2009 in review - January: we attend Barack Obama's Inaugural, Margie breaks bones, a kind lady puts us up in her elegant guest house

As you can see, January, 2009, got off to a reasonably pleasant start. I was still recovering from my shoulder injury and replacement surgery nearly seven months earlier, but was doing better than the doctor had expected. Margie was Kalib's official babysitter while his parents went off to work.

She was loving every minute of it.

And we had a big and exciting trip planned.

That trip was to Washington, DC, to take part in the Inauguaration of President Barack Obama. I don't get a haircut and beard trim for just anyone, but, for the President of the United States, I figured I would do it.

So I went to see Celia and she did a good job.

This picture shocks me (not the one on the wall - that one just frustrates me - but the one of me). I now look more than just one-year older than I did here. That's the kind of year it has been - and it began in January.

Margie, Lisa and I flew to New York, because it was altogether to expensive to fly to Washington, DC. We rented a car for the shockingly low price of $23 a day and drove down. On January 20, I arose at 3:00 AM and rousted Margie and Lisa, to be certain that we would not miss the first train to roll through the Metro subway, scheduled to leave the Friendship Heights station in the Chevy Chase area at 4:20 AM.  We were the guests of Greg and Julie, an extremely nice couple who live across the street from Alice Rogoff, the philanthropist who founded the Alaska House New York,  and closely associated it with the Alaska Native Arts Foundation. She is now publisher of the online news magazine, The Alaska Dispatch.

Right on schedule, we boarded the Metro and found the crowd to be surprisingly light - until we reached the very next station. When the doors opened, people poured in - and they would continue to do so at each stop until no more would fit. It was hot in the train car and I began to sweat. 

The gentleman above joined us at an early stop. He brandished an American flag with an image of Barack Obama emblazoned on it. "I'm so happy!" he sang, joyously, "I'm from Africa, living in America, Africa, living in America, Barack Obama, I'm so happy..."

He sang too of his father, in Sierra Leone, who he wished could be here, in America, to celebrate this wonderful day. "I'm so happy, in America, from Africa. Barack Obama! Africa, America. I'm so happy."

I could detect nothing but happiness, joy and goodwill anywhere. Smiles abounded throughout the car, people of all race and background laughed and mingled with those nearby. There was no tension, not between races, not between individuals; good will abounded.

The day was off to a good start.

We who traveled down in the Metro flowed like rivers of humanity through the concrete channels that lace the earth beneath Washington, D.C. toward the grand confluence where we would soon converge into a sea of two million that would cover the entire National Mall from the Lincoln Memorial to the Capitol.

One river of humanity flows outward through the metro gates.

And then the flow goes up and out of the Metro at L'Enfant Plaza. 

I had managed to get two press passes - one for me and one for Lisa, to be my assistant and help me carry things. I thought this was going to be special and really give us access, but, as it turned out, the passes would allow us to go in and out of any area in the mall at will, and to a little bleacher area set up for photographers and such, but not up to the Capitol steps, where the swearing in would take place.

The bleacher area was not a place I wanted to take photos from and there was no way to move freely about, in and out, out and in, in this packed crowd. So we worked our way into as good a position as we seemed likely to get, staked our ground and there we stayed - for hours upon hours upon hours, in the cold.

And it was cold. Nothing like true Alaska cold, which, dressed as we were, would have killed us in that time, but none-the-less it was a long wait and it could have been unpleasant, but it wasn't. There was too much excitement and everyone around us was happy.

Finally, the President elect and wife Michele walked out. If you have really, really, good eyes, then you can see him right up there on the Capitol steps - but it is a lot easier just to look at the big monitor.

Obama steps up to be sworn in and to deliver his speech.

Yes, it was a joyous crowd.

Lisa listens intently as the man she campaigned so hard for speaks. She worked phone banks, she knocked on many doors. She carried signs. And when he won, she spontaneously went and bought herself a ticket. 

So Margie and I decided to come with her.

Faces in the crowd, as they listen to their new President, Barack Obama, deliver his Inaugural Address.

Lisa cheers for her new President.

Afterward, we found Margie. She was cold, but happy to have been there, to have witnessed history. We spent the next several hours in the mall area, but Lisa had found the on-location offices of MSNBC and did not want to leave.

So finally, about 8:00 PM, Margie and I boarded the train back to Friendship Heights and left Lisa on her own. This scared me a little bit, but she is an adult, after all. By now, we had bags full of souvenirs.

Between my cameras and our bags of souvenirs, including Lisa's, our hands were full as we stepped off the Metro train at Friendship Heights and rode the escalator to the surface.

We then stepped into the outside air, waited for the light to turn green and then stepped into the crosswalk. Margie walked right beside me as we crossed but then, just as I was about to step up onto the curb, she vanished. Then I heard a whimper. I turned, and found her lying in the gutter.

I went to help her up, but she could not get up - her pain was too great. Yet, she insisted that she was not badly hurt and would soon be okay.

Some passers by waved down a police car, and the officers quickly summoned an ambulance and a team of paramedics.

But Margie refused to get into the ambulance, or to let the paramedics do anything more than help her to her feet. Once standing, she could not move. The pain in her left knee and right wrist was too great. Still, she would not get into the ambulance.

I had parked the rental car about two blocks away. I went and got it, came back, picked her up and drove her to the hospital myself. There, we learned that she had fractured both her right knee and her left wrist.

We put in a long and miserable night - especially for Margie.

In the light of the day, I went back to check out the crack that had tripped her. This is it.

Please note that the wheels of the little red car are both inside the crosswalk. So is the crack. I remain angry about this. There are many poor neighborhoods in the Washington, DC, area, but this isn't one of them. They should have repaired this crack long before it reached this state.

In the daytime, I doubt that she would have tripped. But in the night, tired, after a long, long, day, cold, carrying bags of souvenirs, that crack got her.

