With words we build and words we break

Having voted early on Thursday, today I am in Lexington with my parents, helping Charlotte-wrangle. So far this task has consisted chiefly of watching her play with trains—the same Brio set I played with as a child—and listening to her explain them to me. "The train has two subway cars. They're for going in and out the tunnel. In and out the tunnel," she impressed on me, threading the train round the entire wooden track and into the tunnel again. I attempted to introduce the concept of "through," but I'm not sure she found it useful. The trees around the Arlington Reservoir have finally gone to autumn, shaggy orange and cinder-red, good for kicking through as you walk. There were six swans on the water, a pair of adults and four grey-mottled juveniles. I had my Pussy Grabs Back T-shirt on for the election and a red paper poppy for Armistice Day in my coat pocket and nobody between Somerville and here has commented on either, although the man from the VFW who sold the poppy to me asked if I was from Canada. (I said I was afraid not, but he didn't say why he'd asked.) My father is repairing a water-damaged wall in the basement while listening to various news channels and appears to be enjoying both experiences about equally. My mother is debating the merits of cucumber slices and a bowlful of noodles and cheese with my niece. She will be three years old in just over a month. I would like her never to know a time when it wasn't perfectly natural to have a female President of the United States.