it.

If you want to be a dancer, then dance. If you want to be a writer, you only need to write. If you want to be a runner, then go run. Poof! You’re a runner. I’m not immune to this syndrome. I have no problem calling myself a writer, but I balk at identifying myself as an author or novelist; even though I have written (but not published) a novel. To me, the nuance is in published, even though I have been published in a short story and a journal or two.

Impostor pay not 2Unless there is an identifiable standard or required credential, we should feel free to identify ourselves by what we do, if we so desire. If we are novices or students, we are not disqualified. We’re learning. I understand being humble. But there is a difference in doing art and saying you are not an artist, and doing art and saying it the best art there ever was (but why not?). And certainly, if you are naturally good at something, and you do it, then we do not consider you an imposter.

 

Human Condition

The human condition is a broad topic that can be pondered and analyzed from many perspectives: religion, philosophy, history, art, literature, sociology, psychology, and biology. As a short blog topic, it’s too broad. My remarks address our weaknesses or fallibility.

“Do what we will; we are never going to be free of mortality, partiality, fallibility, and error.” – Wendell Berry

There are a ton of books that, to one degree or another, address the topic from some of the many possible perspectives. The books that I’ve enjoyed the most, at least at the time in my life when I read them, were….

Stumbling Blocks or Stepping Stones by Benedict J. Groeschel, C.F.R. (spiritual and religious view of Franciscan Friar)

The Gift of Adversity: The Unexpected Benefits of Life’s Difficulties, Setbacks, and Imperfections by Norman E. Rosenthal, M.D. (relatively recent, psychiatrist shares stories from his life as examples)

Man’s Search for Meaning by Victor Frankl (a well-known classic)

At some times in our lives, many of us have admired certain people. We may have put them on pedestals and may even have spoken highly of them. Maybe we married them. Then one day we discover something (or the world discovers) about them that removes the adjective ‘flawless’ from our description. This still happens to me, but seldom. Over the years, my discernment has improved and my skeptical nature often needs more proof. People are human.

Human ConditionI know that we are all fallible. We all make mistakes if we make or do anything. Usually, it’s our parents who provide the first clue. Somehow, we are often gifted as teenagers with the wisdom and insight to identify each and every flaw of our parents and anyone else who we consider an authority. Somehow, we overlook the foibles of our friends. And of course we have none, or too many, or we must hide, or we are perfect, and will never make that mistake, depending upon the day of the week, if anything. Confusing? You bet. Human? Absolutely.

In his book, Fr. Groeschel talks about how the righteous and perfectly-well behaved people who follow all the rules are less compassionate and understanding of others. They share few of the human frailties, as least until their foibles are also revealed.

Rosenthal provides examples from his childhood. In Chapter Three, Crime and Punishment, his teacher, Mrs. Z whacked him on his hand for completing an arithmetic assignment before she had finished explaining it. Also, another third grade incident involved a teacher who misspelled rule(a)r. It is naive to think (as many young do) that adults cannot be wrong. But they are, and it is okay.

The Human ConditionAnd that is the point. Do we judge the content of books by the mistakes in it? Do we judge others based on their circumstances, be it through their own fault or not? What do we expect from our fellow human beings? What do we want from them? Why are we this way?

Not long ago I had a discussion with someone regarding universal health care and insurance. When she balked at the concept, she said, “Well then, every alcoholic on every street corner will have it.” I just sat there, speechless.

Gratitude

GMany people have found that journaling and being grateful are useful methods to feel better and to enjoy life more. Grateful people seem to be happier. I prefer to be happy, so it follows that I want to be grateful. I will not discuss journaling since I don’t, but I admit that I should. Maybe this blog is kind of like that. I don’t make gratitude lists, but I could easily. I know many happy souls that do.

Last week, I had a medical procedure. It is not new to me. I inherited what I refer to as bad plumbing from my father. He called it poor circulation. Medical folks call it arteriosclerosis. I am not grateful for it. My doctors tell me that I am just ‘one of those people.’ Anyway, I have had this before. They’ve run things up into arteries from my wrists through both arms and into my heart. Years ago, I had stents inserted into my iliac arteries through my groin to help with circulation in my legs. Last week we again had to venture in at my groin. With all of these, I was awake so I could joke with my doctor and tell him how I was doing. As he tried to find my artery and his fingers pressed into the spot between my groin and leg, I let out a moan. He asked me if that was pain, or was I ticklish. I am very ticklish and I was also very stoned thanks to the happy drugs the wonderful nurses slipped into my IV. I already had four stents. These were numbers five and six. It took about two hours and I was off to my hospital room for the night. Not my best night, as it happened.