And her life has never been the same since. She has not worked a day or earned even one single a dollar. She was part time, so there was no Workers Comp or unemployment for her (just as there was none for me as a self-employed freelance photographer after I got hurt). Worst of all, she has not been able to care for little Kalib as she had imagined she would.

For a brief moment, I thought about taking legal action, but then we just moved on with life instead.

Alice Rogoff had hosted Barrow's Suurimmaanitchuat Iñupiat Eskimo dancers in her guest house. Now, she moved us in and told us to stay for as long as we needed.

I do not know what we would have done if she had not done so. Days would pass before Margie could even think of moving out of this room - let alone traveling. 

Alice Rogoff - I can never thank you enough.

And what a guest house it was!

When finally we decided to leave, we knew Margie could not handle the long trip back to Alaska without a break. So we drove back to New York and then flew to Salt Lake City, where my sister, Mary Ann, at right, picked us up and took us to her house.

It had been a miserable flight. Margie could not get into the airplane restrooms, nor could she fit her leg under the seat in front of her. Before we left New York, I had to take her into a ladies room. It was embarrassing, but I had no choice. The ladies room was crowded, too, and the ladies looked at me strangely, but once they figured out was going on, they were cool with it.

And here she is, at the Alaska Native Medical Center in Anchorage, after we got home. Today, as she limped and hobbled slowly about, I asked her if she was still glad she went to the Inaugural. 

"Yes," she said. 

Little Kalib had to enroll in day care. But he enjoys it there.

You can find my original coverage of the Inaugural here.  I ended that coverage with a statement that included these paragraphs:

True, as the situation grows worse, I suspect that even many who now cheer him will grow impatient and will issue their own harsh criticisms of the man they helped elect. Perhaps I will, myself.

Obviously, none of us can yet know how well our new President will handle the many crisis that he inherited and he will undoubtedly make some bad mistakes. For this, he will be loudly condemned.

Yet, it is my personal belief that, right now, the United States of America is in need of a leader the likes of which we have not seen at least since World War II. A great leader. As Colin Powell said, a transformational leader. One who can not only inspire us but convince us to make the kinds of sacrifice that we modern day Americans do not like to make.

Considering the challenges, without such a leader, it seems unlikely that United States will continue as the great power that it has been since World War II. Looking at all of our national leaders, in all parties, I do not see the potential of such a leader except in one individual: our new President, Barack Obama. I do believe he has that potential. Whether the potential will be fulfilled, I do not know. 

I still hold to this statement and continue to believe the above words to be true.

Please note: A separate entry, titled Today in Wasilla, was posted 20 minutes prior to this one.

Catch 22 upon Catch 22: I could blame the ravens, but actually, it is all my fault

I want to go to bed right now - in fact, I wanted to go to bed an hour ago, but I have fallen behind on this blog and if I don't catch up right now, when will I?

I have a good excuse. I had a little project that had to be postmarked no later than March 1 and it ate up all my time, day and night, and then after I drove to Anchorage late Sunday night, got the postmark, bought a cheese quesedilla, a cheesy-bean burrito and a strawberry mango drink at the Parks Highway Taco Bell all-night drivethrough and then drove home, I was drained and have been ever since.

Taco Bell. That is where the problems started. Not the one on the Parks Highway in Anchorage, but the one here, in Wasilla, Saturday, where I photographed this and the other two ravens seen here. 

This is how it happened: I had no cash on Saturday when I went through the Wasilla Taco Bell drivethrough. Margie was stretched out across the back seat of the Escape, so pulled out my wallet, slipped my debit card out of that, paid with the debit card, slipped the card back into the wallet and then put the wallet...

Where did I put the wallet? Did I put it on my lap? I don't remember. Perhaps because I was paying too much attention to the ravens. I always pay attention to ravens. They demand it.

Did I put it in the little pouch on the inside of the drivers door?

Just where did I put it? It was black. These ravens are squabbling over and eating something black. Did they take it? Did they eat it?

All I know for certain is that, after we finished dining, I drove up to the outside Taco Bell garbage can. I handed my sack of Taco Bell garbage back to Margie, she put her sack of Taco Bell garbage into it, handed it back to me and then I got out of the car, walked to the garbage can, threw it in, got back in the car and then drove straight at the ravens, thinking that they would fly before I got to them.

But they didn't. They called my bluff and I had to stop and then go around them. It is not because they were stupid and did not understand the danger a Ford Escape could pose to them.

They are smart. They just knew that I was bluffing, and that I would stop. And if by chance I didn't, they had it all calculated down to the micro-second just when they would actually need to hop and flap out of the way.

But they did not want to do that unless it was absolutely necessary, and they knew it wouldn't be. They wanted to call my bluff, to humiliate me, and they did.

Margie wanted to go to Carr's to buy some groceries after that. So I drove her to Carr's. I thought that she meant that she wanted me to go in and buy some groceries, but she meant she wanted us to go in and buy some groceries. It would be the very first time that she had gone into a store since she suffered her injury, January 20.

I drove her as close as I could to the door, got out of the car, opened up the back door, helped her out, made certain she got through the new fallen snow to the walk that leads inside the store, then got back into the car. By then, the lady and the boy above were in front of me, so I took their picture.

I then found a place far from the store to park the car. Being a rough, tough, Alaskan, I did not care at all about the falling snow. I hiked from the car to Carr's as if it was not even snowing at all. As if I was in Phoenix, Arizona.

That's how I did it. I then entered the store and these two boys - I assume the one with a beard is a boy, but who knows, he could be a girl - how could I tell? - offered me a Peanut Butter Cup. First, I took their picture and then I took the Peanut Butter Cup.

That is the kind of thing of thing that you do when you are a serious photographer, which I am. You take your picture before you take your Peanut Butter Cup. It does not matter how badly you want that Peanut Butter Cup, you take the picture first.

