Ten year old Elizabeth Roess scored a victory for Halloween this year when she brought trick-or-treating back to Oil City, Pennsylvania. That was the teaser for Robert Siegel's story on National Public Radio the day before Halloween. Worn out by political coverage, my attention was piqued. 

Years ago, an 11-year old girl in Oil City was kidnapped and murdered around Halloween. Inspired by hatred and fear (as lawmakers sometimes are) the city council passed an ordinance restricting trick-or-treating to the daylight hours of 2 and 4 PM. Halloween wasn't much fun in Elizabeth's home town. 

This year she took matters into her own hands and invited the city council to vote for hope rather than fear. Elizabeth collected signatures on a petition to allow night-time trick-or-treating and she wrote an essay outlining her rationale. I bet she was adorable when she presented the petition and read her essay at the City Council meeting. At any rate, she was successful. Today Elizabeth addressed the nation on NPR.

Her voice quivered, and with utmost delicacy Robert asked what lessons she had learned about politics from her experience. Her response: "Don't ever go alone and wear bright clothes."There's a young woman who understands politics!

Here's a link to the NPR story: http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=96344552 

Hundreds of times as a child I put my hand over my heart to pledge allegiance to the flag. Yes, the flag. That limp assembly of primary colors propped in the corner of the classroom. It took me a while to figure out something a few people never have - that it's not about the flag. The operative phrase here is "the republic for which it stands." I was ten by then, and I got it. I was pledging allegiance to my country. I could live with that. Later I sorted out the sub-text of "indivisible." That brutal civil war wouldn't happen again if I had anything to say about it! During my atheist teens I mumbled the "under God" bit under my breath, unable to break the rhythm with silence as some of my friends were doing. But it was "liberty and justice for all" that really got to me. Now there's something you can devote a life to!

When I was young I thought the policeman was my friend. I stood up at my brother's baseball games and belted out the Star Spangled Banner with tears in my eyes.

I don't know whether my country changed or I did. I still get tears in my eyes, but there's a bitter twinge in my heart - especially when they miss those high notes.

In New Zealand as, I suppose, in other commonwealth nations, new citizens pledge allegiance to the queen. When friends ask whether I'll become a citizen - which seems awfully personal for party-talk, but oh well - I say I would never pledge allegiance to the queen. They laugh and point out that she's a very nice woman. But I have already pledged my allegiance. I don't have any to spare.

When I was child we watched presidents, supreme court justices, and governors taking the oath of office  - usually on television, but sometimes a family friend got the nod for public office and we got to be there in person. Having pledged their allegiance hundreds of times we ask something new of our public officials: "To protect and defend the constitution of the United States." So this rote phrase was added to the lexicon of my American identity. 

"New Zealand," I complain to my friends, "does not have a constitution." "Oh but it does," they say! "Ours is far superior to yours, consisting of common law handed down through precedents over hundreds of years." For a while I went along with it. Their sense of superiority left me sheepish. I changed the subject. I couldn't figure out why I was so attached to this document we memorized in elementary school.

Today I got it. My step-mum sent me a news article from one of those alternate internet sources that have sprung up to promote liberty and lies. This one had a long headline: "Thousands of Troops Are Deployed on U.S. Streets Ready to Carry Out Crowd Control." The [expletive deleted] president, it claims, has brought regiments home from Iraq to train for control of the population. That would be the American population. The article suggests that he, or members of his administration threatened Congress with martial law if they didn't pass his so-called rescue package last week. The troops would stick around, "just in case." The article raised the specter of a coup.

"That won't happen," thought I, "it would be unconstitutional!" Surely those generals have put their hands on their hearts (or the bible) and promised to protect and defend the constitution. And surely they understood what occupied my first ten years, namely, that it's not about the piece of paper! Surely.

And that, my friends, is the advantage of a constitution. Every eleven-year old knows it's there to protect him and her from the unfettered power of government.  You can't say that about common law - it's too complex and too obscure to be memorized in elementary school.  Gotcha!

I bought a pin on TradeMe (New Zealand's version of EBay). No one else bid on it, perhaps because it wasn't terribly attractive - a bit of silver in the ungainly shape of a horseshoe with a piece of purple glass that's supposed to be amethyst but looks a lot like purple glass. I like purple, but that wasn't the reason I bought it.

This wee pin has a phrase engraved in the back, "mizpah." You can barely make out the letters. Mizpah. It's meanings reach back into antiquity. While some say it's more complicated, mizpah describes the emotional tie between people who love each other when they are separated by distance or death. As in Genesis 31:43, "And mizpah; for he [Laban] said, "The Lord watch over me and thee, when we are absent from one another." So I bought the pin.

Missing my partner isn't a constant experience for me. It's sometimes predictable, as when I go to a movie without him. This has been true for the nearly three decades we've known each other -- "known" in both senses, but that's something else again. Part of realizing he was the one for me came when we had just started dating. Don't tell, but I went to a movie with another man who was perfectly decent - even intelligent. After the movie I tingled with anticipation, ready to launch into my analysis and reaction and eager to compare it with his. But that wasn't to be. "It was nice." was about all my companion had in him. So going to a movie without my partner is less. Much less, than going with him. I always miss him after watching a movie, even when we're in the same town. Other predictable moments: when there's trouble at work or with the kids. When I can't remember something I know he would know. When I prepare dinner for myself and find that I've cooked for two. When I look at art. When I'm afraid. Most of the time I don't think it shows. The man in the street wouldn't notice the tightness deep inside my chest.

It's the unpredictable moments that throw me. Yesterday in the produce section I found myself gazing at the male pattern baldness on the back of a stranger's head. Good thing he didn't turn around and catch the look in my eye! It took me a while to locate the longing and chuckle at this new manifestation of age. There I was, yearning for the little bald spot on my partner's head --a sweet vulnerable spot that reveals his lumpy skull to the world without his knowing. So there I was for the rest of the afternoon. Missing that wee bald spot on the head of my partner, my husband, my Larry.

 Mizpah.