At that point, I had one order: “Don’t move!” I had to be (lie or lay?) flat on my back until told I could move. From my chest down, I was not to move a muscle, not roll to my side, not lift my knee, not bend my leg, nothing. This is to prevent bleeding. Until blood clotting improves, the doctor left a sheath, or tube, in my artery that the nurses would remove after checking on my clotting factor. Let me help with time.

I got to the hospital about 1:00 PM and was placed on a bed until called to the OR (Cath Lab) at about 5:00 PM. It was supposed to start at 3:00, but there was an emergency. From the time I got there (5:00), I was flat on my back for the next 14 hours. After the procedure, which took two hours, at 7:00 PM, I was in my room. The nursing team transferred this old gnome’s body by sliding me on my back twice. By 11:00 PM I was in miserable pain caused by not moving – as blood just pools with gravity. But there was one more problem. They kept pumping fluids into me, which means that eventually, that bodily function had to….well, function. I had to pee.

The last time I peed from a position flat on my back I was wearing diapers, or should have been. Since pressure was going to be applied to my groin, I had to let it out. But how? I asked the nurse how and suggested rolling on my side. “No, Mr. Bill. You will need to urinate into the container while not moving.” I protested, “That’s impossible. That will never work.” She smiled at me and said, “Let’s just have positive thoughts, shall we?” And then, like I needed extra motivation, she tells me, “If you can’t go, we will just have to insert a catheter. So do your best.” Uh, oh.

Several years ago someone stuck one of those things in me. I’m sure was an old garden hose. Back then, a male nurse (jokingly) informed me that they have a lady whose husband left her for a younger woman put them in. She is angry with all men for what that guy did to her, and she exacts revenge upon those of us who are so equipped. I recalled the pain of that experience and how it was many days later, before I could pee again without pain (Stephen King, are you listening?).

thank-you-gratitudeIn less than two minutes I had filled the plastic jug to the brim without moving an inch. I handed to the nurse with a smile and asked her to keep that catheter thingy away from me. She smiled, let out a mildly sinister chuckle. Then she said, “See what positive thoughts can do.”

Finally, at about two in the morning, they managed to remove the tube from my artery with virtually no bleeding. That’s because the nurses maintained pressure on the wound for 25+ minutes. Then the clock started for a minimum of another four hours on my back.

I am grateful for all the nurses, doctors, techs, staff, cleaning crews, medical technology folks who manufacture the stents, the drugs, the plastic jugs, and all that they have done for me. I am grateful for my wife for being there and barking orders when the nurse was off dealing with other snarcastic old farts. I feel wonderful, my heart is doing great, and I am back to normal. Thank you.

 

Feelings

FWe all have them, to one degree or another. We are born with them and they change over time. They seem to always be there. Admittedly, health issues have a profound effect on our feelings, but that does not diminish the importance of feelings. And feeling can have an equally profound effect on our behavior, and can conversely effect our overall health. I like to say, “It is all about how you feel.” I mean that in life how we feel is critical. People may advise us to cheer up, but how?

I came to this conclusion (which I should have already known) after spending years working to help others deal with problems of one kind or another, often which they had with a friend or loved one. While it usually took a good amount of time, and sometimes nothing happened, the change in people was frequently remarkable. Feeling bad was debilitating, while finding a state of normalcy or feeling good enabled people to make decisions and move forward with their lives. Sometimes, feeling better led to better decisions and improvement, if not solutions, to the problem responsible for feeling bad in the first place.

Hurt-Feelings-I am not talking about clinical depression, chronic sadness for no reason, or any form of diagnosable mental health problem. I am talking about the normal things in life that may affect us because the emotional weight is so great. Things that make us sad are part of life, but they can, and often do, emotionally stop us right in our tracks. We feel bad. And depending on the degree and how it is handled, it has everything to do with eventually feeling good enough again to get on with it. I will not say get over it, or that we even have to.

