Chapter 1: My Landlady is an Undercover Fed

This is how I began my story months ago, in the midst of all the craziness. It sounds frenetic because yeah, I was frantic at times. I was trying to squish the background down to a few pages to get to the substance of the story. Now that I’ve stabilized, I’m trying again. After you read the first chapter below, you can read subsequent rewrites. There is more cohesion to them, now that I understand what’s going on.  

My Landlady is an Undercover Fed

(And so is my roommate)

Or housemate. We don’t share the same bedroom, only common areas, kitchen, bathroom, laundry facilities, pantry, and it was great for a while. Until I started noticing things. 

The mobile home that I lived in was beautiful. One could not have guessed from the inside that outside, it was manufactured upstate and shipped downstate. The residence I moved into was spacious for a pre-made house, bigger than the ones around it. Inside, it was richly renovated, with uneven hardwood floors that mimicked real trees. The kitchen fixtures were new: the cabinets high for tall people, the hanging microwave even higher so that I could not see the tray, earthy granite countertops, picture frame table dressings, Moroccan rugs under the dining room table and the living room coffee table.

The curio cabinet showcased dinnerware and all forms of alcohol that I did not understand, Jack Daniels, crystal wine glasses, wedding gifts that Lorraine had yet to use. She said I was welcome to use anything.

My bedroom was an invitation to a homeless creature and I grabbed it at first sight. Sage green linens on the bed, which was set right of the door. No bedframe. Cream colored comforter with Chinese characters scrawled in rust, a black night table on the far side of the bed between it and the recessed space where a closet was meant to be. The dresser matched the black hole black of the night table. Inside the closet pace, a matching IKEA floor-to-ceiling shelf filled the entire recessed area into the wall. There were no closet doors. Instead, a plastic ivory bar was hung with rings from which black nylon curtains hung. The windows faced west.

Outside, there was a wall-sized bush that separated Lorraine’s mobile home and her neighbor’s. In the far corner from the bedroom door was a white nylon fabric wardrobe with plenty of hangers. Nice ones, too. Why the recessed space meant for clothes was filled with a wall-sized shelf and a portable wardrobe bought for when closet space was tight I did not question. Actually, I needed more shelf space that hanging space so this setup was perfect.

The floor was newly installed. I loved it. Asthma prevented me from living in carpeted homes, and trying to find a room in a house or apartment that had hardwood floors on my budget was difficult. The walls were painted in robin’s egg blue. My favorite.

Next door between the master bedroom and my bedroom was my housemate’s room. It was slightly larger than mine. The good room always gets taken first. Across the narrow hall, two steps away was the bathroom. Rustic tiling, shower curtain hung for a seven-foot basketball player.

Before I tell you the things I noticed—it’s important that you practice the same vigilance so that you do not find yourself trapped in a house surrounded by federal agents—please allow me to step back, for I really need to catch my breath.

The last few months have been an archetypal action-adventure movie. The only difference is that it’s fun watching the poor slob on the screen running around for dear life without anyone to help him. When it happens to you, it feels as if you are going to die. If you are lucky that is.

If you live, you will understand what Godot was waiting for.

Even if you never wanted to.

I never did because I was too happy waiting for nothing and doing everything. That was me as a child, bouncing around until it hurt. I was lucky, I never hurt too much but maybe others did. I don’t know, or I did and I didn’t care. Or rather, I knew the difference when to care and when to move on.

Somewhere along the line I lost it. That ability to move on. I got clogged on in the trivial, I magnified the minutiae, I inhaled deep regrets that should have been tooted out as applesauce is that does not agree with a toddler.

“Don’t notice so much,” my mother often told me. I couldn’t help it. Noticing is the foundation of progress. And I have always been a progressive liberal. Too progressive some say. Overly liberal, others claim. So much so that my friends are libertarians.

I raced through school with an enthusiasm that was marred pretty much with only the fact that it didn’t last long enough. I went to college then grad school, then did my postdoc, you get the picture. Had I gone slower, I wouldn’t have enjoyed it as much. Huh? That’s me. The negatives of any positive are a direct consequence of my happiness, and any reduction in my discontent would have been proportionately matched by a decrease in my happiness, such that I preferred the extremes.

Greater happiness paired with greater sorrow outranked moderate happiness coupled with moderate discontent.

