Too many campaign signs are cluttering up both sides of the roads causing many drivers in the township to get a stiff neck glancing at them — and it is only halfway to election day. The signs are very confusing as I don’t know which ones to read first and I definitely can’t see all of them. It was bad enough before, with the numerous “For Sale” signs and other ones identifying the farmers’ crops. So many now; they are taking away from the natural beauty of the weeds and shrubs among the ditches and can even lead to the odd driver not knowing if he is on the right road. And this distasteful practice will be accelerating until the end of October! Why can’t these politician wannabes become media savvy – even save on expenses. Isn’t that what we expect of them if elected – cut back on our taxes?
Most of the signs are blue, adding additional misperception for political junkies, as blue represents a conservative brand in Canada but a liberal one in the US! Are our candidates left-leaning or right wingers (not hockey players)! A couple of black signs indicate feistiness, a fight to the bitter end, but how could we possibly choose the best based on that? The strangest thing is that a father and daughter are entered but they have different names. Go figure! But in my view most of the signs just seem to be a solitary prayer to an empty sky.
I try to read each and every one I pass just in case someone was clever enough to use subliminal advertising – probably against the bylaws anyway! Those signs mounted on wooden pegs, whether giant-like, lofty or mostly obscure being too low to the ground and partially obstructed by wildflowers, sit on one peg or two. The single peg ones are subject to distort or thankfully the sign is torn off by windy conditions. The two-pegged ones never have the legs parallel, indicative of a lack of care. Then there are the ‘bag’ signs: spineless, flopping around in the slightest of breezes with wire-supports bending any which way for no apparent reason – a quick and dirty method but requiring more time for straightening than is allotted. Signs of either type are rarely parallel to the eye which I discovered in a random survey with my trusted carpenter’s level.
I think these egotistical signs, all vying to shout the loudest that, “I’m the greatest person since sliced bread,” are a hazard. I am always peering to see if any of the potential 17 are missing (if so, someone is too lazy or doesn’t care, I think). However, by studying them in this fashion when driving I have a habit of edging off of the pavement, scaring the daylights out of Sheila. It happened four times the other day so I stayed home the next few days to practice paying attention. The first day back I deviated into oncoming traffic. Both vehicles sharply braked, shaken by the near miss. The other driver looked like a ‘road rage’ guy from Toronto so I got the hell out of there, not wanting anyone to be beaten up or gunned down, namely me.
Most people would not know this, remember this or have chosen to block it out, but I ran for a Councillor position before amalgamation back in 2006. The timing of my entry was a perfect storm. Both on the committee of the popular WPS 100-year anniversary and delivering federal census forms prior to the election, made my name recognizable to almost everyone despite having recently returned to the area after 40 years on the road. True to my nature, a new idea always gets me super-charged initially.
I was easily first out of the gate, got my bag signs made and planted before the other two got out of bed and thought of taking action. At the midway report I kept hearing predictions of being at least in second place, just what my ears needed. With absolutely no experience in campaigning and naïve, I lost interest and slowed to a crawl while my two opponents gained momentum.
Final results read out the last evening said it all, a close third. I was shocked but mostly humiliated. The path of resentment is easier to travel than the road to forgiveness; humility kept me indoors for weeks, not even to Kenny’s Store for a bottle of hooch.
No one ever mentioned my fragility into politics until the other day when one of the elected candidates brought it to my attention. Rather than distress, now it was recalled like an opera, an exciting overture but unfortunately no encore in my case. I’m okay with that since any memory, good or bad, is a treasure for a lifetime.
