Grandma had taught me that voting was a responsibility and a privilege. We walked about four city blocks. The polling place was a dimly lit room. Grandma was friendly and chatted with people. I was invited to sit with the ladies who worked at the table. I sat and daydreamed about growing up and being allowed to be on the other side of the voting curtain.

Grandma wore bright red lipstick, mascara, and high heels. She looked extra pretty, like she does on Christmas. She called her hair an updo. Her nylons had seams on the back of her legs. She wore her swing coat. I was excited and proud to be going to the polling place with her that Election Day in 1952.

I voted early this 2020 election. It was a grey day. There were no pretty ladies in high heels. We voters all looked the same. We wore jeans, masks and tired eyes. There was no voting curtain. This election day, my daydream was a wish that Grandma could send me a secret message from the afterlife, telling me what is going to happen.