Cookie Crumbled

I cast my first vote in Canada at the Muriel Collins Housing Co-operative in downtown Toronto. Initially, I was struck by the simplicity of the ballot: just a list of names where I was to place a single X next to my preferred candidate for member of Parliament. And then, as I headed toward the door and back home, I was struck by the lack of cookies.

I have not missed a federal, provincial, or municipal election since becoming a Canadian citizen, but my sentimental point of reference for voting remains my hometown of Albion, Nebraska. I was eighteen when I entered the basement of the local Baptist church to participate in the primaries for the first time. A few months later, I voted again, in a general election that became synonymous with recounts and hanging chads. In both cases, the double-sided ballot asked a whole host of questions. Whom did I back for president and as my representative in Congress? Whom did I want to serve as university regent? What about county...