Maureen Rogers, fellow American

Other than regularly hanging out on Act Blue to donate to Biden-Harris, and pretty much any Democrat with a chance of displacing a heinous Republican Senator or member of the House, I haven't exactly done a lot to help make sure that Biden et al. win and sweep the nightmare in the White House and his toadies into the ashbin of history. 

Part of this is the luxury of living in a safely blue state. It's not as if whatever-his-name-is who's running for the Senate here, or nutso Dr. Shiva who lost the Republican primary but insists he won and is asking voters to write him in, has any chance at all of beating Ed Markey. I don't know if my Congressman, Stephen Lynch, even has an opponent. And if Biden doesn't carry Massachusetts by at least 60-40, I'll eat styrofoam boater, even if it has Trump's name on it.

Plus I really do despise phone banking.

If someone asked me to do a visibility - something I actually don't mind doing - I'd go wherever and hold a sign. But no one's asked and there's really no point around here. 

But I did want to do something other than just kaching-ing on Act Blue.

So I settled on writing letters for Vote Forward, which reaches out to Democrats in swing states who are unlikely to vote. 

Their goal is to send out 15 million letters, and when I looked on Wednesday, they were almost there. If you're wondering whether it's worth it, studies suggest that 3.4% of voters contacted will vote. That translates into 500,000 voters in those swing states. When you consider the narrow margins that brought us to Trump, this can make a difference.

What you write is not entirely original. Vote Forward provides you a template that speaks a bit about the importance of voting, and gives voter information for each state. Volunteers personalize the letters by putting a name after the "dear" and adding a message about why you're voting. You then sign your name. I've been signing mine "Maureen R, fellow American." And have added in an extra little flourish on top of that: "Please vote. Your vote matters."

In total, I've done 300 letters. Forty to Pennsylvania. Twenty to Texas, New Hampshire, Minnesota and Ohio. And a whopping (at least in my opinion) 180 to voters in Michigan.

And here they are, all bundled up - those rubber bands that hold your asparagus together come in handy - and ready to drop tomorrow.

I varied the letters up a bit. If someone had an ethnic name, I sometimes wrote that I voted "to honor my grandparents who came here to find a better life. When I vote, I'm hoping to elect good people who'll make our country a better place for all." That's not really true, but I thought it had a nice ring to it.

If someone had an old-fashioned name - there was even a Gussie - I wrote about how much is at stake, leading with Social Security. If someone had a younger-sounding name - Rhianna - I wrote about how much is at stake, leading with the environment. For a middle-age name - Jasons and Jennifers are mostly 50-ish, right? - I led with healthcare.

Sometimes I wrote about wanting democracy to endure for generations to come. Other times, I wrote about how I never wanted a good candidate to lose by a couple of votes because I didn't vote.

I had a few other mini-spiels.

You're not allowed to make a partisan appeal, so I couldn't write what I really wanted to about the need to rid the body politic of the ticks that are Trump & Co. That I fear a slipslide into autocracy, into fascism. That we better choose wisely or we'll lose whatever fragile hold we have on our democracy.

It was interesting seeing the names - the broad sweep of the American population. The Diegos. The Abduls. The Shannons. The Shamekas. And the last names: all those Spanish-sounding surnames in Texas (and every where else). The Poles and Arab names from Michigan. Irish. Italian. Lithuanian. Thai. Chinese. Vietnamese. Swedish. French. Czech. 

Every once in a while, I googled a name. And thus came across the young marketer from Pennsylvania. The college wrestler. The woman in Michigan who's sister had been brutally murdered. But, of course, it would have been creepy to have a complete stranger ("Maureen R, fellow American") ask about how the marketing career or wrestling was going, or offer sympathy for a sister's death.

There's template for each state for the return address, so it looks like the letter is coming from the voter's state. But you're on your own for the voter's address.

I probably could have figured out how to convert the pdf's that contained the voter info into address labels, but I wrote out everyone's address in long hand. (Having been a marketer, I know that someone is more likely to open up something that's hand addressed.) I also got interesting stamps, and didn't go with the bland old flag. (Not that there's anything wrong with that.)

Tomorrow's the official mailing date, so I'll be walking my letters to the post office.

Three-hundred letters, with a 3.4% response rate = 10 voters.

Not much in the grand scheme of thing, but every little bit counts.

So come on, Eleanor in Philadelphia! Bruce in NH, get moving! Kevin, Darius, Theodora in Michigan. Brandi in Ohio. Angel in Texas. Joseph in Minnesota. We're counting on you. VOTE, dammit, VOTE!