A long-lost cousin, not particularly lost; we just haven’t spoken in a while, called me out of nowhere the other day. We gabbed a bit about family, and then she said, ” I received mail-in ballots for my parents and our grandparents who have been dead for decades and half a century; what should I do with them?” I answered, ” Nothing, burn them. Then, a few days later, this nice lady with green hair and a vote-for-El-Sayed T-shirt showed up at her door, saying that the USPS had accidentally sent her ballots for deceased relatives and asking if she could return them to the post office. This is how it starts, this is how it’s done, this is what we face. My cousin, a country girl with a slightly prickly temper, punched the lady out and off her front porch and burned the ballots in their firepit on the hot September evening as the fireflies and crickets serenaded her family in the backyard, as they streamed Ella Langley’s new album. I wonder how many times my long-dead grandparents have voted. Should we all wonder?