Such was my utility function, the first that will explain why, when I discovered that my landlady was a federal agent, why, I did not hightail it and run out of there but instead stood my ground, dug a trench into her newly renovated hardwood floors, and battled it out while on all sides of me the enemy spun a web so voluminous its incompetence was insured by layers of stupidity that when stacked against each other translated to this:

At the universal level: Where an enemy has relatively unlimited resources, and you have no money, no job, no friends nearby, then in the end and in the beginning, they will win.

At the particular level: where the strongest government in the world has its most elite federal agents on a mission to smash you into the pavement, it does not matter that you are lucky enough to find a pothole to keep from being smeared into smithereens.

Eventually, that is your end. If you be so foolish to fight the mightiest nation in the world. Remember, only one country came out victorious in war with America the Beautiful. Maybe it was that heritage that pulled me through. Who knows. I only know that I speak one language, English. That I believe that I live in the greatest nation in the world, even after my government, whose President I love so very much, beat me up with an insensitivity that would have even made that harshest of judges on American Idol cringe.

Then, my government spit me out when it had no further use of me. That’s when I picked myself up, dusted off my only decent suit that I had been using for interviews after being so long out of the job market, and decided to get back into the ring. For if you think fighting nine rounds with the government is rough, you have not lived through the last eighteen years with me.

Those were the best and hardest years of my life. I was in the only long-term relationship in my life. It lasted eighteen years. Although I wanted it to last another eighteen years, fortunately for me I did not get my own way. I finally pulled myself out of a relationship with the only man I ever loved and likely the greatest love of my life. And each pull was like a screaming wrench to my heartstrings because they were made of elastic and were durable with each stretch and snap of my heartstrings.

Each time I thought I could take no more of days fixing oatmeal, potato, defrosting whole wheat bread, orange juice and tea, followed by some chores, a walk within mmm, seven or eight blocks where I lived for I did not have a car, then home to do some more cleaning and attend to the list of things left for me to do, I rallied myself for another day of neutral repetition. It took me a while to understand why battling the government was so similar to my days of doing nothing, when the principle for which I fought was freedom. Freedom in spite of my fear. 

The first ten of those eighteen years, I was in academia, student, postdoc, lecturer. For the last eight years I did not have a job. For a mind like mine, you might as well lobotomize me and go watch the celebrity news on your flat screen because that would have been more merciful: ending me at the beginning, than letting me die by epsilons those eight years. You would not have seen anything, I mean I was certainly dying because I sure as hell was not living, but you could not have noticed for it was even less imperceptible that watching your fingernails grow. But it was there, the process, its results, so irrefutable you could not have noticed had the results been displayed on a billboard in New York Times. Only the message took near a decade to deliver that the obviousness got lost in sheer “doing-nothingness” state, if that makes sense.

It’s as if the word “Help!” were to be flashed on a Times Square Billboard one letter at a time but so slowly that the “H” was left hanging, “H--” and everyone in the square got tired of looking and walked on and the newly entered into the square or the few who continued thinking about it asked themselves, “H—ello?” “Hi?” “Hey there?” In other words, the urgency of the message never came through because it came through too slowly. “H—ee—l—pp--!” Snore.

Seriously, Ssal is dying because she is doing nothing with her life except tending to the ones that she loves. Huh? Wouldn’t this be the ultimate reason for living? One would think so, except if one were able to care for the masses, then caring for the individual one. at. a. time. is so inefficient it goes beyond thinking how long it would take to care for all the individuals one vaccine or scientific discovery could do in an instant.

That was my dilemma. Like the prodigal son, I had squandered what god and prosperity had endowed me with and when famine struck, I was left to my own devices.

The details of having failed for doing nothing for the last eighteen years so clearly set my path for my unprecedented battle with the government of goliath proportions, epic when you have no weapon but your mind—the one that I did not use for better during the past eighteen years, over half my life ago—but hey, David only had a boomerang, right? I mean, correct?

My battle with the government started immediately after I wrenched myself from an eighteen-year relationship. It’s so painful to think about, it made my experience with the federal government seem like a joke, for I certainly laughed a lot, deliriously sometimes with my new partner in battle, Steve. He laughed a lot too, a loud laugh that made everyone in the room look, and then quietly think, thank goodness I’m not him. But that never stopped him from laughing, which is why I loved hearing him laugh so much, even when he got on my nerves. Not really.

