By now, you probably know how the election turned out – I don’t as of the writing of this column. By the time this gets to you it will be all over but the shouting. The process it has to go through between an idea swimming around in my head and the finished product arriving in your mailbox can’t be crammed into the available few hours. I could write about the outcome in next week’s column, but as it’s pretty early to have any real indication of just what’s in store for us as a nation, I’ll let you get your impressions from more immediate sources. Anyway, I’ve never really been reassured, entertained, educated or otherwise enriched by what they call politics – whatever that actually is. Some call it a game, but it’s too crucial to be that frivolous. Others call it a science, but it’s too frivolous to be that orderly. There are those who call it an art, but it’s far too inexact to fit that description. And we certainly can’t call it a discipline because it’s far too disorderly.

Personally, I’m just happy that the hoopla has quieted down and let us turn our attention to other things (at least briefly) and provided a chance to gather up some odds and ends that want their few seconds of attention.

A few months ago, I had told the story about my dad, my sister and me swimming across Lake Keomah near Oskaloosa. Dorothy, at sixteen with a curvy figure and brilliant green satin bathing suit, resembled a popular young movie starlet and appeared more mature than her actual years. Dad and I were a couple yards ahead of her when two lifeguards in a rowboat came bearing down on our expedition.

“You have to return to the beach area,” one of them told us, “It is against the rules to swim outside the designated area.” Dad asked if we could continue to the near shore to rest before going back but was refused. “I’m too tired,” Dorothy said. “I can’t make it all the way back without a rest.” (For some unknown reason, these next few lines were omitted from the published version, leaving the account hanging, mysteriously incomplete.)

The rest of the story: The lifeguards hauled Dorothy into their boat and, never looking back, rowed back to the beach, leaving Dad and me to continue our intended swim across the lake and back.

I didn’t complain to the editor at the time; such things happen, though seldom during the approximately fifty years I have been writing a column for the Economist. Most mistakes are my own fault and not worth the effort to explain or correct, but the pointlessness of the story as it appeared seemed to let down the readers, so I decided, after all this time, to point out the error and finish the story for those of you who may have wondered how it turned out.

During the past few months I’ve seen several mentions of city wildlife, as if it were a new phenomenon. I think that, rather than there being an increase in “wild” animals in towns and cities, there has been a dramatic decrease in their obvious presence. I might point out that each generation thinks that the way things have been during their life is “normal.” They have little awareness of the past and seldom are able to imagine the future. They tend to think that things have always been, and always will be, as they are now. We are accustomed to a variety of birds (now dramatically declining) and of squirrels, rabbits, bats, insects and the occasional toad or garter snake. But we seldom see raccoons, possums, coyotes, deer and other animals who are more active during the wee hours of the night. From what I’ve seen during my lifetime – at least in this part of Iowa – so-called city wildlife is declining.

If you watch much television, I’m sure you’ve seen that commercial for that $79 personal EKG devise. The one that makes it possible for anyone to check their heart rate anywhere, anytime, simply by placing two fingers of both hands on little pads and seeing the results immediately. If you have a hypochondriac on your Christmas list, it may be the perfect gift!