Inaugural Moment

I've been waiting for January 20th to arrive with anticipation for quite some time, excited by Biden's promise of a coordinated response to the covid-19 virus. I'm tired of staying home.

I heard the unfounded cries that the election had been stolen with a jaded ear. Let Trump cry; judges at multiple levels in several states tossed his team's lawsuits because he had no evidence to back his claims. He wasn't going to get anywhere.

It wasn't until the day the Senate was attempting to certify the votes of the Electoral College (a day I've never paid attention to until this year), the day the U.S. Capitol was invaded by a short-sighted mob, that my attention was jolted back to the transition at hand. Thankfully, the invaders were unorganized and without a cohesive plan. While four of the them, and one Capitol officer, paid way too much to delay the process, they didn't stop it. The horror of the images flashing across my screen that day will stay with me for the rest of my life.

My inner tension finally eased as I watched the inaugural ceremonies. I breathed a little more easily as the oaths were proclaimed; the deal, sealed. The clock ticked passed noon. The baton had been passed,  codes had been changed, a war hadn't been started. *Whew!*

I expected the ceremony and accompanying speeches to settle my mind, and they did. The part I didn't expect was the part where we heard the words of a "skinny Black girl descended from slaves and raised by a single mother". I wasn't paying close attention as she walked out and stepped up to the podium, her name and story were not one I knew. Then, the slight young lady in her bright yellow coat started talking. Her words. Her words bypassed my mind and heart and struck directly into my soul. 

Amanda Gorman's hands danced as she read the poem she'd written:

Let the globe, if nothing else, say this is true:

That even as we grieved, we grew

That even as we hurt, we hoped

That even as we tired, we tried

For there is always light,

if only we’re brave enough to see it

If only we’re brave enough to be it.

Powerful poetry

Speaking of and to the nation, somehow she spoke directly to me.

Her words describe my journey. 

My struggles to be brave these past, hard, years.

My struggles to see the light, to be the light, if only for a brief moment.

The wisdom of her words, the tilt of her head, the sparkle in her eye - all these embody hope. 

Hope for change, hope for unity, hope for a better tomorrow.

Yes.

 

Time To ???

It's either been a little under four weeks since they moved out, or three months. Something like that.

One of the things I've had trouble with since retiring is the way time refuses to settle into a steady rhythm. The weeks fly, they drag; they skip along, they trudge in deep snow. Morning is gone in a blink, the afternoon lasts for at least nine hours - the next day, it switches up. No, staying away from everyone in the world because of covid doesn't help.

These past weeks have been of the fly by variety (which, now I think about it, isn't typical for me these dark weeks of January). 

Kate had to travel to the east coast for business last week, and wasn't sure what to do with Lexi - her usual sources of alternate care are unavailable because of covid. I didn't think twice before letting her know Lexi was welcome to stay here; I figured Kate could drop her off on the way. Amazingly enough, it all came together, and time last week flew as I reveled in the unexpected pleasure of having Lexi's company, masks and all. She spent the weekdays in school; I was in charge of making sure there was something to eat at snack time. There's something both wonderful and terrible in the way she was able to jump onto her classes remotely without missing a beat. (Is this really a skill we need our fourth graders to have mastered? Given the givens, I guess so...)

We had just one day free, and used it to go to the Toy and Miniatures Museum just down the street. We marveled together at the tiny dishes, houses, furniture. She took about a thousand pictures. I'll admit I spent more time looking at her than I did at the miniature marvels before us - seeing her face as she worked to grasp the details of scale was fascinating.

I was sorry to see her and her energy go home on Sunday morning.

Now, where was I? Oh, yeah. That whole, 'what's next?' thing. I've added a little structure to my week. I've signed up for a couple of zoom classes which will run until spring - one, a group of women who gather to do art, the other a yoga class I'll be able to take with Kate. For both groups, being able to gather remotely means being able to gather at all, one of the silver linings I've seen arise from sheltering in place. That's two days where someone beside me will know if I've gotten out of bed. I figure that's a good start.

I've kind of fallen into vacation mode. My head is pretty convinced I'm going to have a lovely few weeks off here, then I'll need to head back to work. I think it's going to be kind of fun when I convince me that's not the case; that this freedom to choose how to spend my days will be mine for... a while.

Baby steps. I'll get there.