It’s been only five days since President Obama took office. In some ways, it seems surreal, impossible. Then again, it seems like he’s been president for months, what with all those pre-pre-pre press conferences. What an amazing celebration, and what an amazing view of W leaving Washington. At last, indeed!
I flipped channels the whole morning, aware of feeling anxious, almost agitated, pacing, fussing, trying to keep busy. I still get nervous for live television events, especially ones with security concerns. It’s a boomer thing. You know, JFK, MLK, RFK, George Wallace, Malcolm X, the Pope, John Lennon, Reagan, Ford. All those assassination memories. Very scary. Yay, PEACE!
I’ve been posting on the skirt.com blog all week, which is fun! They’ve been featuring my stuff on the home page, so I get more readers and maybe some random agent will catch a peek! My writers’ group is submitting and applying and doing readings and getting published, so that’s been a fun boost too. Write On!
Anyway, I couldn’t let the week end without at least acknowledging some inaugural attendees who got my empathy this week, deserved or not. I can't help it. I'm a social worker.
Dick Cheney, for the whole wheelchair thing, not that there’s anything wrong with that, but I’m sure it wasn’t the image he would’ve wanted to project at the End Game
George Bush, for having to sit there and take it, to the extent that he actually listened, which is probably not a lot, come to think of it, nevermind
Hillary Clinton, for whatever moments of “if only” she endured
Barack Obama, for Roberts’s botched oath, OMG that was a mess, couldn’t they have done a runthrough?
Michelle, for the invention of high heels, and for ten long dances to “At Last.” But you sure looked beautiful and so in LOVE!
Sasha and Malia, for all the attention and for subzero privacy for the next eight years
Yo Yo, Itzhak, and the quartet for being criticized . . . I mean, would you bring your Stradivarius out in 20-degree weather?
Aretha, maybe you should've prerecorded too. That was, um, not your best work . . . but the hat was divine, dahling!
And to the millions who walked and waited and shivered and froze—my heart goes out to you and I’m envious of your once-in-a-lifetime experience. Someone called it Woodstock without the fighting and mud. Yeah, baby. Barack On!
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