Geez, what if I still lived in Des Moines.
On South 9th street.
I could have walked to the Dairy Queen, the Authentic Mexican restaurant, and the barber shop, while Hilary and Donald and Bernie and all those other guys pretended that my vote really would make a difference.
Iowans: Such nice people.
The jello capital of the world.
They really truly are friendly, caring, hard working and family oriented.
Some of my happiest days were spent in that state.
Hot, humid summers, with tall corn in the fields.
Brutal winter blizzards, with winds and snow.
But that was expected.
If you live in Iowa, you do what you have to do to survive, and you generously give everything you can, to make sure your friends and neighbors do the same.
It amuses some of us, how the politicians think that the Iowa vote can predict the outcome of an election.
Iowans live in a land locked world, thriving on the farms that feed the rest of us.
If you asked someone on the East Coast this question: Where is Iowa? I would doubt that many of them would know.
If you had lunch with an Iowan, you would find simple, good food, mostly meat and potatoes, and a smile.
Unless it was a Friday night. Then it would be fish and chips, caught, of course, locally.
They know how to party, Iowans. They bring a dish to the neighborhood party, with a home spun band, in a barn and dance the night away.
Some of the most prestigious companies call Iowa their home.
Iowans don’t brag about it.
They are not about bragging.
They just like to bake pies and visit.
Come on over!
The middle of the US.
A least likely place to be heaven.
Is this heaven?
No, it is Iowa.
Yes, it is Iowa and it is heaven.
The birthplace of my mother, and other wonderful people, who readily share their emotions and love with open arms.
If only the rest of the world was like you.