I had just found a job, too, quite proud of myself. Being out of the job market that long with such a promising resume made me seem like a joke. No one took me seriously. It was either, “We want someone who will stay, not leave us after we’ve trained them.” They had no idea what a stable rock I was for the last two decades. Or it was, if you read between the comments, “We want someone dedicated, not a dilettante who has the luxury of practicing as an attorney years after she passed the bar.” It was not until I had engaged my foe that anyone realized how seriously I was about the law. For law and order are ideas that I cherished, before I saw those endowed with protecting order abuse the law.

What did I want to do in the long run? I was asked during my first interview, to which I stuttered something about partaking in the firm’s profit share. Considering that the firm was wholly owned by the bossman, who incidentally, was the one interviewing me, that sounded quite lame. I had done my research the night before, when I had been called in for an interview, but there did not seem to be very many good answers for this very obvious of interview questions. It seemed a bit less lame than, “I want to argue in front of the Supreme Court on one of these issues: Civil Rights in terms of equality that eliminates discrimination even though I will never benefit from affirmative action, healthcare because no one deserves to wait longer in an emergency room because they do not have health insurance, freedom of speech because Americans are way more squeamish about sex than violence.” How would a workers’ compensation case ever get to the Supreme Court of the land? So I gave the profit sharing answer that was suggested in the “How to Land a Job by using these 100 Best Answers to the 100 Most Obvious Interview Questions Ever”.

I didn’t get the full-time job, but the independent contractor position instead. I was happy with that, as it could swing me into a permanent position elsewhere. Things were good, as I looked at the cuffs on the sleeves of my suit. Thought I had removed all the lint from my suit prior to my interview, peering closely at why the lint would not pull off. Oh, I realized, it was not lint sticking out, the threads of my suit were fraying I had worn it so many times even if not recently. My best black suit was almost ten years old. It fit pretty well considering. I had a few that fit better but those were stuck at my ex’s place. I choked on that word, even in thought. “Ex,” how do you call someone whom you’ve been with for almost two decades an ex when you will always love them? And definitely no less tomorrow than today. I stopped picking at the threads of my suit because I was only making the threads longer.

The day I got offered one job, I got offered a second. Life was wonderful. I had finally picked myself up by the scruff of my neck and was ready to conquer the world, a decade or two late but ready nonetheless. This called for a celebration. But with whom, I chuckled to myself. I had spent the last ten years laser focused on everyone else except myself. I had let friendships slide by until friends became acquaintances and strangers looked more familiar than my acquaintances. But no more. I knew how to say no. I was going to hoard my time for myself. Even if it killed me. Little did I know how often I would be repeating that to myself in the near future.

So there I was, a middle-aged woman, a cougar almost, beginning her career. Single, having to find roommates, driving a rental car, with no one to celebrate with except my mother. I called her first, she was proud of me. I smiled at her support, which was always there. The comfort and the security only a mother could give.

Had some interneting to do, so I set off looking for a Starbucks or a Coffee-Grind. Somewhere young and hip, I needed to feel alive. I did feel alive, as I drove my car to the Westside on a Friday evening. I looked at my dashboard, which warned me: 51 miles to empty. That’s plenty, I laughed. The windows were down and the wind cut my cheeks sharply so that I wanted to feel more. I felt footloose, free, and no longer in need of refueling.

Part 2. Meet Steve Patina

I rolled along the ten freeway going west, going as far west as Horace Greeley urged. I was almost at the end when I heard a roar of a bike coming up on my left. A rider sped by with the wind maxing out his jacket like a sail, fullblown and free. I looked at my speedometer. I was only going eighty…five. And he was long gone. I hit the accelerator and it the steering wheel. Where was the damn horn? Was it one of those side horns or button horns? My left hand steered while my right groped for the—there it is. a loud honk.  

Introduction: Operation: Keep PT Down

Steve Patina was a guy I met by accident. He was a great concept designer. Specifically, he designed cars but modestly, he could create anything that he designed. He just had a problem with follow through. For up until the day we met, Steve had not been able to execute any of his great ideas. And he had many.

That’s where he was at on the day we met, in neutral with his wheels spinning and the emergency brake on.

So, I decided to help him unstick because he was digging himself in deeper, looking out the gray-tinted windows of his life with more than a little bit of desperado in his eyes and a loud laugh that tried so hard to be happy. Just a little shove, I thought, and he’ll be on his way.

Hardly did I suspect that in trying to dig Steve out of his sticky limbo that I would get pulled in. This is the story of a guy who lived most of his life being monitored by the government and what happened to us when I tried to free Steve from his virtual prison. It was not easy, and it’s still ongoing. A daily struggle for the pursuit of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, none of which our government will allow Steve.