While I’m not trying to sell any solution or answer, I’m also not saying that one way is better than another. The issue is often time. And we need the persistence and the patience to make the effort over time in order to move past the feeling bad. The adage is that time heals all wounds. Usually, it does and we feel better. But have we recovered? Could we have done things to feel better sooner and at a higher level? If so, what things?

Feelings matterWe have heard, “How do you feel about it?” and “How does that make you feel?” We may ask ourselves that question every day. While this is normal, living with a daily problem that makes us feel bad can often be improved. But we have to want to improve and we need to be willing and motivated to do what it takes to feel better.

I am not advocating or writing a self-help book here. But I do think they are helpful for some of us. There are many useful guiding books, and more seem to come out every day. Other forms of help may include self-help groups, counselors and advisors; religious, spiritual, or secular. Medical assistance may be necessary, but I am not qualified to suggest anything. I would seek medical help, if I felt bad enough.

Sentience is the capacity to feel, perceive, or experience subjectively. It may have slightly different meanings in other cultures, but in the West, it relates to that capacity. If we can do that, we can feel better. My point is that how we feel is critically important in life. We need to exercise our universal and inalienable right to be happy and feel as good as we are able as often as we can.

Epicurus

As I prepared for retirement about a year ago, I wondered what to put on my calling, or business card. Retired didn’t seem right, even if accurate. It tells nothing about what I do, as I thought the card should. When a doctor retires, she is still a physician. Others who no longer practice their vocation often can still rightfully be called, say a pilot, but not necessarily an airline pilot. He may even continue to fly airplanes.

With tongue in cheek, I listed my position of expertise as Leisure Aficionado. Also on the card, I listed three skills. One was Pleasure Seeker. I found reactions to that interesting and would often ask, “Don’t you pursue things that give you happiness and pleasure?” Apparently, some people only interpret a pleasure seeker as immoral. Unless your name is Church Lady, even sex is both moral and normal. Admittedly, it gets a lot of people into trouble. Without it, however, none of us exist. My topic is not sex, or even retirement. It is the pursuit of pleasure and the reduction of pain: Epicureanism.

epecurianI am an Epicurean. I see nothing wrong with that and even see it as positive. In my house I have food and drink, some of which has minimal or no nutritional value. But I like them and they bring me a certain amount of pleasure. I also have substances that have value in the reduction of pain. Chances are that you do too.

Epicureans are disciples or students of the Greek philosopher Epicurus. In the more modern sense, we are people devoted to sensual enjoyment, especially epicurusderived from fine food and drink both in a person’s taste and, as it often relates to delight-providing establishments, restaurants. Synonyms for epicureans could include hedonist, sensualist, pleasure-seeker, sybarite, voluptuary, bon vivant, and bon viveur. More related words are epicure, gourmet, gastronome, connoisseur, and gourmand; a generous, life-loving epicurean. Much of how we use the term invites thoughts of fine food and drink. I personally favor the adjective Epicurean to mean leaning more toward an understanding of Epicurus and his ideas.

Of course, there are problems with excess. Health factors such as weight gain, allergies, addictions, and waste leading to environmental damage can be consequential. But those problems are about excess, not pleasure or the relief of pain. Epicureans are not opposed to common sense and we applaud evidence-based solutions to problems.

epicurus163827

I’m in good company with my pleasure seeker philosophy. Other adherents to the teachings of Epicurus included the poet Horace, whose famous statement Carpe Diem (“Seize the Day”) illustrates the philosophy quite well, in my opinion.

I’ve had new cards make up. They have my photo, name, contact information. The job title on the card is “Writer” – nothing more. That is what I consider myself to be, because it brings me pleasure. While it also brings me pain of a certain kind, Epicurus had an answer for that too. If the result of the pain is pleasure, in the end it is good.

Dark Side

DThis may be the most difficult topic for me, but it’s early in the A-to-Z Challenge. I may find subjects that are greater challenges. Regarding the dark side of human nature, I would simply prefer to accept it and move on. My research of our dark nature has revealed that we humans actually want to deal with it in reality, art, life, drama, poetry, fiction, behavior, and nature. Many of us admit to a duality of human nature, but even more of us reject the dark truths.

Dark PoetryMy dark side calls to me. I ask, “What do you want?”

