Inauguration Day January 20, 2009

“O-ba-ma! O-ba-ma!” The metro train car filled with the joyful chant as the Green line pulled away from Fort Totten station heading in to central DC. I joined in, looking around at the sea of black faces in this packed, standing-room-only car, realizing that my son, Willis, and I were the only two white people on board.
We had left Richmond, VA at 7:00 a.m. on a bus that deposited us at this outlying metro station and, with freezing fingers, I’d fed dollar bills into the metro ticket kiosk and out came Obama! His photograph was on all of the metro passes being sold on this historic day—perfect!

Pandemonium filled the sidewalk as we emerged from the metro at the Gallery Place/Chinatown stop. Vendors hawked every type of Obama paraphernalia imaginable: hats, buttons, shirts, scarves, mugs. People milled about, unsure of what to do next. I tried to orient myself with my map, aiming for making our way south toward the National Mall. We didn’t have tickets for any of the secure, invitation- only areas, and my plan was to just get to a non-secure area of the Mall and find one of the promised “jumbotrons” on which to watch the inauguration ceremony. We were standing on the corner of H and 7th Streets about 10:30 am, so getting to the Mall by noon seemed do-able. I didn’t need to be near the main event—though that would have been nice. I just had a burning, deep-set need to be in the middle of the energy, the spirit, the optimism, the joy enveloping everyone, every corner, every lamppost, every storefront in DC on this day.
We began walking, following the crowd, zigzagging up and down blocks to continue making forward progress when the mass of people made things impassable. At about H and 12th Streets, everyone was at a complete standstill: the crowds filled every inch of the streets and sidewalks as far as you could see—and no one was moving. Word ran through the crowd that they had closed off this access point to the Mall because this section was full. “Just get down to 14th Street—you can still get on the mall there!” someone shouted. I decided to move north, away from the mall, to get out of the logjam and then try to continue west toward 14th. We inched our way along, and at each possible access point to the Mall, we’d come across another logjam of people. A police officer told us they were still letting folks onto the Mall at 18th Street, so we pressed on. Finally, at the Lincoln Memorial, we easily made our way onto the Mall, with the crowds being well-dispersed. Someone said a jumbotron was set up on the south side of the Lincoln Memorial, so we headed that way. We trotted up and over a ridge and a valley of porta-johns lay spread out below. There must have been one porta-john for every .25 of a person! No worries on this front.

We joined several thousand folks in front of a large jumbotron where we had a clear view of the happenings on the Capitol Steps. We were surrounded by people of all ages, sizes and colors. All of us joined in singing “My Country “Tis of Thee” with Aretha, glorious in her green hat. We hung on every word Senator Dianne Feinstein said. We held our breath as Obama took the oath of office. And when Chief Justice John Roberts said “Congratulations, Mr. President”, we erupted: cheering, crying, hooting and hollering, jumping and dancing. A sense of relief washed over me, mingling with pride, hope, and awe. As Obama delivered his speech, I felt like I was at church: shouted “Amens!” filled the air after every important line.
By the time the ceremony ended, Willis and I were frozen to the core. We had many warm layers on, including long johns, hats and hand warmers in our gloves, but standing in 21 degree weather (15 degrees with the wind chill factor) had taken its toll. We made our way off the Mall and north to find a place to warm up and get some food.

We ended up in the packed Peacock Grand Café on K Street, seated beside a couple from Denver Colorado, Carolyn and Ralph, who were dressed to the nines. Carolyn had gotten an up-do for the occasion and then had to get a special fur hat to accommodate this gorgeous hairstyle, as well as match her calf-length fur coat. Ralph wore a stunning faux-fur “letter jacket” that, instead of promoting a sports team, promoted his church. We shared stories and compared notes and talked about our experiences of the day. In between conversation and food, we watched the Inaugural parade on a large-screen TV set up over the bar. As the new President and Michelle emerged from their car to walk in the street, the entire restaurant burst into applause. When Carolyn and Ralph had to leave to catch their bus, we hugged each other goodbye. Two sets of very different people, coming together on this day and sharing this common experience.
And I think that is a lot of what the Inaugural was about for me, and why it was so important for me--and my son-- to be on the Mall on January 20, 2009: the joining together of people from all walks of life, people with different values and different beliefs, different life experiences, but with the common foundation and fervent hope that our first African-American President can unite us in ways in which we have never been united before. That, together, we can transcend our differences and come together to move our country forward, out of the darkness and back into the light.