Steve hasn’t done anything wrong. He is just…different. It took a long time to figure out just how and still, I don’t know everything. I don’t want to. It has cost too much. What I do know is that the U.S. Constitution grants every one of us those inalienable rights, yet our government has violated those rights in regards to Steve and continues to do so. Every. Single. Day. Without exception.

As you read on, please note that Operation: Keep PT Down is a work of fiction. It simply could not happen, the federal government spending our tax dollars engineering a synthetic life for Steve. The people he met, the accidents that befell him that he took for really, really bad luck, even the women he married…Thus, any resemblance to real life people is merely…uncanny. 

On Angels Wings

Well, this blog was about poetry and stories. The election was an interesting tangent but let's get back to basics! I don't know about you guys and gals, but I like rhyming poems...

~*~*~`*~ ~*~ ~ ~ * ~`*~ * ~ ~ ~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~ ~ ~*~*~ ~ ~**~*~ ~ `* ~ ~ ~

on Angel’s wings

Past mundane . . . of

                  nights come home

From Lover’s search

     And aimless roam

Says he, “have I been

        beyond

  And back

To find you

     what. . . you sorely lack

“The only thing they granted me

See here:

A pair.

   of rainbow clear

 Angels wings -- for a fee.”

He puts them on

    Soars past the moon

Not

   beyond.

I call him back . . .

       to his ruin

And Lover falls down

     on angels wings

Too lame to burden wind

He sweetly parts and sheds

       his wings

            And flings . . .

me high above him

Part Two: How I Got to the Official Inaugural Ball

Wow, I couldn't believe it, I was inside President Obama's Official Second Inaugural Ball at the Washington Convention Center! The top floor was for the Military Ball; the first floor was for the elite. Funny thing is, all the performers, like Usher, Smokey Robinson (I think it was), Alicia Keys performed on one floor and then rotated to the second floor. That was efficient in that it minimized transportation and security costs, the budge being a huge concern for B.O.'s second inauguration. Slimming down from 20 official balls to 2 was really tightening the budget!

Each ball took the entire length of the convention center, first floor and second, one inaugural ball directly and completely above the other. The buffet tables were set up on either end. Three stages lined the banquet halls. The red, white, and blue lighting, you can see it on YouTube had some sort of weird glow to it. Every time I tried to take a pic or video, all you could see was either darkness or a bright glare. I think the Secret Service had some funny light filters installed so that it was difficult to take pics unless you were directly across where the press was staged in the back.

Unfortunately, I did miss Fun. Whose songs I like since they have an upbeat, fun, happy rhythm to all their songs. That's okay, I was at the Inaugural Ball! And Obama's nonetheless. I don't think, if Hillary 2016 happened, that I would be as blown away and as ecstatic as that night! I probably wouldn't have such a bright pink gown on either! The eats were good (but they took them away too soon, budget problems again, I think). It's a good thing I concentrated on the buffet before anything else! But even I couldn't think entirely about food this evening. (Just largely.)

Shortly after I arrived, the Biden's came in. It was funny, when they were announced, we didn't know what stage they would enter on and after it was evident that they were entering on the FAR stage of course, a small, safe, orderly stampede trotted to the far stage to take pics. I didn't, as I'm not used to being in heels and my phone doesn't take good quality pics anyway. That was exciting and I could catch a tiny glimpse of the Second Couple. But what I was really waiting for was the First Couple.

After more time to eat, I did phone one of my friends and ask, "Hey! Guess where I am?" And he says, "No." I said, "Yea, really." I held up my phone to let him hear the general ecstatic crowd and he said, "Wow, have fun!" Which I did! I walked to the front corner of the hall and saw the souvenir table. Now usually, I will barely buy a postcard when I travel, but today, that night, I bought my heart out. I really wanted an inaugural blanket in navy blue instead of burgundy red. I didn't want to lug it around all night, so decided to purchase it later. When I came back, they sold out! Too bad, and they sold out online as well. (I can't even find one on eBay! If someone sees one, give a holler please!) That's okay, I got lots of magnets, pins, maps, engraved pens, totes that I pinned the pins on, things I would NEVER buy, and a pair of champagne glasses, which really bugged my family, most of them voting straight Republican, lol.

