Yesterday, after a ten day catastrophic collapse, Nate Silver's chart took a tiny, almost imperceptible, tick up. Like a drowning sailor clutching at driftwood, I seize upon it and allow myself, if not hope, at least sleep. As my son says, "I would still rather be us rather than them." Thank the Lord for Joe Biden. The demographics being what they are, and the craziness of the Republicans apparently incurable, I continue to believe that if we can squeak past November 6th, we may yet see a rebirth of progressive politics in America of a sort that has not been evident since the glory days of Roosevelt. There are many Elizabeth Warrens out there, and some of them, she included, could well be elected in this cycle.
Meanwhile, I struggle with the endless challenges of Bennett College, where I can almost see my efforts having some discernible effect.
On a much, much happier note, yesterday I bought my grandson a baseball mitt, baseball bat, and big league for-real baseball, all of this in anticipation of a November trip to San Francisco to see my son, daughter-in-law, and grandchildren. Samuel is now a confirmed baseball fan, although I am not certain whether it is the game or the statistics he really loves. Gender role typing still lives, despite the best efforts of liberated parents. Four year old Athena wants a Cindarella costume and doll for Christmas. My guess is that when she is the CEO of a not-for-profit international charitable organization, she will still be dressing up.
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