AMTRAK 79, BALTIMORE, MD.--"Remember, they're not done counting in Ohio," said the beautiful young man who drove your blogstress to the Trenton train station this morning in the hotel van. "Keep hope alive," he added, as he handed your Webwench her bags.
Your cybertrix has begun to wonder whether hope isn't a pursuit best suited to the young. While she refuses to embrace cynicism (though she has been guilty of periodic dalliances with that cad), a sense of weary sadness so fills her being that she finds it difficult to feel much of anything else.
Your écrivaine would feel less depleted, she thinks, had the president ever given her reason to believe that he had the humility to read the fact of the evenly-divided electorate as something less than a mandate for his earth-raping, pocket-picking, Constitution-mangling, innocent-killing agenda. And his deployment of the politics of trauma in his own cause--his blatant exploitation of the 9-11 horror and the damage it caused to the psyches of so many Americans--is something for which your blogstress will no doubt spend pounds of candle wax and countless hours kneeling at the feet of her pagan deity in order to experience only brief moments of forgiveness for the deeds of the commander-in-chief. Yet grace, like joy, tends to run that way: in glimmering, fleeting manifestations that can offer years of sustenance in a single moment, if only we are willing to share the fruits of the feast..
So, here's to hope...and faith...and charity. May we hold fast to one another.