Inauguration Diary

patricia leslie

Dear Diary,

Enough people are writing about the speech and apparel and all, I thought I would bring you some flavor from the people.

In four years I hope I am not as dumb as I was this year to buy a parade ticket.  With my ticket in hand today, what did it matter?  Police at F and 14th, my assigned entry, would not let me in.  $44, that's all.  It's not like I am a member of the one percent.

Tickets didn't mean much to the police at 14th and F/patricia leslie

Mr. President, you say "the people this" and "the people that."  Well, what about letting "the people" see your parade?  Is there a place we can see it without paying a fee? Is there a place we can see it paying a fee?

Up 14th "the people" stood behind a fence and caught glimpses of the parade, about a half football field away/patricia leslie

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But to begin the day.  Not all was a loss, by any stretch. Metro was almost empty.  Amazing. And everyone's raving about the president's speech.

I lucked out and got a red ticket for the swearing-in which was terrific.

This line behind the congressional house office buildings required about an hour's wait before ticket holders reached "security check-in."/patricia leslie

After the security check, the lines at the porta-potties required another 20 to 30 minutes wait.  I don't suppose anyone thought ahead to order more porta-potties to satisfy the needs of several thousand people.  And early in the morning, already no t.p. (But I know those porta-potty party planners have never used porta-potties in all their party lives, and I came equipped.)

Knock!  Knock!  Who's there?  Well, it ain't Congress on the throne/patricia leslie

And then there was the man in the tree.

You can see him holding a large white saucer near the top of the tree/patricia leslie

 
Actually, he looked to be an elderly gentleman who climbed a tree on the Capitol grounds and screamed the whole time about killing babies.  At first, I was hoping his voice would give out, but no.  He kept at it.

In my section, we sighed and blessed the United States of America which permits freedom of speech, even if we were a bit annoyed. 

Question:  How was he able to get this sign past security?  Maybe it was an earlier plant.

A  man in a tree at the Inauguration/patricia leslie

A woman on the Metro who stood in the green section with her family told me later that police erected two ladders to go up and get the man, but he climbed higher, just like a kitty cat or a monkey, and they let him alone and surrounded the base of the tree.  I wonder if he's still up there.   He might be frozen by now.  As a matter of fact, his mouth might be wired shut.

Part of the crowd on the Capitol grounds with Ulysses S. Grant on the horse in the distance and the East Building of the National Gallery of Art beyond/patricia leslie

This woman wore heels on grass (!), but was not totally brain dead since, look!  She brought another pair of shoes/patricia leslie

You wanted to ride Metro, huh?  Before nightfall? This was at Federal Center South/patricia leslie

While walking towards the Washington Monument after the ceremony ended so I could get to my refused entry at 14th and F (2.5 hours), I met up at 2:50 p.m. on 18th with three ladies from Columbia, S.C. (Yes, we had to go that far west to cross Pennsylvania and get to the other side of the road like herded chickens, since Pennsylvania was blocked, of course, for miles. And years before the parade even started.)

The visitors said they needed to be at RFK Stadium at 3 p.m. to board their chartered bus back home.  They said a policeman had sent them up 18th. To RFK? Well, what a surprise. A policeman on Independence told me I could cross Pennsylvania at 15th.  They must have been those police imports from Georgia since they knew nothing about D.C. streets.

I said "Ladies, I hate to give you bad news, but you ain't going to make RFK in 10 minutes." They assured me their bus would not leave them.

About that time we came to this unusual sculpture of Starbux cups.

A Starbux sculpture on 18th/patricia leslie

And up the street I met this nice fellow from New York who told me he'd been in Washington selling Obama condoms for three days.  He didn't know if it was a profitable venture or not, but he said he had a wad of cash in his pocket.

The different kinds of condoms available were Hope is Not a Form of Protection, the White House Stimulus Package, and Use with Good Judgement (sic!)/patricia leslie

I walked on…and on…and on until I came to said entry point at F and 14th, and the police said, "Nope, not you sister."  Gee, thanks a lot.  Live and learn. End of day. But I sure 'nuf got in my exercise on Inauguration Day. 

P.S. I don't think we are one nation and one people.  I think we are many nations and many people. What's wrong with that?

