These are the days of miracles and wonder...

So sang Paul Simon. So were days like Saturday in a magical fog, perched on Dumbo's waterfront trying to discern Manhattan landmarks that wisped and misted and shimmered and disappeared. Weekend days of excitement and hope. Of hanging out with friends, watching Milo grow faster, looking forward to Halloween, parties, and an end to double-speak and incoherent-speak and some shred of prayer for a better future.

Well, kathunk. Thud. Voting booths clank, clang and eager enthusiasm turns to distress and disappointment. We stay up too late watching the news. Even at 2:30 am it seemed like things could still be okay.

At a Peet's Coffee in Cambridge, MA this morning, I overheard a woman say, "I'm wearing black for a reason." Harvard Square had no life. Back home, Charles said pervasive gloom silenced subway riders.

I just want to keep looking back, to Saturday, when everything seemed possible... And magical doors might still open.

So glad that Milo could finally meet Lisa. So glad we had weekend adventures. So glad the small-fry can keep running about, picking up leaves, oblivious to the chaos the adults have created all around him.