I think it is the same with any performance. Dancing to the whole house feels diluted and a little vague. Dancing to this one, then this one, then this one feels intimate and engaged.
The day before the inauguration we visited the National Museum of the American Indian, which had a celebration of music dance and story. We watched Mexican folkloric dancers, Alaskan Indian dancers and the extraordinary KanKouran West African Dance Company. At one point a drummer stepped forward with a talking drum and began a chant with the overflow audience. “USA!,” he drummed, and we chanted back “Barack Obama!” in the perfect language of music and movement.
Backstage the day before the ceremony.
On Thursday, Pam and I traveled to Washington DC for the second inauguration of President Barack Obama. At the last moment, I got a call that I had tickets. Our friends Annie and Stan secured a place for us to stay with family, so we decided to take the leap, despite FOC (fear of crowds) and LMU (last minute uncertainties), because when we woke up on Thursday, we felt like this (our grand daughter Laila Rose):
But we managed to extricate ourselves from sleep and trepidation and set out, despite AWTDSAT (also wanting to do stuff at home). We took the train from New York, which was a lovely way to travel, city center to city center.
The next day, we made our way to the basement of the Dirkson Office building to pick up our tickets and then wandered around among the growing crowds to suss out where we would be entering. This was one of the first things that we saw, which little did we know, would become a defining feature and theme of our Inaugural experience.
Here’s why:
We viewed the entire ceremony on the barely visible jumbotron just beyond the potties. The situation was enhanced by kids climbing on top of the potties, obscuring our view completely. Fortunately some young men persuaded them to dismount by threatening to tip over the potties. The only other thing was the crazy man in the tree who brayed at us about god and abortion and assault weapons throughout the entire day (that is from 7 am to 1pm). Apparently, the police were unable to get him down without hurting themselves, us or him.
And then it began. I was reminded why we were there, because the words and the joy and the song and the brilliance of the day came together – a perfect confluence. For us as gay women, the Presidents mention of our civil and human rights, the inclusion of Stonewall with Selma and of gay poet Richard Blanco were balm for the heart. We could not hear his reading, but caught it later that evening on television. His words are the summation of that perfection – a day savored, a day shared.
This is my son-in-law and my grand daughter, captured by my daughter. It is something about the fold of her little leg, the way her arm is tucked, her head turned, and his peacefulness.
In less than two weeks, this new Daddy will be deployed to Afghanistan for nine months. I cannot pretend that I understand what is there worth tearing him from his daughter, his wife. I do not understand any of it – the killing, the missionary zeal, the sense that we belong there ever, or anymore. I saw Zero Dark Thirty a couple days ago. I did not understand what is coming to this new little family any better after that.
In preparation for whatever is to come, I am listening to a lot of Abraham. This helps:
How do you feel about those things that you are giving most of your attention to? If there is something in your life that gives you negative emotion almost every time you think about it, we would do anything that we could do to get that negative thing out of our awareness.
May he be safe. May he be peaceful. May he be happy. May he be loved.