When the First Couple was announced, I could feel a general rumbling in the floor. This was going to be a controlled stampede of slightly larger proportions than the one that met with the arrival of Vice President Biden and his wife, Dr. Jill Biden. I was standing on the far stage, the opposite of the one on which the Second Couple made their entrance. Some people thought that since the Second Couple entered on the far (stage) right, the First Couple would enter on the far (stage) left. No such luck.

The First Couple entered on the same stage as the Bidens and there was another stampede, in which I was left in the dust, lol. No matter, because I couldn't have outrun the general gorgeously dressed herd of politicos had I tried. And concentrating on taking pics instead of absorbing in the amazing things and happenings all around me...I figured I could watch it on the news or YouTube, which I did. So yes, I was there when Michelle Obama debuted her red gown for the second inauguration, a red number by Jason Wu again. I did stick my phone in the air to catch something of the First Couple as they danced but the only thing I caught was their exiting the stage hand in hand. After that, the remainder of the singers performed. I was pretty ecstatic but realized there was none of them I'd actually pay to go to see them at their concert, great as they were. Every time a performer would finish on stage, there was a general stampede from one floor to the other floor because if you liked Jennifer Hudson, you wanted to videotape her twice, not once, lol.

By this time, I was really thirsty because all the food tables had been taken away, gasp! Somewhere during one of the performances, I assume, because even the nonalcoholic drinks were gone. So, I had to stand in line at the open bar for a simple orange juice. And it was slow.

Very slow. As in over half and hour slow to get some apple juice. I could've reached over a dozen times to grab a cup and can of juice, but figured I should be genteel this night. I took my OJ and wandered to the other ball on the second floor. It was much the same, identical, practically. Evidently, security wanted to minimize people roaming from first floor to second and vice versa. The people at the military ball were in general younger and a tad louder, which was cool given the reason we were partying!

After the the celebrity performers were done, people started hopping onto the three stages to take a pic in front of the glowing stages. The Seal of the President of the United States was emblazoned in laser lights on each stage. Everyone was taking pics of each other. Someone helped me up on the almost 5 foot-stage, very tricky in heels and pants that sweep the floor and a skirt/dress that gets stuck between revolving doors (yes, it's happened to me). And right when it was my turn to take the pic, had to wait for all my fellow party goers who got there first, the Secret Service ushered us away. In other words, we Could Not Be There On The Stage. And when Secret Service commands, everyone listens. So, I couldn't get my pic. It's not a "can i get a pic first?" type of situation, but I still asked, and when SS shook their heads, I was helped down from the stage to the floor.

Then there was the announcement that the party was over! It was shortly after midnight, way to soon, I thought, for an inaugural ball. The lights were slowly turned on and they let us linger for a good hour longer. I limped to the back in my heels and climbed some stairs where there were seats in the back, taking it a-all in... because this was a once in a lifetime kinda' thing! A few other women were there sitting, resting their sore toes, as well. When finally we were ushered out, I dawdled at the Inaugural Store set outside the banquet halls, but no fleece blanket, too bad. There was a set of flags lining one side of the foyer and i helped a young girl take a pic beside her national flag. And asked her to take mine, and then a group of nice young men offered to take both of us in one pic, they thought we were together, so I said okay, not wanting to turn down a random act of kindness, lol.

Outside, I could see the wind whipping and hear the icy gales. That's when my feet really started hurting because it was two blocks to the taxi cabs and everyone else caught one right ahead of me. I was too tired to run after one. Finally, a cabby let me share a cab with another customer going in the same direction but dropped me off two block from my hotel (my hotel was only 5 blocks from the Convention Center) and said to walk that way, he pointed, for only two blocks. Well, I did, but no hotel and no, I wasn't going to pull out a map in 35 mile per hour winds, it was hard enough to keep from being blown away! Then one of those bicycle peddlers with a cab in the back offered me a ride and I took it, even for 2 blocks for somehow I was still two blocks away. The bicycle cabbie said he came all the way from New York to get some work during the inauguration, so when he got me to the front of my hotel, I tipped him more than the regular cabbie that drove me one block and still left me not knowing how to get home.