If you can't do that, then, hell, you might just as well throw your damn camera in the trash.

I wonder if I threw my wallet in the trash at Taco Bell? I wonder if I had accidently placed it in the Taco Bell sack when I was eating, the one that became my trash bag?

All I know for certain is that when I got to the check-out stand, with Margie hobbling behind, and the checker rang up the $200 plus bill, I reached into my pocket for my wallet, but it was not there.

I went back to the car and searched in and all around it. My wallet was not there. I went to Carr's customer service, to see if someone had turned my wallet in. They had not. I drove back to Taco Bell, to see if someone had turned in my wallet there.

No one had. I asked if the garbage can had been emptied. It had.

The Taco Bell ravens laughed at me.

You don't believe me? You don't believe that a raven can laugh? Then come to Alaska and you will learn otherwise.

So I drove Margie home and checked my online bank account. No activity. Checked my credit cards. No activity. Still, I had to cancel them all. Each and every one.

Worse yet, I had no cash. Worse still, Margie had no cash. Even worse, when I cancelled my cards, I also cancelled her's, because we share accounts.

We do not have a pre-nup, either. Don't need one.

Although she was a little irritated with me, right now.

After that, there was nothing to do but go home and work on the project that I was telling you about. I worked on it all day Saturday for the remainder of the day and then when the day ended, I continued to work on it.

I did not stop until 5:00 AM. I then went to bed, pulled the covers over me and then the cats piled on. I sleep better when cats are piled atop me. Unless they grow mischievous. They grew mischievous.

I got up a bit before 10:00 AM, fixed Margie some oatmeal, fixed me some oatmeal and then got back to work. I did not stop until I was done, and that happened about 8:45 PM. At that time on Sunday, the only open Post Office in the whole state of Alaska is the airport Post Office in Anchorage, so I climbed into the car and drove - without my driver's license, because that was in the lost wallet.

Margie could not drive me, because her leg is in a brace and still cannot be bent. Her arm is in a cast and she could not grip the steering wheel.

So I drove, without my license. I set the cruise control to four miles above the speed limit to make certain that I would not accidently speed and get pulled over without a license.

I drove very cautious and carefully, so as not to attract any undo attention.

I drove past car after car that had gone off the road. Some had flipped over, some were on their side.

The road was dry. It was not icy. All those cars must have slid off the road the day before, when it was snowing. A whole lot of cars must have slide off the road Saturday, for so many to still not be retrieved Sunday night.

Probably, in the past, some of these drivers have laughed at news reports of snow-caused traffic mishaps in Lower 48 cities, especially in cities unaccustomed to snow that suddenly get snow.

Today, we seen such reports come out of Tennessee, and other southern states, like Maine.

I bet these drivers didn't laugh today.

Others did, though. Their time is coming.

As for today, it dawned clear, cold, and beautiful. -20 at our house. For you celsius people, that would be -29 on your scale. But I drove over the hill that is behind me in this picture and on Wasilla Main Street, it was +3. We live in a cold sink, that's why.

The good thing is, I now have so many bars on my cellphone right in my house that I haven't even bothered to count them, as that would require me to put on my reading glasses. But there are a lot of bars. No more dropped calls - thanks to this ugly monstrosity that just got turned on.

Now here is an amazing thing: when we flew out of Salt Lake City on the way home from Washington, DC, there was a guy at the gate next to ours peddling Delta Airlines American Express credit cards. He said if I got one and made just one purchase, why, hell, right there I would get enough free Delta Airlines miles just for doing so that I could fly free on a Delta Airlines roundtrip ticket  anywhere they go.

He said Margie could sign up and we could get two free round-trip tickets. I did not want another credit card, but I did like the idea of those free tickets. So I signed us both up. Margie was too broken up to sign herself up.

Those cards arrived the other day, but I just ignored them. This meant that I did not put them in my wallet. This meant that they did not get lost.

That is how I paid to mail my package from the Anchorage airport Post Office - with that Delta Airlines American Express card.

That is how I bought gas to drive back home from Anchorage - with that card.

And now I can fly anywhere in the US that Delta goes...

So today, driving illegally once again, I drove to the Department of Motor Vehicles in Palmer, figuring that I could be legal when I drove back.

When I got to the DMV, a sign asked me to please fill out all the relevant forms before my number was called. So I took my number from the number machine, then found the basket for the form that I needed.

It was empty.

Next, I sat in a chair and waited for my number to be called. My number was 241. As you can see, the couple in the picture here had number 237, and I had already been waiting awhile when I took it.

See the two portraits hanging on the wall? The one on the left is of our Governor, Sarah Palin. Ever hear of her?

I doubt it. It seems unlikely.

Anyway, 241 was finally called. I journied to the counter. The guy who helped me was most friendly. He gave me the form that had not been in the basket and patiently waited while I filled it out. He then had me take the eye test, which I passed just fine.

I showed him my passport and he agreed that I am who I said I am.

"That'll be $15.00," he said.

So I whipped out my American Express card.

"I'm sorry," he said, "the DMV does not take American Express."

Come on, Sarah - for hell's sake! 

So I drove illegally from the DMV to the Palmer McDonald's to buy a cup of coffee and some cinnamon nuggets. I chose McDonald's because I figured they would probably take American Express.

I made my order and pulled to the first window. A girl was there to take my money. I had put my American Express Card inside my passport. I absent-mindedly handed her the passport.

She didn't know what to do.

But when she figured it out, McDonald's accepted the card. I pulled up to the next window and this kid handed me my coffee and my cinnamon nuggets.

I drove out of the lot toward the highway and as I did, these two kids jaywalked right across the highway. They were lucky it was me driving. Most drivers would not have realized what was happening until it was too late and would have run right over them, but not me.

