Outside my polling station at Totland, our kids’ favorite local haunt. Being a pessimist is supposed to inoculate one against disappointment, but the dirty little secret is that we’re still disappointed. Regarding the personal (denouement): Won’t be easy to come by for a while. So much, too
In keeping with recent LD tradition of scatter-shot, repetitive posts showing a reckless disregard for minimum standards of copyediting or continuity, I offer yet another dispatch for those not able to be spending their remaining day before the election shivering in the windy rain, passing out No on 8 leaflets.
Most every night I talk with my dad on the phone. Nine-thirty, after the kids are asleep and the house is cleaned. Â Or should be. Â It’s a little late for him to stay up, but it’s the only time we can be assured of no interruptions on my end. It’s