It is easy to look about myself and become not a soothsayer but a doomsayer. Things are not as they ought to be, and there appears little hope of making them as they ought to be, for there is inertia in more than just physical things, and the long motions of cultures are not easily swayed. (It is an issue with which the Good Doctor wrestles more than once. The answer is not as it is in a different book entirely; leaping away will do no good, for we cannot move quickly enough. And what will be left behind will be even worse.) Too many of us perhaps ought to be renamed Cassandra; those who will look about themselves can see what is and what is coming, but those to whom they say it will not give heed. It is not for nothing therefore that she is said to be cursed--and that those who are like her can understand that curse all too well.
But I find that when I look at Ms. 8 as she moves very much like she is trying to crawl (when she has something against which to push, she can move herself, but she has yet to figure out how to get traction otherwise) or as she lifts up her head to turn it from side to side and look at my Mrs. or at me, it is hard to look at the rest of the world so grimly. She does not strip from me the awareness that the problems are still in place--far from it--but in her still-new face and bright eyes I see reason to hope and reason to struggle against the blind force of too many people too much content, reason other than having no other choice.