The coffee was scalding hot. Way too hot to drink. It would have to cool down. So I decided to take the long drive home, via fishhook road, which would extend the trip from about 15 miles to at least 20. I figured that would give the coffee time to cool down enough for me to drink while I was still driving home.

Plus, it is a more pleasant drive. 

I hadn't driven far before I grew impatient and decided that I did not want to wait for that coffee to cool down. If the coffee cooled, so would the cinnamon nuggets. I looked at the car's temperature indicator. The exterior air temperature was 10 degrees. That's the thing about this time of year, after the sun comes back. In December and January, if the morning temperature is -20, it might rise to -18 or so, but that's about it.

I looked at the speedometer. It read 55 miles per hour. I did some quick mental calculations and came up with a wind chill factor of -19. I figured that would cool down the coffee real quick, so I rolled down the window and held the cup out into the wind for a couple of miles. The inside of my hand was burning, the outside freezing, but it did the trick.

The coffee was drinkable in short order. The cinnamon nuggets were still warm.

I turned off Fishhook onto Polar Bear. I hadn't gone far when I saw this snow machine, just sitting in the road. 

And a bit later, on Church, I saw this guy. His snowmachine was working just fine.

Which brings me to another dilemma that I face. I might need to do some snowmachining real soon, to do my work which I have fallen so far behind on since I got hurt. Or I might have to hang onto the back of a sled. I have not done either since I shattered my shoulder and got it replaced.

I am much improved now, but I don't think my shoulder is capable of handling a snowmachine on rough terrain - and sea ice is always rough terrain. And neither is my wrist, which got hurt, too, but was completely ignored due to the severity of my shoulder injury. Now, it often bothers me worse than my shoulder. Each night, I lose sleep by the hour to the pain in my wrist, and in my shoulder.

What do I do?

In part, my Muse seems to have solved the problem. I promised her that when she got married, I would come to India to photograph her wedding. I am not a wedding photographer, I do not photograph weddings. But sometimes I make an exception.

For her, I will make such an exception.

Tonight, she informed me that she has set the date for May 3, and said that I must come one week early. That's probably when I would be doing the most heavy snowmachining of all. Now, on the hope that all goes well, I will be India, where it is pretty hard to drive a snowmachine.

You could do it, but it would be mighty hard on the snowmachine.

Oh, good grief! Did I write, "hard on?"

I never intended this to be that kind of blog. I am shocked.

And on a snowmachine! That would be awful. Something might break right off.

I think it is time to get out of this blog and go to bed. I think I am sleep-deprived.

But still, I would like to get on a snowmachine between now and India.

What do I do?

Now, being broke and all, how do I get to India?

My Muse has set her wedding date. I will find a way.

I have never let being broke stop me from traveling.

Now I will click "published," then "saved," and I will go to bed. 

Despite the time listed at the top of this page, it is 4:35 AM. 

A narrow view of the Inauguration of President Barack Obama - Part 3 of 3: The new president is sworn in; how the people near me reacted

"That we are in the midst of crisis is now well understood.  Our nation is at war against a far-reaching network of violence and hatred.  Our economy is badly weakened, a consequence of greed and irresponsibility on the part of some, but also our collective failure to make hard choices and prepare the nation for a new age."  - Barack Obama, 44th President of the United States

To the sounds of "trumpet and fanfare," President Elect Barack Obama arrived at the Capitol building as his image appeared on the nearby Jumbotron. He looked confident and proud. The applause was loud, the shouts joyous, the people waved American flags with enthusiasm.

"Today I say to you that the challenges we face are real.  They are serious and they are many.  They will not be met easily or in a short span of time.  But know this America:  They will be met."

And there was pride - a kind of pride that many in the crowd had never felt before, had not believed they would ever feel, but now they did feel it.

Perhaps the "majority" of us cannot fully comprehend the degree of the pride that radiated from the faces of so many of the African Americans who were present, but we can recognize it, celebrate it, rejoice in it.

I, as a white American, also felt a kind of pride that I had never before experienced, pride in the fact that the country that I now lived in had become a better nation then the one that I had grown up in. The notion that such an event could ever happen could not have even been believed in the United States of my childhood.

No, I am wrong to make the above statement. At least one man, Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., believed it.

Despite the almost universal acclaim given him today, I recall the attitudes toward Dr. King that prevailed in the community that surrounded me back then and that attitude was mean and derisive - and no, I did not live in the south. I lived in California.

I recall, too, how, in my community, Dr. King was mocked and ridiculed, deemed to be a dangerous man, a Communist, out to destroy America, after he spoke these words:

"When we allow freedom to ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God's children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual, 'Free at last! free at last! thank God Almighty, we are free at last!'"

Much later, I listened to the those words and was suddenly struck by meaning that had eluded me in my youth. When Dr. King spoke of how "we" would be "free at last," he had included me, a white man who had already believed himself to be free, but who was actually bound and restrained by the limitations that a racist society imposes upon itself.

Now, on the National Mall, I recalled other images from my youth and early adulthood, images of Black Americans turning their back on the flag to raise their clenched fists in the opposite direction.

Here, I saw them clutch the American flag with pride, I saw them wave the American flag as they cheered and smiled big, I saw tears come to their eyes as they embraced that flag. There seemed to be a feeling that, finally, that flag had embraced them.

"Our journey has never been one of short-cuts or settling for less.  It has not been the path for the faint-hearted, for those that prefer leisure over work, or seek only the pleasures of riches and fame.  Rather, it has been the risk-takers, the doers, the makers of things -- some celebrated, but more often men and women obscure in their labor -- who have carried us up the long rugged path towards prosperity and freedom."

President-Elect Obama had created a controversy among many of his most dedicated followers and volunteers when he chose the Reverend Rick Warren to deliver the Inaugural address. When Warren, known for his anti-gay comments, stepped to the podium, the reception seemed polite but cool.

