Questing Parson

A Bill Moyers' Moment ~ Howard Zinn on the Power of Ordinary People

Bill Moyers and Andrew Bacevich Discuss Changing Our Military Mindset

Two Elections Lost

The parson exited the voting place his civic duty done for this election cycle. The wind blew the scent of the changing season toward him. The sun was slowly opening the door to the day.

The parson headed out of the parking lot, turned left, headed south toward the Quik Trip to purchase his daily cup of cappuccino. That done he pondered his choices, not of which he allowed to be heading to the church to work on Sunday's sermon. Instead, he headed north, meandering up the back roads. An hour or so later he found himself pulling into New Echota, the old capital of the Cherokee nation.

The parson wandered around the site, looking into the buildings, mostly reconstructed but located on the exact spot they'd been built. The roads of the town were still visible. He passed the Cherokee Supreme Court, the office of “The Phoenix”, the Cherokee newspaper, the tavern, and tucked back in the forest the rather opulent home of the missionaries who served there and from whose backyard the Cherokees began the infamous “Trail of Tears.”

Mid morning found the parson heading home. Enough items on the “Honey Do” list were completed to earn him bed and board for a couple more days; Charlie Brown, his faithful canine companion, took him for a walk around the neighborhood and accompanied him on a visit to the hospital. All in all, it was an uneventful day, except for the voting and the visit to the Cherokee capital.

After supper the parson settled down to write and post his contribution to the Homiletical Hot Tub at Good Preacher [dot] Com. He had no interest in other clergy duties and so he clicked on the television. PBS was running a program on the life of Sacajawea, the Native American woman who either accompanied or guided, depending on one's historical point-of-view, Lewis and Clark across the land President Jefferson purchased from the French.

It struck the parson as interesting he'd wandered around the Cherokee town in the morning and now was ending his day with the story of this amazing woman. Near the end of the program he was also reminded of his voting that morning. Sacajawea was, arguably, the first woman to vote in America. When Lewis and Clark were about to settle in for their second winter they debated where to make their camp. Sacajawea voted for a place where a particular vegetable was plentiful.

Before turning in for the night, the parson watched the election returns. He ended the day knowing he and Sacajawea had something in common. They both knew what it was like to be outvoted.

It's In the Mail

“Number 491, please come to Window D.”

I rose from my seat and headed to Window D.

“How may I help you?”

“I need to get a new Social Security card for my uncle.”

“I see,” said the Social Security lady, “has he lost his?”

“I assume he has,” I informed her. “I’m unable to locate it. He broke his hip and is in a rehab center. I have Power of Attorney and am handling his affairs.”

“I see,” said the Social Security lady. “You have to fill out an application.”

I said, “I have a completed application with me. Do you need a copy of the power of attorney also?”

“No, I don’t need that,” said the Social Security lady. “I do need his driver’s license and your driver’s license.”

I pulled my uncle’s driver’s license from my briefcase and mine from my wallet and passed both to her.

“You can sit down,” the Social Security lady said, “this will take a few minutes.”

I sat down. And in a few minutes she handed both of the licenses to me.

“You’ll receive the new card in a few weeks,” the Social Security lady told me.

“Ah, the people at the subsidized housing said you would give me a letter saying the card had been applied for and that would meet their requirements.”

“We do supply that letter,” said the Social Security lady.

I held out my hand to receive the letter.

“Ah, we’ll mail it,” the Social Security lady said.

I paused and thought it through before asking, “Where are you going to mail it?”

She held out the letter and showed me the address.

“That’s my address.”

“Yes, it is,” said the Social Security lady.

She must have taken in the puzzled look on my face. The Social Security lady asked, “Is there anything else?”

“Ah, if you’re mailing it to me why don’t you just hand it to me.”

“I cannot hand you a copy,” said the Social Security lady, “regulations require we mail it.”

I left. If you need me in the next two or three days I’ll be sitting beside the mailbox and my uncle will still be at the rehab center.