By Franklin Pierce Adams
These are the saddest of possible words:
"Tinker to Evers to Chance."
Trio of bear cubs, and fleeter than birds,
Tinker and Evers and Chance.
Ruthlessly pricking our gonfalon bubble,
Making a Giant hit into a double-
Words that are heavy with nothing but trouble:
"Tinker to Evers to Chance."
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Wednesday was a gorgeous autumn day, on the warm side -- in the 70s during the afternoon -- with blue skies and lots of squirrels and chipmunks snagging acorns beneath the oaks in our neighborhood. After a busy morning and a brief ride to see local trees, we went to vote at the Potomac Community Center:
In the late afternoon I folded laundry while we caught up on Supergirl (yay gay characters) and The Flash (yay Draco Malfoy). Of course our evening has been taken up by Game 7 of the World Series, during which I have recited my mantra that I'd vastly prefer to be sad tonight and overjoyed election night than vice versa!
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