The Armadillo has a home (and so do we)!

We made it! We travelled up the coast of Georgia and South Carolina and made it to Morehead City at 4:00 pm Sunday, August 10. I rang Mom and Aunt Mercy to tell them our ETA and we all met in front of the Sanitary Fish Market and Restaurant. I tell you, Paula Deen ain’t got nothin’ on the hush puppies at the Sanitary!! We ate a couple of baskets of the pups slathered in butter (and a bit of seafood on the side) and headed over the big bridge to Beaufort and 913 Ann Street, our new house.
Once we settled into the rocking chairs on the front porch, Willis and I handed a mysterious black plastic garbage back to Mom and Aunt Mercy and told them they had to guess what was in it. After only a few fondles and guesses (with Willis indicating hot, warm, or cold) my Mother guessed what was in the bag. I was impressed!
We’ve unpacked the garbage bag but we still haven’t unpacked the car. The call of those rocking chairs is just too strong. We’ll get around to unpacking one of these days...
Check out our homecoming here.
Check out shots of the area here (designed to entice!)

Whatcha’ need, baby?

I used to be offended when I was called “baby.” Now, as a woman of a certain age, I rather like it! Since we hit Louisiana, I’ve been called baby by a man at least 10 years older than me, and by a woman half my age. Phrases have run from “Whatcha’ need, baby?” to “Where you goin’ baby?” All good!
We circled the Gulf Coast of Florida and made our way to an overnight stay on Jekyll Island, Georgia. Jekyll Island is a rather exclusive seacoast island on Georgia’s coast—you have to pay $3 to get onto the island! The island has a fascinating history, including being a playground for the rich and famous—does the name Rockefeller ring a bell? You know you are out of your league when you see an historic building that is massively large and has a name sign entitled “xxx Cottage.’ The Jekyll Island Club and Hotel dominates the small historic district. I have a relative who stayed there once (my Mom), but Willis and I roomed with the hoi polloi at lesser lodgings.
From Jekyll Island, we made our way to Savannah, Georgia. Now, most people never thought twice about Savannah until John Berendt wrote a brilliant book called Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil. When this book first came out, I was home one summer for a visit and helping my Mom in her bookstore that she owned at the time. She got an advance copy of the book, and I read it in one sitting, staying up all night to do so. I knew Berendt had a bestseller on his hands, and that Savannah would never be the same. Both came true: Midnight in the Garden of the Good and Evil stayed on the New York Times’ bestseller list for over four years. And Savannah hit the big time, with tourists who had read the book pouring into town.
We ate lunch at The Lady and Sons Restaurant, which I didn’t realize was Paula Deen’s restaurant until I was halfway through the creamiest, richest crab stew I’ve ever had. Willis and I both rolled out the door after eating and slept it off on Johnny Mercer’s bench in Johnson Square.
Check out our Points South photos here.

A Red Carpet for the Penguins

New Orleans is home to a world-class aquarium, the Audubon Aquarium of the Americas. In addition to human lives lost when Hurricane Katrina devastated New Orleans three years ago, animals at the aquarium died, too. We visited to see how the aquarium is doing now and to learn about what happened to the animals. Most of the fish died, but the anaconda, the rare white alligator (a Leucistics alligator), and several other species survived. The filtration systems ran off of generators, but then the fuel ran out. The penguins had been sent to the Monterey Aquarium, and in May 2006, nine months after Katrina, Federal Express brought them back free of charge. The Aquarium rolled out a red carpet, and the penguins waddled along the carpet and back into their tank.