It calls again. “Stop!” I say, “You’re bad. Nobody likes you. If I accept you, nobody will like me.”

Through art, literature, and life I feel the tug and I hear the voice. “To be fully human, you must accept and understand me. Fear me not, judge me not. Your rejection of me is ironically exactly what your fear is about—ego.”

Am I imprisoned by my own thinking? Aren’t we all? The Bard speaks to me through Hamlet, “Why then ’tis none to you; for there is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so. To me it is a prison.” Do I judge the dark side unfairly? Is it my thinking that makes the dark side so – bad? If I pursue the dark side of human nature through art, literature, or science; is that bad? Would I be bad or become less good and more evil? What do I fear?

Embrace Dark SideIn addition to Oscar Wilde (The Picture of Dorian Gray), which I’ve read, I shall add the following.

Edgar Allen Poe
William Shakespeare (Hamlet)
Nathaniel Hawthorne (Young Goodman Brown)
John Keats (Ode to a Nightingale)
William Faulkner (As I Lay Dying)
Fyodor Dostoyevsky (Crime and Punishment)
D. H. Lawrence (Sons and Lovers)

Next week I plan to blog on Jekyll and Hyde from the classic book by  R. L. Stevenson for more on this topic.

Maybe then I can begin to learn and to eventually know. The maxim on the Temple of Apollo attributed to Socrates is “Know thyself.” It isn’t know thy good-self or thy light-self.

THE REBEL
Shaking his clenched fist at nobody
and shouting out in anger at nothing,
the proud, haughty rebel grits his teeth
and stands firm, straight and tall against
an enemy never seen nor ever heard;
crossing his arms in defensive defiance
against an adversary whose dwelling place
is in the dark, shadowy chambers of his
tumultuous and solitary, lofty and lonely mind.
[Dedicated to Albert Camus] ~ Kenneth Norman Cook

We may never know if the basic nature of mankind is good or evil, if we are fallen or risen. But we know something is there. We can hear it calling  to us. To know it. Embrace the darkness as well as the light.

I read this yesterday: “If you took a picture of your soul, what would it look like?”good-and-evil-2

 

c’est la guerre

C

When you ask most Americans if they know any French expressions they will say, “C’est la vie.” It may mean such is life, but it also implies a certain amount of fatalistic acceptance like “sh*t happens.” My favorite acceptance phrase in English is It is what it is. The title French phrase for this blog is different in that it points to cause – the reason things are wrong or out of whack. C’est la guerre, or it is the war, is an acknowledgement that while there is a problem, it is that way because of the war. As with many foreign phrases used in English, especially by Americans, the meaning is morphed slightly into aspects of life that don’t involve war or combat; such as work or sports competitions. The phrase was common and true in occupied France during World War II.

French cry at fall of FranceWhen I ponder c’est la guerre, my thinking goes more toward the conditions or philosophy of war, or the way of life during times of war. As an American, the concept is a little foreign to me (like our wars), since the only ground war we experienced was our war with ourselves: The Civil War. Ironically, it may have been the most destructive of our history in terms of loss of life and property. For at least the past 100 years, we have considered war as something that happens over there. Lucky us.

“It is only one who is thoroughly acquainted with the evils of war that can thoroughly understand the profitable way of carrying it on.” ~ Sun Tzu

 

In the 21st century, what are the things that happen and are explained with c’est la guerre? The first casualty of war is always truth. This is usually followed by destruction, death and maiming, rape, humiliation, and man’s inhumanity to man (torture). We have travel restrictions, airport body scanners, and a plethora of personal armament. And those are purely defensive precautions for dealing with domestic terrorism.

On War ClausewitzWhile there are many good books regarding the philosophy of war, the classic gold standard is On War by Carl Von Clausewitz – required reading for virtually every military officer. War and Peace by Leo Tolstoy may be the preeminent novel on the subject. And the classic for weaponry and strategy is The Art of War by Sun Tzu; more required reading, if not necessarily the best reading entertainment.

The Art of War Sun Tzu

“There is no instance of a country having benefited from prolonged warfare.” ~ Sun Tzu

 

So the rhyming tongue-in-cheek variation of the French fatalistic terms (which are not so fatalistic in French) used in English go like this: c’est la vie, c’est guerre, c’est la pomme de terre (such is life, such is war, that’s a potato). Get it? It is what it is. Accept it.

