I could never hear Sarah Palin's name again in my life and be perfectly happy. I told my son this today as we sat in a hospital waiting room while I thumbed through a copy of time. Ms. Palin was on the cover. Note, I did not say "graced" the cover. Annoyed, I tossed down the Time and grabbed a slightly mangled copy of People. Unfolding it back into its original shape, I could finally make out the cover: Sarah Palin and family, all grinning maniacally.

What's not to like, you may ask? Or maybe not. Because if you're a fan of this blog, you're either a liberal or a very tolerant friend.

From all I've heard, I don't think Sarah Palin is a very nice woman. Or, as one man said today, "I think she's a vindictive bitch." This based on the whole state trooper, sister's divorce, firing, back-biting strange shenanigans. Second, she's Republican. Third, she's ill prepared. Fourth, she smiles too much and it's one of those fake, former-beauty-queen-turned-politicians smiles. Praticed. Cheesy. Calculating.

But perhaps most of all, she lives in Alaska. And as a cold-blooded woman - though notably NOT a vindictive one - I cannot relate in the slightest to someone who voluntarily lives in the land of glaciers and polar bears.

Robby and I don't really talk politics. My statement was more or less a comment made while passing the time. (What we were doing in the hospital waiting room is another story.) I think Robby leans toward Barack, but given the recent baptism debacle, I can't be sure of anything about him anymore. Except that he likes video games. And peanut butter. Unless he's tucking the peanut butter into his cheeks and spitting it out later, I know these two things for sure.

But my neighbor and I do talk politics. He, a conservative Christian, and me, an increasingly more liberal liberal, swap thoughts over the back yard fence. We are like Wilson and tool guy Tim, except that Dave is a floating head from my line of sight and not merely an arm, leg or chin. It happens almost naturally. Dave will be working in his backyard, and I in mine. We look up, say hey, comment about the weather and then segue with comedic rapidity into politics, or, even better, religion.

Dave does not understand my religion. "If you don't talk about God, what do you talk about?" he asked me a couple of weeks ago.

Fair question. I did my best to give him an answer, explaining that it's more about faith in the goodness of people than faith in a god.

He said little, nodding as though he understood. I figured he was back in his house within five seconds saying to his wife, "Suzanne! Listen to this!"

I thought little more of that conversation until today, when I tucked my chin over the fence to ask if I could borrow his ladder.

"Sure," he said, hoisting it over.

I'm not even sure how Sarah Palin's name came up but suddenly, we were into the thick of it.

"I think she's a slam dunk, home run for the Republicans," he said.

I bit my tongue. Hard and felt a swell of pride for resisting the urge to say, "And I think she's a slam dunk, home run for the Democrats."

Instead, with stunning restraint, I said, "But don't you wonder, if something happened to McCain, if she'd be ready to step into the seat?"

On this point, to my surprise, he conceded.

And then, to my even greater surprise, he offered an apology.

"Listen, I hope I didn't offend you when I said something about your church the other day. I can be kind of a smart ass, especially when I've had a couple beers which I think I had that day."

It took a few seconds for the conversation to come back. And then I laughed and told him I'd thought nothing of it. "I like smart asses!"

Dave brightened at this and we retreated to our separate yards.

An hour later, while I stood on his ladder painting the trim on the front of the house, I saw him fertilizing his lawn.

"Hey, I got some extra fertilizer," he said. "You want me to do your lawn?"

"Sure!"

Dave puttered happily around my front yard, spraying fertilizer pellets like raindrops. "Back yard need it, too?"

I nodded cheerfully and thanked him. This sort of thing was not unheard from from Dave, but not an everyday occurrence either.

That chore completed, he went back to his yard and revved up the leaf blower, blasting debris from the rock garden in his front yard. Without asking this time, he walked over to my yard and blasted a few leafy crevices of the sidewalk.

I gave him a wave and thought about making my own smart-ass comment. Something like, "If feeling bad about making a crack about my church makes you do stuff like this, bring it on, boy!" Or perhaps, "You know what? I DO love Sarah Palin!"

But I restricted myself to a neighborly nod. Secretly, I enjoy our backyard quipping and light-hearted debate. As neighbors and as kind-hearted if politically and theologically different people, we both know we will never cross the line into serious argument. But even more importantly, my reassurances aside, I think he still feels bothered by his comment. And I want to milk that for all its worth.









Secretly, I enjoy our exchanges ...