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Voting is a precious privilege. It’s a right that many people have given up their jobs, their freedom, and even their lives to secure for themselves and their families. It’s not something we can ignore or treat lightly.

This was originally titled “Holding my nose while voting,” but many have used that one, and the situation has gotten even worse. Now we have two candidates whose moral character is so besmirched it’s hardly conceivable. Still, no candidate has ever been perfect: we’ve elected alcoholics, adulterers, liars, and who knows what else. What matters is their ability to address the serious issues facing the nation.

I am voting for Trump. He’s apparently a racist, misogynist, narcissistic blowhard, and that’s on his good days. But he has not shown the blatant disregard for American lives that his opponent has.

Women from Trump’s past are coming out to accuse him of molestation. This is a horrible thing, terrible to be used like an object and discarded, and we must listen to their voices. But there are other voices, silent now and forever, that we should pay attention to. These are the voices of tiny girls who every day are torn limb from limb in the womb, or burned to death by saline injection. And an abnormally large percentage of them are minority children, in line with Planned Parenthood’s goal of “racial purification.”

These deaths are a plank in the Democratic platform, something Mrs. Clinton supports. Her medical knowledge is abysmal, since it scarcely ever is true that a woman’s life will be saved by aborting her child rather than giving birth. And “learning that something terrible . . .has just been discovered about the pregnancy” is no reason to abort the child; that’s tantamount to learning that your child has cancer and proceeding to murder her. Why would anyone do that?

Mrs. Clinton has also demonstrated her lack of sympathy for American lives by her actions (or inactions) regarding Benghazi, and her aggressive harassment of the women implicated in her husband’s affairs.

The picture is clear. We need a president who respects the lives of Americans, and that is not the lady candidate. And who knows, maybe Mr. Trump will dig the economy out of the hole it’s in. He is, if nothing else, a businessman.

Growing up in the fifties with my dad Bill Randall, a commercial artist, I sometimes wondered what the purpose of art was, aside from putting bread on the table.
My dad would spend all day working in his basement studio, which smelled delightfully of oil paint, fixative and other chemicals, painting hamburgers, Palmolive girls, or Colliers covers. He once painted a hundred-dollar hamburger (that was a big deal in the fifties). He was best known for his Date Book calendars and Colliers’covers. (That’s me, my brother and dad on the couch.)colliers

Then for fun, he’d create more of the same! – bridges over leaf-flecked streams, portraits of family, old mills.
But it was a lot of work, and the point of it all eluded me.
By art I mean anything from graffiti to the Sistine Chapel, from singing in the shower to Handel’s Messiah, from graphic novels to Shakespeare. Why do we do this? What drives us to create?
I came up with some ideas:
For entertainment, for relaxation. We all know about this: after a hard day’s work we sometimes seek mindless relaxation: watching a TV cop show, or listening to our favorite music.
To show off. To express ourselves. To experiment with line, color, movement, ideas, words. To find the beauty in ugliness. To reveal some hidden ugliness.
To expand our minds. To change hearts; I’m reminded of the inspirational story of Rodriguez’ musical success that helped motivate South African activists.
To help our children go to sleep we have lullabies. To focus on a detail worth remembering.
To emphasize a feeling or an aspect of reality that we might otherwise miss: as in the painting Nighthawks by Edward Hopper800px-nighthawks_by_edward_hopper_1942.

And finally, to draw closer to God. Because something in us wants to imitate the Creator. J.R.R. Tolkien described this very well in his essay “On Fairy-Stories.”
Thinking it over, I guess it’s worth the time after all.
Why do you do what you do?

Get On Board Little Children by Victoria Randall
Come on Home, Children by Victoria Randall
City of Hidden Children by Victoria Randall
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One Thousand Words a Week

Either this, or another ten bucks for Lisa.

Alisa Jordan

Young Adult Novelist with a dark work in progress.

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