We did it we did it we did it we did it.
The rock that's sitting on my chest for four years has shifted. It's not gone--the pandemic is its own stone--but the weight has eased.
Portland, Maine, is celebrating hard: downtown is crammed with people waving signs and dancing and playing music and honking horns.
Here at the Alcott House, we lit a campfire and cooked hamburgers and sat outside in the dark under the shadow maples. When Paul got home from work, we lifted a glass of Prosecco.
The joyousness feels like the end of a war. Victory Day. I know the Monster has plenty of time left to inflict damage, and that he will inflict it. But we'll get through these last months. We have won.
I thought I would have so much to write to you this morning, but I don't.
I was close to tears, at the sight of Kamala Harris in her suffragette white.
And Joe Biden's favorite poet is Seamus Heaney.
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