28 June—As I type this little disquisition, hordes of electors (whom civilians call voters) in Goshen, Litchfield, Morris, and Warren likely are surging through the several polling places in the four lucky towns to vote in person in the momentous (and ground-breaking) referendum to enhance educational opportunity for kids lucky enough not to be sent off to private schools and—truth be told, more important for most of the electors (voters)—to save tax money in the bargain.

I’ve been able to avoid the surge by dutifully casting my absentee ballot at Litchfield’s Town Hall last week. In fact, I’ve been dutifully casting absentee ballots since well before Ned Lamont enabled and encouraged the practice for electors (voters) who were afraid of catching the dreaded novel coronavirus from: contaminated ballot-eating electronic machines that look like copiers but could well be paper shredders; contaminated election personnel; contaminated electors (voters); contaminated ballots; contaminated felt-tip pens; contaminated door handles; and, of course, contaminated toilet seats.

I’ve been able to lawfully cast all those absentee ballots because, as Connecticut’s statutory application puts it, my religious beliefs prevent me “from performing secular activities like voting on Election Day.” The application doesn’t ask what my religion is or for proof of my membership and belief in or adherence to it. Nor does the application ask what other activities I’m prevented from performing on Election Day.

Don’t ask, don’t tell. So I don’t volunteer my personal theological details on the application. But I’ll tell you, my faithful readers, what religion proscribes my attendance at the polls on Election Day.

On second thought, oh no I won’t. It’s none of your business either. It’s kind of like HIPAA, only more personal. But I can reveal, without fear of violating the seal of clandestinity, that it’s derived from Ethically Cultural Third-Day Adventism.

Nor will I tell you how I voted. Because the secret ballot, while not even mentioned in the United States Constitution, is nevertheless the keystone of the democratic process. I will admit, however, that I tried very hard to stay within the circle when I filled it in with a ballpoint pen at the Litchfield Town Clerk’s office. And it wasn’t easy . . .