This morning I decided to walk on White House Road again because it's just so beautiful. When I walk there I see birds and amazing trees and moss-covered banks of clay lining the road. The trees ask my eyes to lift up and they do and I see sky and the Spanish moss hanging from the trees which arch overhead as if reaching out to each other.
It is a glory with its puddles of light amidst the shadows of the oaks.
Of course, there are also the houses with the flags, the banners, the signs. Trump! they proclaim and at this point it's just so silly.
We've beat that dead horse to a pulp though, haven't we?
This time tomorrow Joe Biden will be our president. In the space of five hours, crews will enter the White House, move out every last trace of Donald, Melania, and Barron Trump, deep clean the place, and set the Biden's furniture in place, unpack their bags and put their things where they belong. They will fill the refrigerators with Biden food.
I think about this a lot- how incredible it is that there are people who are tasked with the job of erasing one family's presence and replacing it with another family's, making it a home for them while the departing family travels to wherever it is they are moving and that very night, every one sleeps in their different places, surrounded by their own things but in such different circumstances.
Our homes represent so much more than just shelter, don't they?
"Home is Where The Heart Is," I embroidered on a sampler once. Our homes reflect us in every way. They provide shelter, yes, but they also provide the comfort and security that can only come when we settle into them, we make them our own, whether our homes are cabins or mansions or mud huts or ranch-style houses in suburban neighborhoods. Trailers or tents or tenements can be homes. So can tepees and high-rise apartments and cottages and even caves.
Those of us who are luckiest have homes that we love, that we cherish and that when we come back to when we have been away, cause our hearts to be at peace.
There's no place like home.
And tomorrow, Joe and Dr. Jill Biden will begin the process of settling into a house that they have been very familiar with for many years. That perhaps Joe has yearned to live in throughout his years of service to the American people.
I hope they are happy there. It is nice to think of their dogs figuring out the arrangements of where they are to sleep and to eat. It is lovely to think of the Biden grandchildren playing in their grandma and grandpa's new house.
My god. It is just such a relief to imagine these people making their home in that house instead of the people who are sleeping there for the last time tonight before they fly off to a fitting place for them- a "living space" in a resort.
Although who knows how long they'll stay there? It's illegal for them to actually call it their residence due to zoning and so forth but hell- when did that ever stop DJT from doing something?
You know what else I keep thinking about? Barron Trump. There is something very disturbing there. And I am not criticizing him. I am in no way attacking or making fun of him. But the few times we've even seen footage or images of him at the White House have revealed less than if we had only seen a cardboard cut-out of a boy. The images I've seen would disturb me if they were images of a boy who lived across the street. I feel deeply sorry for him in so many ways, not least of which is that Donald Trump is his father. I wish him peace and I wish him happiness and I wish him some sort of normalcy in his life although I sincerely doubt that is even vaguely possible.
Anyway, I'll be watching the inauguration. Will you be? I am so excited to see and hear our new Inaugural Poet, a twenty-two year old woman named Amanda Gorman.