a new day

Jeff and I have an old, sweet little saying. I think he started it, which makes it even sweeter. But on special days, usually the weekend, when we wake up, we'll say to one another, "It's a new day!" That saying has been passed down to our girl. I greet her in her crib and say, "It's a new day, Eliana" pulling the shades in her room so she can see the light and life outside her window.

That saying is more true than ever today.

A new day. I can hardly believe it. A new day for our nation, our people, our children. Replete with hope and open-mindedness, tolerance and revolution.

Yesterday I could barely take it all in. I think between the funeral sadness and the election anxiety, I was just emotionally spent. Plus I've been working like a mad-woman because we leave the country for ten days on Saturday. Lots of loose ends to tie up at work and at home.

I stayed home with Eliana while Jeff went to a party. Some friends burned a life size scarecrow-statue of Bush. There was revelry and community and craziness. But Elie had more vaccines on Monday and was having a rough go of it on election day. I figured she could benefit from a quiet night at home.

With our rabbit ears, we get decent reception for only one channel. I sat glued to the one station, watched while they moved between national coverage and our, ridiculous, home spun news coverage. Jeff and I get a big kick out of the news here. It's pretty ridiculous. Growing up in L.A. with the car chases and gang warfare, poverty and celebrities, there never seems to be a shortage of decent material. But in Missoula, we always seem to be searching for something unusual and different to report on. It can be amusing, but with a history-in-the-making event, you kinda want up to snuff reporting.

I got to the point where I couldn't watch our lame, local news anchors babble on any longer. Her bangs and make-up and poker newscaster face were driving me batty. I got up in an anxious huff and, with a wave of newfound energy, scoured our kitchen. I refused to go back into the living room until some time had passed - enough time to receive some new information. After the floor was swept and the dishes were put away, I wandered into the bedroom to tidy up there. As I was walking back through my little house, I glanced at the screen. The TV was now on mute. And there it was. In red letters, planted on the screen.

Barack Obama has been elected the 44th president of the United States.

Holy lord.

I sat back in my chair. My body was suddenly covered with chills. Tears were streaming down my cheeks. I wanted to scream, but Eliana was finally asleep. I could hardly stand it. Hardly believe it. I stared at the TV for a bit longer, making sure it wasn't a mistake.

I remember when I first heard Obama speak at the convention in 2004. Jeff and I were on our honeymoon, marooned in a little hotel room on a four mile stretch of island off the coast of Venezuela.

I said to Jeff, "Who is this guy? He's hot. Oh, and eloquent too!"

Jeff, the current events junkie that he is, gave me the lowdown. I remember being so moved by his words. Remember thinking that it had been a long time since I'd been remotely impressed by someone in US politics.

Four years have passed. I've seen this man, this revolutionary, speak less than a mile from my home. I've watched my community congregate. I've read a gazillion emails and donated money we don't have to the campaign.

Somehow this man got us all to care again. Got us to go out on a limb. Got us to have a bit of faith in that gorgeous word, possibility.

This morning when I woke up, the sun was bright. It was another new day. In the blue chill of a crisp November morning, I walked Lucy up the hill behind my house. From that spot, the view of my little town with the light and beauteous, mountain panorama, I saw Obama's symbol. You know the circular blue with the sun coming up over the horizon of three red diagonal stripes? The symbol in our yards and on our cars, pinned to my student's backpacks, printed on our tee shirts. I felt myself lost in the hope and possibility of that symbolic representation.
Again, the chills and tears came. I was able to take it all back in. I left the worries of packing and substitute plans and sleep schedules behind. I let the power of this time in our history make it's impression on my little frame. One person on a small mountain, in a small town, in this tremendous country.

Last night a friend of mine said, "I kinda wish I was in a place with black people right now." I totally hear her. Missoula can be such a white, progressive, outdoorsy, shiny, happy people sort of bubble.

But I didn't feel her urgency to be back in an urban center. It was almost like I knew that somehow, when I am back in a more diverse community, I would feel this new sense of cohesion and togetherness. Like now, we really are all in it together. In it for the better.

And while, in the end, my state didn't turn out blue, my town most certainly did. This nation most certainly did. That seems to be plenty to celebrate for now.