Ten minutes to write. Less time to read.

My friend, Peg, visited overnight. We had a grand time going to the supermarket and then cooking dinner together, something we‘ve done before. I had thought we’d get into semi-serious political debates with Earl, who shares an opposite point of view from ours, but we didn’t.

There were reasons.

“The season is hostile,” Peg said, as she and I drove to Michigan’s finest fruit stands in the glow of a September afternoon and then to the supermarket for what doesn’t grow vines. “I’ve made a new rule never to talk with someone about politics unless I’m sure that person agrees with me.” And she cited several uncomfortable, unintentional debates she had been party to prior to instituting this rule.

We spent a fine evening over shrimp and scallops sharing conversation with Earl and catching up on each other’s day-to-day lives. It was most enjoyable. But, given Peg’s new dictum, we didn’t touch on politics at all.

I hadn’t thought about it until our conversation, but she is right. The voices are more strident this year, the rhetoric more polarized, and the ante higher. Yet, one thing that makes us great is that we accept dissent and diversity. At the same time, that trademark seems to be slipping away if old friends cannot differ with each other without taking personal affront.