Blind Man’s Bluff

BBlind Man’s Bluff: The Untold Story of American Submarine Espionage (ISBN 0-06-103004-X), published in 1998 by Sherry Sontag, Christopher Drew, and Annette Lawrence Drew, is a non-fiction book about U.S. Navy submarine operations during the Cold War.

“‘Most of the stories in Blind Man’s Bluff have never been told publicly,’ they write, ‘and none have ever been told in this level of detail.’ …. Blind Man’s Bluff is a compelling book about the courage, ingenuity, and patriotism of America’s underwater spies.” –John J. Miller

Our travel itinerary to the northeast included flights in and out of New York and driving through the New England states then up to Montreal, Canada. One of our stops was at the Submarine Force Library and Museum in Groton, Connecticut. I wanted to tour the USS Nautilus, the world’s first nuclear-powered submarine and the first to complete a submerged transit beneath the North Pole. I was never in the Navy. And I certainly was not a bubblehead (USN jargon for a submariner). However, I find the history and adventures of that maritime branch interesting. In this case, the world of undersea espionage and intrigue makes for a great page-turner.

Blind Man's Bluff coverThe museum was worth the stop and the tour of the Nautilus was wonderful. If you like that kind of stuff, I recommend it. I usually take time to visit gift shops at such touristy places. That was where I purchased Blind Man’s Bluff: The Untold Story of American Submarine Espionage. I was motivated to read it by what I had seen in the museum and how I felt walking around on the submarine. I’ve had but one friend who was a bubblehead. He was stationed on a boomer (slang for a nuclear-powered ballistic missile submarine; the British say bomber) out of the Navy base at Groton. Those subs are different from the vessels in Blind Man’s Bluff, although boomers represented one leg of the US triad of nuclear defense during the same Cold War (still does).

I enjoyed reading the book and I recommend it. Readers interested in history, particularly of the military Cold War genre, should enjoy it as much as I did. I really like fiction – reading it and writing it. But truth is so amazing to me – especially in a book like this. Those submariners really hung it all out. They called them spooks, a reference to spies. The deeds they performed and the situations they found themselves in were awesome. Those people did a lot of crazy shite: willingly. Drama and intrigue are great in fiction, in movies, and even in verbal stories. But to know that people had the ‘nads and the smarts to do what they did in such a vulnerable position (inside a tin can bubble deep in enemy waters) is an awakening.submarine

This quote refers to the squids (sailors) and spooks (spies) working together. It makes me curious about the book, and I’ve already read it. Referring to the teaming of squids and spooks, an intelligence officer said they were “engaging in the world’s second oldest profession, one with even fewer morals than the first.”

The book has been out for a few years. Later versions have changes or corrections in them. I didn’t get too caught up in the details. Now I have even more respect for the people who proudly call themselves bubbleheads. I bought a tee-shirt at the museum. On the front it says, “There are two kinds of ships,” and on the back, “Submarines and targets.” I wear it often.

Touched by Art

I like art and art shows. Not so much the fancy ones where we wear ties and drink champagne. They’re okay, but I’m talking about the ones in tents, where the artists hawk their own creations. I’m all for galleries and museums, but kicking back while roaming through the tents in flip-flops, shorts, a tee-shirt, and ball cap, with a cold one in-hand is way more fun. There’s always plenty of unhealthy food and marginal live-music to boot. It’s a gas, both figuratively and physically.

This is where I find art that I am willing and able to buy. I have a few pieces from shows hanging in my room now. I like to talk about art. I’m an art (and rain) lover. I am not going to deny being an artist, but I want to focus on the work of others. One piece in particular – for a specific reason.

Several years ago I went to a big art show in Pensacola, Florida. It was an outdoor, wing-ding affair and a cut above others I’ve attended. Now, most people who know me might not describe me a sensitive guy. I have no idea why, but crusty old fart is more likely. They’d be wrong. In any case, comparisons with Jack Nicholson movie roles are common. I cried when old yeller died and sobbed pitifully at the movie Love Story. However, for this image, you can picture Jack if you want. In my left hand was a plastic cup containing a yellowish liquid that could’ve been extracted from the hang-down of a diabetic horse. This they passed-off as beer. In my right hand was a heart-attack-on-a-stick with mustard. It was a hot, sunny day and I wore my Pensacola Blue Wahoos baseball cap.