The hardest place for me to visit was the French Market. There were no local artists selling hand crafted items, no fresh produce, no spices... only tables and tables of cheap Made in China imports: sunglasses, cell phone holders, plastic wallets, plastic toys, plastic sandals, plastic, plastic, plastic. I hope that someday soon the market will once again host local residents selling authentic New Orleans items.

There is a sense of desperation in the city. Lunchtime restaurants have few customers, and wait staff hover on the sidewalk, aggressively asking folks to come in and dine. Jackson Square has only a few artists, where once it was home to numerous portrait painters, mime artists, jugglers and musicians.

To top it all off, just two weeks ago, the city suffered a severe oil spill and the stench of oil is overpowering as one strolls along the Mississippi River waterfront walk.

New Orleans was once a magical place, and I hope it can become that again.

New Orleans photos here.

The Big Easy

The French Quarter was quiet late this afternoon as we wandered around...not too many people, which is nice for us, but I know local businesses hope for more tourists. We plan to go to the jazz show at Preservation Hall tomorrow night--The 726 Jazz Band. Preservation Hall is a great venue, for all ages, and only $10 for a night of authentic jazz.
I took some time early evening to just take in the architecture--I've posted some shots (along with a few "touristy" photos): enjoy!

Photos from New Mexico and Texas

Click here to see a few photos from New Mexico and Texas--including aliens!!

The hurricane, aliens and a dead armadillo

So some things you can plan for and some things you can't. We planned to arrive in Houston, Texas on the evening of Sunday, August 3 and we made our timeline--but we didn't plan for Tropical Storm Eduaord. We planned a 2-3 in Houston to visit my Aunt Fay and Uncle Clyde, and cousins Barry and Clyde, Jr. that we cut short due to the approach of Eduaord. Eduaord is due to make landfull tomorrow and Houston and Galveston are its current targets. It looks like it won't be a bad storm, but having been through coastal hurricanes before, the threat of flooding was enough to make us seek higher ground. I originally planned to get to Lafayette, LA, thinking this would be far enough east to avoid the impact of Eduaord, but decided to go a bit north instead. Tonight, Willis and I are in DeRidder, LA. We'll see what tomorrow brings--if the hurricane does, indeed, continue west and we avoid the worst of it, we'll head southeast down to New Orleans. And I tell you, it's beginning to feel like home--the smell of the low-country marshes, the sound of the cicadas and bullfrogs, the humid air that hangs heavy like a blanket over my shoulders...

My brave Uncle Clyde insisted on showing us around today, with the storm not due to hit until tomorrow, so we headed out to Galveston. We visited the Moody Aquarium, the seawall, and took a quick spin to see the beautiful old homes before heading back to Houston.

Enroute from the Grand Canyon to Houston, we spent a day with my cousin Susan and her family in Los Alamos, New Mexico. We visited the Los Alamos Historical Museum, which had fascinating information about the Manhatten Project and Los Alamos's history. We climbed into cavates (small, human-carved caves in the cliffs) in Bandelier National Monument and imagined what life was like for the native American people who lived here long ago.

We left Susan's lovely home on one of the five mesas that make up most of the residential area of Los Alamos, and headed due south to Roswell, NM to visit the UFO Museum and learn about the 1947 Roswell Incident. Do you believe? I believe!! UFOs, aliens, crop circles...bring 'em on!

And now you may be wondering how the dead armadillo of the title plays into our travels...after crossing the border into Texas, armadillo roadkills were a dime a dozen. At one roadside stop, we found a kind of mummified one that had been out in the hot sun for a long time. So I stuffed it into a plastic bags and threw it into the car as our souvenier of Texas! So when y'all come to Beaufort to visit us, just look for the mummified armadillo on the front porch and you'll know you've found us!

Recent photos here (no dead armadillos!)