Thoughts on pleasant days and the after effects of the inauguration of President Obama

It is Friday, about a quarter til 1:00 in the afternoon. The sun is shining and the air is actually warm.

I have only minutes, maybe an hour, to spare until the boy child wakes up.

I don't really know what to post here except for to say, I am having a great day and I am still so happy about that inauguration on Tuesday.

I am pleased with our president thus far, quite pleased.

Barack Obama is a man of great potential.

If I were to pray, and I may indeed pray, even being the non-believer that I am, I would only pray that he keeps up this momentum, that he keeps asking for what is right, that he keeps repairing what has been wrong, that he keeps talking, and that he keeps listening.

He has a lot to learn. He is ambitious. He is hopeful. I am hopeful.

Yes, it is Friday and I am having quite a pleasant day.

I have worked, and am about to work some more. I have cared for children, cleaned my kitchen, worked in clay, and cried at music so beautiful I could barely stand it. I have moved forward on art projects and shared a poem written by one friend with another friend.

I have smiled at people and said hello.

My day is never complete without having sought out something beautiful, something that has the power to tap into my emotional spirit. Today I heard something that beautiful on the radio, but I have forgotten the name of the musician, as I often do.

Although, it made me think again of the Inauguration.

I am still moved by the poem written by Elizabeth Alexander. It is beautifully and simply written. I am still moved by the arrangement of "Simple Gifts" that was played at the inauguration, one of my favorite hymns.

I appreciate very much that this new administration was moved to include poetry and music in its expression of that momentous day. These acts alone give me hope for better days to come. I have enjoyed going back to read and listen to these things, and maybe you would too.

from the New York Times:
"Praise Song for the Day" by Elizabeth Alexander

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.

and the music, oh the music.