An invitation to the candidates

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Things don't mean much until they become personal. Take the word "caucus."I have voted in every national election since 1968, when (to tell you how much things have changed) I had a 20-inch waist and wore a 12-inch mini-skirt destined to be a hand-me-down for my daughter's Barbie.I wouldn't dare miss voting. My grandmother, like other women of her day, was denied the right to vote until passage of the 19th Amendment in 1920.Voting, to her, was personal. She made that clear to her 18 daughters and granddaughters. We were taught to honor that right, never take it for granted, or we'd have to answer to her.There are many reasons why I vote. Mostly it's a matter of respect and fear: Respect for those who've been denied that right; and fear that if I fail to exercise it faithfully, it might one day be denied to me. And God help me, I'd have to answer to my grandmother.So I vote. You should, too.But nobody ever told me I would have to caucus.I grew up in the Carolinas, then moved to California, where I voted in 10 presidential primaries and elections.Voting in California is fun. You get to decide on dozens of propositions and initiatives, then cast your ballot for the movie star of your choice.I liked voting in California. In a land of eight-lane freeways and power smoothies and million-dollar mortgages, it feels good to walk into a booth, close a curtain and pull a lever.Then, a year ago, we moved to Las Vegas, where instead of a primary to choose presidential candidates, they hold a caucus.What, I keep asking, does one do at a caucus? Nobody seems to know. All I know is, I'm to show up at a certain place and time, and if I'm late, they won't let me in. Instead of pulling a lever in private, I'll stand in a corner in plain view to be counted along with others who support the same candidate.And get this: People can try to lure you over to their corner to vote for their candidate -- which, depending on what they offer, could be a lot more fun than picking movie stars.I want to be a woman of unwavering convictions, but if somebody offers me a brownie ... well, I guess I'll just show up and try to do my part. Isn't that what voting is about?Speaking of offers, I'd like to extend an invitation to the candidates: I imagine most of you plan to stay at fancy hotels on the Strip, but if you'd rather bunk with us and see firsthand how real Nevadans live, you'd be more than welcome to sleep on our hide-a-bed. If you all show up, we'll rent cots.We'll show you a real sunset and the snow on Mount Charleston, and let you fall in love, as we have, with this desert.We'll be proud to introduce you to some of the fine folks we've met since moving here.Let's start with the children. Nearly 400,000 of them live in this valley, giving us 400,000 beautiful reasons why we don't want a nuclear dump built 90 miles north of their back yards.We'll take you to the gym at Sun City to work out with the "55 and older" set, who came here to retire and fear they'll outlive their retirement funds.I'd love for you to meet Jack, who comes to our door hoping to trim our trees because if he doesn't work, he doesn't eat.Or Rochelle, a waitress, who left a boyfriend and works hard to make ends meet on her own.Or Kelly, the mother of a 2-year-old. Kelly's husband is shipping out soon for Iraq.Those are just a few of our neighbors. I wish you could meet them all. Two million people call this valley home. We all have stories. We all have dreams. We hope you'll remember that after the caucus is over and you've moved on.For us, this place is personal.(Sharon Randall can be contacted at sharonrandall.com or at P.O. Box 777394, Henderson NV 89077.)