Yet, when he began to pray, people around me began to cry. They could not stop their tears, particularly when Warren spoke these words:

"Now today we rejoice not only in America's peaceful transfer of power for the 44th time. We celebrate a hinge-point of history with the inauguration of our first African-American president of the United States.

"We are so grateful to live in this land, a land of unequaled possibility, where the son of an African immigrant can rise to the highest level of our leadership.

"And we know today that Dr. King and a great cloud of witnesses are shouting in Heaven... Help us, oh God, to remember that we are Americans, united not by race or religion or blood, but to our commitment to freedom and justice for all."

""For us, they packed up their few worldly possessions and traveled across oceans in search of a new life.  For us, they toiled in sweatshops, and settled the West, endured the lash of the whip, and plowed the hard earth.  For us, they fought and died in places like Concord and Gettysburg, Normandy and Khe Sahn." 

When Itzhak Perlman and Yoyo Ma began to play the violin and chello, I did wonder not only how they were able to manipulate their fingers in the cold, but also how they kept their stringed instruments in tune.

It seemed impossible, yet the thought that they were bow syncing to a recording of themselves did not occur to me.

Some were upset about the "fakery" when the news came out that what we actually heard was a recording the team of Perlman, Ma, pianist Gabriela Montero and clarinetist Anthony McGill had made the day before. The news did not bother me. These virtuosos had faced a choice - do what they did or risk a clumsy, out-of-tune performance. How much criticism would that have brought down upon them?

"We remain the most prosperous, powerful nation on Earth.  Our workers are no less productive than when this crisis began.  Our minds are no less inventive, our goods and services no less needed than they were last week, or last month, or last year.  Our capacity remains undiminished.  But our time of standing pat, of protecting narrow interests and putting off unpleasant decisions -- that time has surely passed.  Starting today, we must pick ourselves up, dust ourselves off, and begin again the work of remaking America."

As an enthusiastic crowd cheers, waves the American flag and throws confetti, Barack and Michelle Obama walk together toward the swearing-in. Blogger's note, 2/4/09: This replaces a similar photo taken a short time later that went up with the original post Please note that a "click" on any photo will bring up a larger copy.

"For everywhere we look, there is work to be done.  The state of our economy calls for action, bold and swift.  And we will act, not only to create new jobs, but to lay a new foundation for growth.  We will build the roads and bridges, the electric grids and digital lines that feed our commerce and bind us together." 

I will let her expression describe her feelings as she watches Barack Obama prepare to be sworn in as President of the United States.

Joy. 

All around me, I could detect only happiness, joy and a true feeling of hope, unity, sisterhood and brotherhood between groups of people so divergent in bloodline, origin, culture and nurture.

"We'll restore science to its rightful place, and wield technology's wonders to raise health care's quality and lower its cost.  We will harness the sun and the winds and the soil to fuel our cars and run our factories.  And we will transform our schools and colleges and universities to meet the demands of a new age.  All this we can do.  All this we will do." 

After placing his hand upon the Bible of Abraham Lincoln, Barack Obama is sworn in as the 44th President of the United States. Please note the men perched on the building behind, including the ones with the scopes.

And note the trails from the jets that continually circled above.

More pride.

 "As for our common defense, we reject as false the choice between our safety and our ideals.  Our Founding Fathers, faced with perils that we can scarcely imagine, drafted a charter to assure the rule of law and the rights of man -- a charter expanded by the blood of generations.  Those ideals still light the world, and we will not give them up for expedience sake." 

President Obama speaks. "These are the indicators of crisis, subject to data and statistics.  Less measurable, but no less profound, is a sapping of confidence across our land; a nagging fear that America's decline is inevitable, that the next generation must lower its sights."

In whatever direction I looked, I saw happy faces...

...enraptured faces...

...and the transformed smiles of those who had suddenly forgotten how cold they had felt through the long, short, hours that they had endured after arising at 3:00 AM to come down and stand immobile in the frigid air.

"Recall that earlier generations faced down fascism and communism not just with missiles and tanks, but with the sturdy alliances and enduring convictions.  They understood that our power alone cannot protect us, nor does it entitle us to do as we please.  Instead they knew that our power grows through its prudent use; our security emanates from the justness of our cause, the force of our example, the tempering qualities of humility and restraint." 

And then there was my own daughter, Lisa, who, as an Obama volunteer, had worked so hard to get this man elected. She had done so even though she knew that no matter what she and the other Alaska volunteers did, there was no chance that Barack Obama would receive our state's three electoral votes.

Still, she could make a statement that there is much diversity in the minds of Alaskans, that we do not all think the same nor fall inline with one way of thinking, that even on Main Street, Wasilla, Alaska, there is room for divergent thought and viewpoint among genuine, real, patriotic Americans.

Now, as she listened to the man whom she had worked so hard to elect speak, she got her payoff. And when she heard him say these words, "For we know that our patchwork heritage is a strength, not a weakness.  We are a nation of Christians and Muslims, Jews and Hindus, and non-believers.  We are shaped by every language and culture, drawn from every end of this Earth," she felt the reward of her hard work. It was the first time that she had heard a President make a statement about who just who the American people really are that did not exclude, but rather did include her.

President Barack Obama speaks from a position directly in front of us, yet we can identify him only on the Jumbotron.

"We will not apologize for our way of life, nor will we waver in its defense.  And for those who seek to advance their aims by inducing terror and slaughtering innocents, we say to you now that our spirit is stronger and cannot be broken -- you cannot outlast us, and we will defeat you." 

The speech concludes. The new President takes his seat. Lisa joins in the applause. She is the whole reason that we came. She was so thrilled when Barack Obama won the election that she immediately bought herself a round-trip ticket to New York City (Washington, DC, was too expensive) so that she could attend the inaugural. She did not have funds for a hotel, so she thought she would just camp out.

