Anybody home?

I never answer the door.

Oh, if I know you, that's different, but if you're a Mormon or Jehovah's Witness, a politician's proxy, or a creepy white-slave trying to sell magazines "for college money," I am traditionally never home. I figure it saves us both from one more awkward conversation, one more failed conversion of whatever type. I really don't want any. No matter what it is.

So of course I spent my Saturday afternoon walking through some one else's neighborhood, knocking on dozens of doors. Can't say that I minded that most the addresses I'd been provided were coded "hanger" and not "knock." That meant I was only obligated to leave an Obama/Biden door-hanger complete with polling places and times. I got to feel as if I were contributing without having to bug anybody, and the residents got their information without having to pretend not to be home. Perfect.

But, the quick conversations I did have were pleasant; I would have enjoyed being out even if it hadn't been such a beautiful day. Many people are perhaps less anti-social than I. Then again, it was a heavily prObama neighborhood, so my presence was not exactly unwelcome. Unnecessary, maybe, but who knows. A yard sign is no guarantee of an actual vote, and the names we had were new or sporadic voters, so maybe it did some good. In Missouri, a few tallies here and there will make the difference, no doubt.

My neighborhood, on the other hand, will never be canvassed. Illinois is safely blue, and even if it weren't, my precinct and city and county are. But now, after Saturday, I ponder, and I think maybe if some rogue volunteer were to make it to my street--highly unlikely; the campaign has this down to a science--I think maybe I just might be home.