Thanks to the wonders of Blackberry, I can now blog on my bus ride home. This could either be very good or very scary. I meet quite the characters on the bus in these parts and may end up trying to explain their truly bizarre ways and accidentally be writing about your aunt or somesuch. If I do, I’m sorry to hear about her recent surgery. So were the other 40 people on the bus who heard her describe it loudly, in graphic detail, on her cell phone.
Yesterday was devoted solely to Obamapalooza on tv from 8 am until I petered out at 10 pm or so. I spent a good deal of it shushing S on the other end of the couch to keep her from making sarcastic comments at moving moments. My mother was actually on the Mall for the big day with her high school students and we spent the day trading tidbits by cell. She got to tell me about the singing and dancing everywhere that kept breaking out. I got to break the Teddy Kennedy story to her and the lobby crowd at the Air and Space Museum waiting for the parade. My ex, the DC police officer, texted early about how crowd control was lost by 8 am when thousands started streaming over the barriers at the Capitol. And the Twitterers kept me in the loop with their perspectives on the madness. I was busy trying to stay on top of all this connected-ness while rapidly cycling between elation and sentimentality.
The thing is, I’m a pretty cynical character. But this one moment in history has me thinking that maybe there is something great that could happen. And I want to be a part of that as much as I felt a part of yesterday’s events from hundreds of miles away.