Margie and I had planned to take a vacation at this time, to go to Utah and Arizona, so that we could see family, and Margie could warm herself in the southwest sun and enjoy the winter daylight that Alaska lacks. 

Instead, we decided to change our itinerary a bit, and so accompanied Lisa to the Inauguration.

"Let it be said by our children's children that when we were tested we refused to let this journey end, that we did not turn back nor did we falter; and with eyes fixed on the horizon and God's grace upon us, we carried forth that great gift of freedom and delivered it safely to future generations." 

The ceremony ended, but the warm, euphoric feelings continued. Soon, of course, those feelings will be tempered by the enormity of the task that our new president faces. He will come under fire, and much of it will be directed towards him from those most responsible for creating the perilous situation that our country now faces. In fact, that fire has already begun.

I made a phone call from the Lincoln Memorial to a hard-right conservative who is most beloved to me. He brought up the fact that even as Obama was in the process of taking over the Presidency, jobs were being lost daily, by the tens of thousands. "They're calling it the Obama effect," he told me. He was quite serious, and, despite the last eight years, believed his own words.

I saw the true Obama effect, and I hope that you can see it in the pictures above, in the faces of those who attended the Inaugural.

Later, he told me that Obama had signed an executive order that meant the United States was now going to be paying for abortions. He said this in such a way as to imply that the government would be paying for abortions across the board, throughout the Country. In fact, what Obama had signed was an order that lifted the Bush ban on US aid to international family planning organizations with services that include advice or help to women who seek abortions - a very different matter.

So these are the kinds of distortions and obstacles that will be thrown at our new President as he works to lead us out of the mess that we are in.

True, as the situation grows worse, I suspect that even many who now cheer him will grow impatient and will issue their own harsh criticisms of the man they helped elect. Perhaps I will, myself.

Obviously, none of us can yet know how well our new President will handle the many crisis that he inherited and he will undoubtedly make some bad mistakes. For this, he will be loudly condemned.

Yet, it is my personal belief that, right now, the United States of America is in need of a leader the likes of which we have not seen at least since World War II. A great leader. As Colin Powell said, a transformational leader. One who can not only inspire us but convince us to make the kinds of sacrifice that we modern day Americans do not like to make.

Considering the challenges, without such a leader, it seems unlikely that United States will continue as the great power that it has been since World War II. Looking at all of our national leaders, in all parties, I do not see the potential of such a leader except in one individual: our new President, Barack Obama. I do believe he has that potential. Whether the potential will be fulfilled, I do not know. 

I wonder what I can do to help him succeed?

I suppose I could begin by finding a way to rapidly pay off the new credit card debt that I added to the old, just to travel to Washington, DC and back. This would mean I would have to put off some immediate gratification in order to help bring about a more prosperous future. I like that immediate gratification. I would like to think that I can now indulge in it, and let the future take care of itself.

Hmmmm.....

A click here will take you to the full text and video of President Obama's speech.

A narrow view of the Inauguration of President Barack Obama, Part 2 of 3: The long cold wait

I now sit at my desk in my office at my house here in Wasilla, Alaska, much too tired from an exhausting and trying trip home, a trip that we spread over three days to make it more bearable for my injured wife, to think up the words for this post. Yet, history is forging forward. The joy of the Inaugural is receding into memory, so I had better set my fingers moving over the keyboard and see what comes out of them:

During the first couple of hours of the long, cold, wait, I took almost no pictures. It was too dark.

Compared to the -10 to -48 degree temperatures that had settled down into Wasilla's own Matanuska-Susitna Valley for three straight weeks just prior to our departure to Washington, D.C., the air that surrounded us was warm. It lacked the bitter sting and murderous chill of the cold weather that had beset us at home, yet, I was dressed in a pitiful manner, wearing nothing but cotton, my warm clothing doing me no good in the bag that American Airlines had lost for me. I could do nothing but to stand still, and so that relatively warm yet still chilly air gradually pulled my body-heat out and away through my cotton layers. It then penetrated my skin to sink into my meat and bones. Gradually but surely, I descended into a state of unrelenting discomfort, by no means to be measured among the worst nor the longest periods of cold that I have endured, but unpleasant just the same.

I did worry a bit more about Lisa, standing by my side, also dressed pitifully. "I can handle it, Dad," she assured me. "I'm an Alaskan. Soon we will have a new President and I won't even care that I got a little cold while I waited for him." I worried more about Margie, who was dressed the most pitifully of us all and diabetic - and also completely out of my sight. Several times, I tried to call her, so that I might direct her to where we stood, thinking that the three of us could then huddle together, and so share our body heat, even as the group piled together above shared theirs.

The local cell phone system was overwhelmed. I could not reach her.

I wore no hat, but only an ear band, and my hands are so cold-conditioned that I had no need for gloves. The light jacket that I wore does have a thin, wind-breaker style hood, so I pulled that up over my head and took care to create a layer of air between the fabric and my head, and that did warm me up a bit.

"Dad," Lisa said, "I keep closing my eyes and every time I open them, I can tell that it is a little brighter than it was before. That makes the time go faster." When it grew bright enough to make out the people around us, I could see that many, such as the young woman to the right, more warmly dressed than us but less accustomed to cold, were suffering.

Yet, no one complained. Despite the physical suffering, the feeling that pervaded the air was one of joy and hope, of anticipation that no matter how miserable the moment, something better was coming, that the cold, hard, deep, bitter chill that had for so long locked America in its grip was about to ease, that, in just hours, the sun would arise anew and, however slowly, would bring warmth back to the land.

An odd thing happened when finally the sun came up and rose over the crowd. At first, the temperature did seem to warm. Just like a solar panel, my jacket magnified that warmth and the feeling it brought to my body was pleasant, but then the air seemed to grow colder - much colder than it had been at the darkest point during the pre-dawn. I felt the cold hard against my face, it penetrated my jacket and my cotton layers, dampened by sweat.

