COLD FEET

The weatherman says we can expect some warming soon with highs in the 50s by the weekend, but our lows have been in the mid-teens for three or four days. Mike has had enough winter, he says. He warms his shoes, boots, and slippers before putting them on and soaks his feet in warm water at least once a day. I remember my grandfather doing that – are we there now? And he says that next year he'll get one of those boot warmers. When I mentioned that a friend of ours suddenly decided to leave for Arizona for a month, he stated his envy.

My winter's reverie was broken by a jury duty summons. "Aren't you glad for the opportunity to do something different?" Mike asked. The only something different I truly welcome is maybe a different afghan pattern. It's a different kind of "cold feet," I guess, and I've had it forever. Mother used to say the only way to get me to leave the house was to push me out and lock the door behind me.

Mike and I were both called for jury duty frequently in Nez Perce County. Often we never had to go in – just had to remember to call the court every Wednesday evening for the duration to be sure they didn't need us to come in. But today I was one of a pool of 46 prospective jurors who showed up at the Asotin County Courthouse. The judge observed that in this district they get 100% juror participation, so for this round involving several trials, he has a pool of 46. He added that one Washington district gets less than 20% participation, which means that when they need a jury pool, they have to call 500 people. But that's interesting – because I thought I had to do it.

In fact, I tried a little test. I was not selected to serve on the jury today, so I was "asked" to return Tuesday morning – "if possible." "Would you be able to come back on Tuesday?" the clerk asked me, smiling pleasantly. "I belong to an organization that needs my services Tuesday afternoon," I replied. "Please come in the morning and we'll see if the judge will excuse you for that reason," she said. So see – I really didn't have a choice.

"You should want to do your civic duty," someone once told me. But that's not what bothers me. What bothers me is that any call for jurors means service for only twelve people and an alternate. But being one of the pool is just an inconvenience – something you have to remember to do under threat of penalty until released. And if you do get as far as the courtroom for jury selection, they'll ask you all kinds of questions you might just as soon not answer in a roomful of strangers. "I wasn't sure how much of what my kids did I was supposed to confess," remarked another prospective juror during break. KW