Everyone is acclaiming the president's speech on Monday, however, I haven't listened to Fox/patricia leslie

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patricialesli@gmail.com

The Poem

By the Queen of Free

All right, already, I know it was almost three weeks ago, but a girl has got to work to eat.

Anyway, this was the scene in front of the Capitol while Elizabeth Alexander read it: More than half had already left their seats.

At least it has sparked thousands of conversations throughout the world and raised the spectre of “poetry” and what contemporary poetry is exactly. (I do not know.)

I know at my office THE poem has come up often since January 20 and two conversations turned into knock-down drag out fights.

Quick! What one word captures it? The first word which comes to mind when you begin to recall the content?

Exactly. Mine, too: Mediocre.

Maybe, mundane. (Please don’t tell Stacie.)

Honestly! Yale? This poem is proof that you can live by reputation alone.

Wasn’t it supposed to send us soaring onboard a new wing of hope? It is depressing stuff, a real downer. (Feb. 21 addition: Some others agree with my assessment, too, based upon this Yahoo story yesterday indicating the poem's sales of 6,000 compared to Maya Angelou's poem sales of 1,000,000 after she waxed poetic(?)at Bill Clinton's 1993 inauguration.)

The placement of the poetry reading on the Inaugural program, after President Obama's inaugural address was sad, like an afterthought giving credence to those who might think it a weak part of the swearing-in.

As the new president neared the end of his speech I kept wondering: “Where’s the poem? Where’s the poem? Wasn’t a poem commissioned for this historic day?”

It was read ex poste facto when few remained at or near their seats on the grounds of the Capitol.

Some stood still and listened to words which seemed to come from a lonely Middle American farmer surrounded by no more thoughts of soaring than the birds he watched land on the fence while his cattle munched hay nearby.

“Repairing the things in need of repair”?

Come on! Any high school English teacher would count off for that phraseology.

“A farmer considers the changing sky.” Powerful stuff!

"We cross dirt roads and highways that mark the will of someone and then others who said, 'I need to see what’s on the other side; I know there’s something better down the road.'" In bold red ink: T R I T E across this section. Which brings to mind (sorry about this):

“Why did the chicken cross the road?”

"We need to find a place where we are safe; We walk into that which we cannot yet see." Really?

Okay, okay already, so the last two lines are okay:

"In today’s sharp sparkle, this winter air, anything can be made, any sentence begun.

On the brink, on the brim, on the cusp — praise song for walking forward in that light."

I could go on and on, but enough of my tripe. Except it's a good thing Garrison Keillor didn't have a hand in this or we would have been hearing about how the crows pecked out the eyes of the woman and her son at the bus stop, the sky fell on top of the farmer, and the students stabbed the teacher with the pencils.

The poem en toto as found at the New York Times:

Praise Song for the Day’ - The 2009 Presidential Inauguration Poem

Each day we go about our business,
walking past each other, catching each other’s
eyes or not, about to speak or speaking.

All about us is noise. All about us is
noise and bramble, thorn and din, each
one of our ancestors on our tongues.

Someone is stitching up a hem, darning
a hole in a uniform, patching a tire,
repairing the things in need of repair.

Someone is trying to make music somewhere,
with a pair of wooden spoons on an oil drum,
with cello, boom box, harmonica, voice.

A woman and her son wait for the bus.
A farmer considers the changing sky.
A teacher says, Take out your pencils. Begin.

We encounter each other in words, words
spiny or smooth, whispered or declaimed,
words to consider, reconsider.

We cross dirt roads and highways that mark
the will of some one and then others, who said
I need to see what’s on the other side.

I know there’s something better down the road.
We need to find a place where we are safe.
We walk into that which we cannot yet see.

Say it plain: that many have died for this day.
Sing the names of the dead who brought us here,
who laid the train tracks, raised the bridges,

picked the cotton and the lettuce, built
brick by brick the glittering edifices
they would then keep clean and work inside of.

Praise song for struggle, praise song for the day.
Praise song for every hand-lettered sign,
the figuring-it-out at kitchen tables.

Some live by love thy neighbor as thyself,
others by first do no harm or take no more
than you need. What if the mightiest word is love?

Love beyond marital, filial, national,
love that casts a widening pool of light,
love with no need to pre-empt grievance.

In today’s sharp sparkle, this winter air,
any thing can be made, any sentence begun.
On the brink, on the brim, on the cusp,

praise song for walking forward in that light.