And then these kids began to dance. Suddenly, it felt warm again.

Noticing that I had no gloves upon my hands and that I hefted big, heavy, cameras with much metal in them, the blue-bundled woman standing behind Lisa offered me some chemical warming pads.

"Thank you," I said, "but I am fine."

"You are going to freeze to death and you are going to frostbite your hands," she insisted. "Please! Take the warming pads!"

"No, really," I answered. "I am fine. I need to keep my hands free to operate my cameras." I wanted to tell her about how - and science proves that this happens - I have cold-conditioned my hands so that the blood is thick in them, so that I can operate cameras bare-handed in zero degree temperatures, so that when I have been on shoots on Arctic ice, even Iñupiat Eskimos, the toughest cold-weather people that I have met, whose natural physiology instantly brings the blood into their hands when needed, have commented favorably on my warm hands.

I wanted to tell her that, however it appeared to her and as uncomfortable as I was, I knew how to bear cold and discomfort, that I had often born much worse, for much longer, and that this little bit of discomfort would soon be behind us and would mean nothing at all.

But it seemed silly to try tell her these things, so I did not. Lisa accepted the hand warmers, but later told me that they didn't work very well.

In the midst of them stands a small child. They gather around that child, to give her their warmth, to protect her from the cold. I cannot know for certain, but I suspect that in future years, when this child thinks back to this event, it will be the warmth of the moment, rather than the cold, that will prevail in her memory.

This land is your land, this land is my land...

Big Jumbotron screens had been positioned throughout the National Mall , but for the  early part of the morning, nothing played on them. Then, to loud applause, images and sounds appeared from a pre-Inaugural celebration and concert recorded at the Lincoln Memorial two days earlier.

President Elect Obama had spoken there, as had Joe Biden, Martin Luther King III and many others. Artists such as Bruce Springsteen, Garth Brooks, Beyonce, Stevie Wonder, James Taylor,  Sheryl Crow, Shakira and others had made music.

Now, it seemed that they performed all over again, for the entertainment of the crowd that waited in the cold. And then an aging but seemingly forever young Pete Seeger (left) stepped up to the Jumbotron mic. Backed by Springsteen and other performers (above), Seeger begin to sing the alternative national anthem, penned by the great folk singer, Woody Guthrie:

"This land is your land, this land is my land, from California, to the New York Islands..." Many throughout the crowd began to sing along.

Damn! What power! Such energy! So much vigor! White voices! Black voices! Asian voices! Native American voices - including that of my own dear Lisa. I can't sing, but hell, I even joined in and as I did, my vision became blurry. I could not see through the lens of my camera. My vision was blocked by my tears.

Our official national anthem speaks of battle between the people of the United States and our prevalence over an external foe; this unofficial anthem speaks of the battle that we have fought within America, between ourselves, so often a battle between the wealthy and the powerful and the dispossessed, those on the outside.

Now, on this day, just hours before Barack Obama would be sworn in as President, the song seemed to illuminate this feeling that, at long last, this land had become our land... all of our land... whatever our color, whatever our status... This land is your land, this land is my land...

Yes, I know. The battles that we fight amongst ourselves will continue, as will those we fight against enemies external. Yet, never before in my life did I so strongly feel that America was finally rising above itself to become... America.

Can you see me? I am right there... before you... with two million others... singing... "this land is your land, this land is my land..."

Singing and weeping.

Yes, it was still cold, but warm... so very warm.

At 10:00 AM, the official pre swearing-in Inaugural Day activites began with performances by the United States Marine Band, followed by The San Francisco Boys Chorus and the San Francisco Girls Chorus, pictured above on a more distant Jumbotron.

Many dignataries, from celebreties such as Mohammed Ali, Dustin Hoffman and Beyonce paraded into the area reserved for the biggest of big shots, along with politicians of all sorts, from Governors (but not my fellow Wasillan, Governor Sarah Palin) to Congressmen and Senators. All the living past presidents came, along with their wives. Their years not withstanding, Jimmy and Rosalyn Carter continue to look good.

Bill and Hillary Clinton. I am not trying to discriminate against George H.W. and Barbara Bush by leaving them out. It's just that my view of this more distant screen was obstructed by tall people. To photograph it, I had to lift a camera with a 400 mm telephoto lens above my head and point it at the screen in the hope that I would frame and focus correctly. Sometimes this technique worked, sometimes it didn't. It worked with the Clintons. It didn't work with the Bushes, but I tried just as hard.

I am not among those who booed when President George W. Bush first appeared on the screen, nor did my voice join those who sang, "hey-heyeeh, good-bye!" I believe the office of President should command a certain degree of respect. Unfortunately, I do not believe that the man who held that office for the past eight years - this man - did pay it the respect that the office deserves. I feel that he paid the office terrible disrespect and now we must all pay a price that we do not yet fully comprehend.

So, however wrong it might be to boo at a Presidential Inauguration, there was an important message for Mr. Bush in those jeers and I hope that he grasped that message. I kind of doubt it, for, even as he passes on a crumbling America that his successor must now struggle to piece back together, he seems to have justified every action that he took in his own mind; he seems to take oblivious comfort in the implausible notion that history will redeem him, that it will even lift his reputation up until his image shines right alongside the great presidents.

I do not know what actually goes on in his head during his quiet moments, but, from a distance, this is how it appears to me.

Flags fly and cheers rise as Vice President-Elect Joe Biden greets the crowd.

Next up: The swearing-in, and how the people near me reacted.

A narrow view of the Inauguration of President Barack Obama, Part 1 of 3: Swept towards the Capitol in a multitude of 2 million

Margie is in blue, smiling at the right. The young woman in the "Obama" stocking cap who peeks around the man in the orange coat - that's Lisa.

