Hail To The Chief … And To Us

Wednesday’s inaugural ceremonies were everything that we could have wanted. Inspiring, straightforward, respectful, historic, and normal. There was not a single psychopath anywhere that I could recognize. Everyone who came to the mike spoke of love of country and of their fellow man. Lady Gaga walked to the podium and gave us one of the best renditions of the Star Spangled Banner I’ve ever heard. A slender girl wearing a coat the color of sunflowers read us a stirring poem that she’d composed for the event. Mr. Biden gave a speech that will be remembered for its nearly perfect application to the day and to our times.

And over and over I thought – good on us. We made this happen.

One thing – he promised to always level with us, and I believed him. I think that we are fortunate enough to have the kind of commander who will wait to see that his men are fed before sitting down to supper himself.

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I finally got that flag put up that we’ve been meaning to install for months. Most of the stars and stripes on display here in Paradise are around the beds of pickup trucks, and flown by local yahoos. We’ve decided that they don’t get to have the flag all to themselves. Lefties get it, too.

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I read yesterday that the QAnon people are in disarray. Their Fearless Leader has gone away without arresting even one pedophilic cannibal from Hollywood and bringing him or her to trial. Something’s wrong with their world, and they haven’t figured out what it is as yet.

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I loved that a poet of only 22 years of age was selected to read her work at the inaugural. I loved that there was a poetic reading at all, because that is not a given. This has happened only five times before in our long history. And her performance, for that is what Amanda Gorman gives when she reads, with lovely and expressive movements of her hands and arms, demanded your attention. Here is the text of her work, “The Hill We Climb.”

When day comes, we ask ourselves, where can we find light in this never-ending shade?
The loss we carry. A sea we must wade.
We braved the belly of the beast.
We’ve learned that quiet isn’t always peace, and the norms and notions of what “just” is isn’t always justice.
And yet the dawn is ours before we knew it.
Somehow we do it.
Somehow we weathered and witnessed a nation that isn’t broken, but simply unfinished.
We, the successors of a country and a time where a skinny Black girl descended from slaves and raised by a single mother can dream of becoming president, only to find herself reciting for one.
And, yes, we are far from polished, far from pristine, but that doesn’t mean we are striving to form a union that is perfect.
We are striving to forge our union with purpose.
To compose a country committed to all cultures, colors, characters and conditions of man.
And so we lift our gaze, not to what stands between us, but what stands before us.
We close the divide because we know to put our future first, we must first put our differences aside.
We lay down our arms so we can reach out our arms to one another.
We seek harm to none and harmony for all.
Let the globe, if nothing else, say this is true.
That even as we grieved, we grew.
That even as we hurt, we hoped.
That even as we tired, we tried.
That we’ll forever be tied together, victorious.
Not because we will never again know defeat, but because we will never again sow division.
Scripture tells us to envision that everyone shall sit under their own vine and fig tree, and no one shall make them afraid.
If we’re to live up to our own time, then victory won’t lie in the blade, but in all the bridges we’ve made.
That is the promise to glade, the hill we climb, if only we dare.
It’s because being American is more than a pride we inherit.
It’s the past we step into and how we repair it.
We’ve seen a force that would shatter our nation, rather than share it.
Would destroy our country if it meant delaying democracy.
And this effort very nearly succeeded.
But while democracy can be periodically delayed, it can never be permanently defeated.
In this truth, in this faith we trust, for while we have our eyes on the future, history has its eyes on us.
This is the era of just redemption.
We feared at its inception.
We did not feel prepared to be the heirs of such a terrifying hour.
But within it we found the power to author a new chapter, to offer hope and laughter to ourselves.
So, while once we asked, how could we possibly prevail over catastrophe, now we assert, how could catastrophe possibly prevail over us?
We will not march back to what was, but move to what shall be: a country that is bruised but whole, benevolent but bold, fierce and free.
We will not be turned around or interrupted by intimidation because we know our inaction and inertia will be the inheritance of the next generation, become the future.
Our blunders become their burdens.
But one thing is certain.
If we merge mercy with might, and might with right, then love becomes our legacy and change our children’s birthright.
So let us leave behind a country better than the one we were left.
Every breath from my bronze-pounded chest, we will raise this wounded world into a wondrous one.
We will rise from the golden hills of the West.
We will rise from the windswept Northeast where our forefathers first realized revolution.
We will rise from the lake-rimmed cities of the Midwestern states.
We will rise from the sun-baked South.
We will rebuild, reconcile, and recover.
And every known nook of our nation and every corner called our country, our people diverse and beautiful, will emerge battered and beautiful.
When day comes, we step out of the shade of flame and unafraid.
The new dawn balloons as we free it.
For there is always light, if only we’re brave enough to see it.
If only we’re brave enough to be it

Amen, Sister Gorman, you tell it as it is.

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