Three stoic women and millions on march

I was planning on not watching the inauguration of the 45th president of the United States of America. Because the only thing that would get to that man is low ratings. But of course I had to be present in the historic moment no matter how sad and bad. Or because of the sad and bad, if you will. So I spent the entire Friday with CNN. I cried for many reasons. And although people are marching in millions all over this weekend, I feel hung over, sad and bad. Might writing about it work as a detox?

I don’t know where to start. All those pictures flickering by. The peak through the window of Obama one last time bent over his desk before leaving the Oval Office. The Obamas gracefully greeting the Trumps on the White House front step. The split screen showing Barak Obama and Donald Trump leaving the White House for the Capitol in the car together meanwhile Hillary Clinton, defeated by the two of them, on the other screen is entering the Capitol. Poor young Baron Trump so uncomfortable in his own skin loosening up towards the evening figuring out it’s fun waving to people. 

Donald Trump’s horrible, embarrassing and terrifying inauguration speech. Barak Obamas “Good job” to him at the end of the adress. The Obamas at the helicopter taking them out of Washington while the new first and second couples waiving at them from the Capitol stairs, a scene signaling to everyone all is well, this is a change but we will all be okay.

I think I want to stop at the first image for a moment. One of the traditions of  the Inauguration Day is for the incoming president couple (yes, anything else is unprecedented) to have tea in the White House with the outgoing president couple in the morning. The Obamas were waiting at the front door. Michelle wearing a discrete maroon dress as well as discrete heals. Brushing off her husbands shoulders, an everyday gesture accompanying her dress at the door step of their home.

Donald and Melania Trump climbs out of the car and walk up the few steps. The first lady to be, exquisite in a light blue Ralph Lauren dress, jacket, gloves and astonishing high heals. The president to be in a too long red tie. President Obama welcoming them with a how do you do and a kiss on the cheek to Melania. Melania stretches her hand for Michelle to greet her, but Michelle reaches out for a welcoming hug to her successor. 

The two couples find their positions for the photo op and Michelle is sure to with her body language all along make Melania as comfortable as possible. Before she is hosting the last event in her home and workplace since eight years back. Before she an hour later leaves that home and mission. The place that five hours ahead will have been transformed to the home of Melania and her husband.

Watching this make my eyes tear up. Melania Trump must have been so scared for this day. And Michelle Obama knows this. Very few first ladies choose their title. They follow their husbands. And with all that’s said and done from Donald Trump against Barak Obama and his and the first lady’s presidency, at this point they are putting that aside welcoming them with kindness, grace and dignity on their new and unfamiliar territory. That’s truly being human beings.

And as this day of course (for now) features the men as main characters I want to stay with the women. Because apart from the welcoming for the tea ceremony, there were not many smiles from Michelle Obama during the ceremonies. And it wasn’t until the parade in the evening that Melania Trump lightened up. But then there was the third woman.

For Hillary Clinton the inauguration of the 45th president must have been one of the toughest days in her life, and she has had a few. She wasn’t required to accompany her husband as one of the first ladies during the ceremonies, but she chose to go through with the day to honor the democracy and it’s enduring values. She even offered a smile now and then.

There were three stoic first ladies facing the people, the cameras and the world on Inauguration Day. Melania Trump, brave in her fear and insecurity for this new life and mission she has not asked for, and probably suffering from those stilettos on the Capitol stairs. Michelle Obama, brave in putting a good face on although having been offended in her profession by the new president and knowing that he will ruin much of what she and her husband had built for the country during their eight years. And Hillary Clinton. The only one of the first ladies who chose the White House for herself. Who chose not only the East Wing but the West Wing. And the Oval Office. For herself and the people. Bravely in her defeat did she attend the ceremonies holding up through the entire day.

And on Saturday Women were Marching in millions in companion with men and every sex you can think of, not only in the U.S. Because there is a time for being stoic. And there is a time for acting in power, hope and love.

Home is Away, Away is Home 5 year anniversary, now let’s se what the Russians have to say…

This would be a proper time to make it an end. 5 years even. But it seems I am not quite ready yet.

For five years now (yesterday) I have told my stories. Many of them true to my original idea of my blog Home is away, Away is Home. Stories about my two cities, Umeå at the northeast cost of Sweden and Seattle at the northwest coast of the U.S. But as time has passed many have come to be about my personal life. Which has provided me with as much material as I need and more. As Norah Ephron said: everything is copy.

Well, not everything. It’s true that I am letting my readers in on quite a lot. But there is so much more. I am sometimes thinking I should write a book called Most of it I Can’t Tell. Most of it I can’t tell for different reasons. Out of consideration to people around me. Out of shame. Out of integrity. Out of self-preservation. It’s actually too bad, since there are lots of powerful stories within those segments.

It’s been a beautiful fall Sunday today, the first after a freezing point night, just in time for October. Josephine has helped me change the window dressing in my kitchen and entrance. My light blue and white summer throws have been replaced with yellow and brown ones, just as my maple leaves in the garden. I am lighting candles. Accepting and finally embracing the summer being gone, making my home snug and cozy. As much as I LOVE the summer and start panicking already at summer solstice, I am always amazed on how good the yellow fall window dressing in my kitchen makes me feel when the time comes. Tucking me in. A fire in the fire place.

It’s a great loss to me that I can’t follow the seasons first hand in Seattle. Anymore. Or for now? Although I am saying it’s highly unlikely or impossible that I ever will be back, the hope is still not quite dead. I refilled my ATT account for a year only a few weeks ago and that says something of course.

I sometimes feel though that the lack of first hand experiences and being a part of Seattle and the debates and discussions among my friends makes me unqualified to tell about Seattle anymore. Life has made me a distant spectator. I am doing my best to keep me updated though, and I hope that counts for something.

Home is Away, Away is Home is following the seasons, in Umeå and in Seattle. And within myself. Most of my readers are Swedish. A bunch are American. Some are scattered around the world, one here and one there, although that might just be unfortunate clicking.

And then there are the Russians. Most of the time I don’t see them around. But as soon as the topic for the day is politics they show up. So let me do a little experiment here. We are only about a month from the American election so l am throwing in some words that normally would make them react. Such as Hillary Clinton, Donald Trump, the Democrats, the Republicans, Bernie Sanders, Tim Kane, Mike Pence, Barak Obama, Michelle Obama, immigration, wall against Mexico, Syria, muslims, Turkey, Erdogan, Putin. Now let’s see what happens!

So for how long will I be continuing my Sunday evening storytelling? I don’t know. I am someone who has a hard time letting go. I am also the kind of person who needs closure, what ever the subject. So I am thinking my exit will be when I have the possibility of saying goodbye to Seattle. I am still hoping for it to happen with myself involved in it at the actual scene. 

But it might be that I need to have someone going  through my boxes in my Safe Guard storage unit at Martin Luther King Way while with me on Skype. I can totally see it. Letting Becca (who is the same size as me) have everything she likes and give the rest away. And then ship my Tempur Pedic mattress back to Sweden. Sob sob…

But let’s hope for a change. And some real reporting. And more Home is Away, Away is Home years. Now, lets see what the Russians have to say…