The first train to leave the Metro station nearest to us was scheduled for 4:20 AM and I wanted to be on it. I set my cell phone alarm for 3:20, knowing that I would wake up at least 20 minutes before it was scheduled to go off. So I woke up at 3:00, took a quick shower, and then rousted Margie and Lisa from their sleep.

I knew that by DC standards, the weather was going to be exceptionally cold and so I wanted everybody to wear their thermal underwear. However, as we began to dress, Margie and I discovered that our thermal underwear had been packed in the bag that American Airlines had lost for us - except for one lightweight pair of pants for me. Fortunately, Lisa's thermals had all arrived safely.

So I put on the light thermal pants and pulled a pair of slacks over that. Margie did have a pair of panty hose that had made it to DC, so she wore those as a substitute for her thermals. On top, I put on a cotton shirt over a cotton t-shirt and pulled a cotton sweatshirt over both. Over this, I would wear a light jacket.

Cotton - the worst kind of material for cold weather that one can wear. Cotton catches your sweat, holds it next to you and wicks your body-heat away from you. Yet, in the wake of the lost bag, cotton was the only option. 

Oh well. I'm an Alaskan who has often camped out in bitter cold weather. Whatever discomfort I had to face, to witness history, I could happily deal with it. But I was worried about Margie.

We boarded the Metro at Friendship Heights, headed for L'Enfant Plaza and found the crowd to be surprisingly light - until we reached the very next station. When the doors opened, people poured in - and they would continue to do so at each stop until no more would fit. It was hot in the train car and I began to sweat. 

The gentleman above joined us at an early stop. He brandished an American flag with an image of Barack Obama emblazoned on it. "I'm so happy!" he sang, joyously, "I'm from Africa, living in America, Africa, living in America, Barack Obama, I'm so happy..."

He sang too of his father, in Sierra Leone, who he wished could be here, in America, to celebrate this wonderful day. "I'm so happy, in America, from Africa. Barack Obama! Africa, America. I'm so happy."

I could detect nothing but happiness, joy and goodwill anywhere. Smiles abounded throughout the car, people of all race and background laughed and mingled with those nearby. There was no tension, not between races, not between individuals; good will abounded.

The day was off to a good start.

We change trains at Metro Station.

We who traveled down in the Metro flowed like rivers of humanity through the concrete channels that lace the earth beneath Washington, D.C. toward the grand confluence where we would soon converge into a sea of two million that would cover the entire National Mall from the Lincoln Memorial to the Capitol.

One river of humanity flows outward through the metro gates.

And then the flow goes up and out of the Metro at L'Enfant Plaza. 

Back in Wasilla, I had been thrilled when I received an email from the Presidential Inaugural Committee informing me that I had been awarded credentials for two press passes to cover the swearing in ceremony. While I knew that this would give me access to the most prime spots that would be taken up by Time, Newsweek and the like, I had envisioned that it would still put me close enough that my my 400 mm lens would be able to discern the faces of principle characters, who would then be recognizable in my pictures.

When I picked up the passes, I was a bit disconcerted to see that they were limited to the National Mall, where the two million would gather.

I was not certain what advantage such passes gave me, other than perhaps freedom of movement back and forth between various sections within the Mall.

After exiting the Metro, we soon found ourselves swept by the river toward the Seventh Street entrance. 

I wanted to go against the current, to work my way toward an entrance closer to the action than 7th Street, but once in the flow, we had no choice but to be swept along with the current. The crowd pressed against us from all sides to surge forward relentlessly in one direction, that direction being opposite to the one I wanted to go. As I felt the force and power in the bodies pressing against mine, I suddenly understood how it is that people who fall in moving crowds are sometimes trampled to death.

Soon, we were on the mall, making our way forward toward the Capitol building.

As we drew near to the foremost fence of the section we had been carried to, Margie slipped off to the side, where there were some trees. She said she would stake her ground there and meet us afterwards. Lisa and I stayed in the center of the crowd and, wielding our press passes like machetes, slashed our way through the crowd toward the front fence. It was my intent to find a way out and to use our press passes to move out of this section altogether and into the next, that section marking what I interpreted as being the limit of our passes.

As we pushed toward the fence, the crowd grew more and more compressed, until even our press passes were useless to cut through. Still determined to get into a better position, I led Lisa off to the the side and from there then to the front fence. A policeman there told us that there were some bleachers for credentialled media a ways behind us and off on the other side of the mall.

I decided to check out these bleachers and from there to find out the exact limitations of our passes.

So, under the dark skies of the pre-dawn, Lisa and I started working our way diagonally backwards through the same crowd that had swept us forward.

As the crowd became ever more compressed, it grew ever more difficult to move through it at all. Here and there, groups of shivering people were sitting and even lying on blankets placed upon the frozen ground. In the dark, they could not be seen until I would find myself tripping over them. 

Finally, we hit a point where it was not possible to move at all, not in any direction. Bodies pressed against me from all sides - and I made certain that one of those bodies was Lisa. I felt as though I was going to trip and fall. I knew that once the people sitting and lying upon the ground rose to their feet, the crowd would loosen a bit, but for now, we simply could not move.

We were stuck. And we were markedly further back than we had been with our initial advance.

"Okay, Lisa," I said. "It looks like this is our spot."

"This is the 3:00 AM crowd," someone standing nearby told someone else. "We are the people who got up at 3:00 AM for Barack Obama!"

For a long time, I took no pictures, because it was too dark and I did not want to use flash. I had not even brought flash. I wondered if I could bear it, to stand immobile for hours in the midst of a crowd of people pushed tight against me from all sides. My cotton clothes, wet with sweat, had begun to wick the heat away from me.

After we had stood in such a manner for quite some time, we heard a male voice shout out, "Can you believe it? It's 6:30 in the morning and its pitch black outside!"

Coming from Alaska, Lisa was greatly amused by that statement.

The ceremony was scheduled to begin at 11:30 AM.

Next: The long, cold, wait.