I’m starting to enter the next stage of grief – anger . I ended up canceling my reservation for this morning’s Pilates class because the new instructor is a man. He may be a Harris supporter and an ally to woman, but I knew I’d wonder the entire time if perhaps he really wasn’t. If perhaps he was like my now dead father who registered to vote for the first time in 1984, not to support Reagan, but to vote against Geraldine Ferraro who was Mondale’s VP running mate. My mother made light of the situation, but I knew as a teenager that it was a crappy thing for him to do. It was certainly not the worst thing he ever did, but I remember it the clearest. My father had four daughters, and, at that time, three granddaughters, yet he couldn’t stand to have a woman, even a far more competent woman, be allowed to serve at that level. I’ve turned off the news and haven’t been reading the papers, so am missing ( not missing ) the chatter. My guess is that my fellow white women will...