We walked around looking at all the stuff. I met one artist whose studio was in New Orleans and who shared my name. He did a lot of hot, multi-dimensional creations. They were kind of big or I would’ve bought one. Moving on, I approached another tent. This was an artist from Houston, Texas. He was not there, but his wife was minding the store pending his return. His beautiful paintings were hanging there – waiting for me.

As I strolled through looking at his work, one piece about 18-inches square caught my eye. I just stopped and I stared. It was a court-room scene with a young girl. Her back was to me. Gradually, a strange feeling come up from the earth. It entered and possessed me. As I became more emotional, I started to tear-up. There was nothing particularly sad about the painting. Since I still had my wits, I looked around hoping no one noticed my loss of control – how embarrassing! Geez, Bill, suck it up dude! Get a grip. It was just a painting; one of hundreds I’d looked at that day. Maybe it was the sausage or maybe the lousy beer. Perhaps I’d had too much sun. Down deep, I wondered then and for a long time afterward if I could possibly have been affected by the painting. Does that actually happen?

76876-duendeMore than a year later, I learned a new word that explains my reaction to the painting. It had never happened to me before, and has not since. The word is duende. It is a noun meaning the mysterious power of art to deeply move a person. There is a lot more to and behind this word. You can check it out for yourself by reading the wiki, if you’re curious. Apparently, artists sometimes experience this with their own work. However, if you’re familiar with this, or had a similar event happen, I would love to hear from you.

Let’s Talk

This isn’t really about politics. I promised not to do that. But, I want to share my experience with the Washington State Caucus yesterday – the process of selecting candidates for elections. Until now, I’ve lived and participated only in states where everyone votes in the primary election within a political party. It is so much easier there. You may fill out a ballot and send it in, or you can go to a polling location to vote. I recall that in Texas, anyone can vote in either primary, but not both. They stamp your voter registration card with the name of the one you voted in. My point is: when you vote in a primary, you’re done and can be fairly anonymous.

I doubt if caucusing is done the same way state to state, or even precinct to precinct. I suspect that it’s similar. The time for caucus was from 10AM until 12:30 PM. Two and a half hours to vote, but we didn’t simply vote. These folks served coffee and snacks – a sure sign that you’re going be there a while. Before I went to the caucus location, I downloaded and completed a form. When I arrived at the registration table, I was instructed to write-in the name I wanted to vote for and to sign the form.

The room was packed with almost 200 people. After finding a seat, we were told that the actual caucusing begins at 10:30, before which the lady in charge read a bunch of things I would call ‘rules of engagement’ – boring and irritating, but necessary. Since we were from two precincts, we were divided into two groups, by precinct. At start time, the other group left for a separate room. Then the lady leading the caucus asks, “Would anyone like to speak on behalf of their candidate?”

This is where I need Deacon Andy Griffin to narrate events. That’s because what some folks apparently heard was, “Would you care to tell us how wonderful the other candidate is and then follow that with ‘But!’ and then tell us why the other candidate is not as good as yours?” In some cases (no kidding now) we will be in the end times for sure, “if we do not chose to nominate who I think is the best choice.” Listening to people pander to the opposition before stating their support for their preferred candidate was entertaining, but boring. I have no idea how sincere anyone was.

There was one brouhaha, which seemed silly. There were a few yells from individuals in the crowd, but it was generally peaceful. After the talking and some arguing, we were offered the opportunity to change the ballot that we turned-in at registration. After over an hour of talking, cajoling, pandering, and yadda-yadda-yadda, not one person asked to change their original vote. As it is with politics and religion, no one changed anyone’s mind. “May we go home now?” Nope!

We needed to elect eight delegates to represent our precinct. Fourteen had to volunteer; the eight, plus six alternates. Then we had to vote because we had an extra volunteer – me. I attended the caucus with a friend and she (and I assume others) did not want one volunteer to be a delegate. So, when she saw that happening, I felt an elbow slam into my side. To which my right arm instinctively responded by raising itself. That is how I became a delegate from our precinct. I was elbow-jabbed into it.

I have to admit that while just voting in a primary is easier and less likely to get me committed to deeper political involvement, caucusing is more fun and more interesting.