How many ways can you say gray?

I looked it up in my Thesaurus and found acier and ashen, griseous, glaucous and grizzled; canescent and cinerous, leaden and mousy; dusty, dingy, dull, dismal and dreary; smoky, slaty, steely; silver, somber, sober and sad. There were more too, combinations of all these, like silver-gray, Quaker-gray, dapple-gray. We have seen all these and more over the last few weeks, with no indication that the sky will be changing any time soon. In fact the last time we had real sunshine was the weekend Barack Obama came to Oregon before the May 20 election. Maybe we should invite him back.

We’re still assimilating this idea that Democrats have actually chosen a black man to lead them to victory in November. Is it possible that America has come of age at last? Have we graduated? Can we finally claim to be part of the world community? I think so, but we have to get to November, and then to January, and we have to face the ugliness that is bound to fester and erupt and spew pus all over the electorate. But if Barack finally does make that January speech, I think—maybe—we can finally call ourselves grownups.

Hillary was not a grownup on Tuesday night. When we should have been focused on and celebrating this truly historic first, all she could say was "me me me me me."

But the times they are a changing and even Hillary has agreed to go along. Eventually the weather here will change too and summer will arrive with gusto and then I can write and complain about how hot it is. I look forward to that. In the meantime I leave you with this thought from Anthony Burgess: “Life is a wretched gray Saturday, but it has to be lived through.”