Rushing inside, I got some hot tea and went up to my room, in a trance. I felt as if I had frostbite on my toes (don't wear open-toe heels in the winter, btw!) I couldn't believe it! I got to the swearing-in ceremony AND the Official Inaugural Ball! Who would have guess one week ago where I would be and how I would get there! That was truly an awesome once-in-a-lifetime experience. I am sooo happy I decided to go. Everyone was so scared for me that it would be co-old and rain in the morning but I wasn't--sometimes you just have to brave things, lol! A little icy rain may mean nothing to you, but it does when you've got the insulation of  Gore-Tex (not Thinsulate) meaning I've got virtually no insulation on my! I barely made it out of my clothes and could sleep well after the sun came up. Finally, when I crashed, it was a slumber of the deepest and most peaceful magnitudes.

Part One: How I Got to the Official Inaugural Ball

The wind kicked up after the swearing-in ceremony, and I was glad to walk back to my hotel. It was cold! My hotel had plenty of hot coffee and tea in the lobby, and many of us huddled around sipping tea, warming our hands, and smiling! That was thrilling! If there were any inaugurations that I would have loved to attend in my life, I'm glad it was for B.O.!

Next step: Get tickets to the Inaugural Ball!!!

Uh, folks, if you don't know or your common sense hasn't told you, as mine generally doesn't tell me until too late, getting Inaugural Ball tickets is a wee bit difficult, even if you plan ahead! You can either work overtime for your party for four years or you can donate $250,000 to the campaign. Let's see, a quarter of a million dollars or work sixty hours a week for four years earning not much more than minimum wage. Well, it's obviously not the low income I'm worried about, cuz I've been doing that forever in order to do my own creative writing--even knowing that poetry, rhyming or not!, does not sell--but doing politics 24-7 isn't my kind of thing.

(Aside: Admittedly, I became an election junkie and campaigned for a few days for the first time in my life, but that doesn't mean like everyone else, I don't wrinkle my nose at dirty politics. I just figured that since Justice Roberts and the whole right-wing gang of judges on the Supreme Court ruled in Citizens United that corporations are equivalent to people and thus allowing unlimited amounts of campaign contributions (the Republicans wanted this to make resident Obama a one-term president!), that I ought to do something! How do you think gay people feel when they don't have the same rights as straight people! And corporations are people? The ruling in Citizens United is so bad that Senator McCain went rogue Republican and blasted it worse (see Youtube video) than the President during the State of the Union Address. (I remember seeing McCain on Jay Leno after the decision came out. I might not agree with McCain on all issues, but he's a stand up guy!) I always know who I'm going to get along with when I ask them what they think of Citizens United.

Thus, seeing billionaires like casino mogul Adelson pledge up to $100 million dollars at the start of Romney's campaign, I thought I should chip in my two cents of campaigning to Obama's campaign. Anyway, Democrats are happy to limit campaign contributions, but isn't it a blast that the billionaire Republicans who wanted to make President Obama a one-term "fluke" lost all their donations in failed senatorial bids as well? (Except the one in Nevada where I traveled to campaign.) Adelson upped the ante by pledging $200 million during the last weeks as the election tightened but that only spurred people like me to travel to a swing state and campaign! I met so many people who spent their vacation time to travel to help campaign in Nevada it was amazing! After throwing money around like it's god's will, the wealthy still couldn't beat the little guy. Remember what I said, it's the ground game, baby! (I contributed $5, hey don't knock it, I gave up two fruit smoothies for that!)

But now, a few hours before the Official Inaugural Ball, Ssal-derella (get it, Cinderella?) was left with no tickets to the ball! All right folks, I was willing to go without Prince Charming, but tickets were impossible to get, probably about a 0.001% chance of finding one since it was approaching evening already (that's one out of 100,000, I think--I keep changing the number of zero's).

Ticketmaster had announced that they were going to sell Official Inaugural Ball tickets at 8:00 a.m. about two weeks before the inauguration, but due to a technical snafu, translation: someone screwed up big time, tickets went on sale early in the middle of the night, and by the time many of us woke the next morning, they were all gone! Talk about Ticketmaster messing up!

Incidentally, commoners such as myself were never allowed to attend the inaugural ball before Obama's presidency. Attendees could only be invited, translation: 98% wealthy elite donors (and inbred relations), full-time campaign workers, celebrities, war heroes (very fittingly), attorneys and lobbyists that work for the campaign...I'm surprised that President Clinton never allocated a portion of ball tickets to be made available to the public, tch tch...

So, this was a once in a lifetime opportunity, although I suspect that subsequent presidents will allow the public to purchase tickets now that Obama has, (otherwise they'll look like they don't care about the Forty-Seveners that Romney referred to at his campaign fundraiser--see my satirical poem on A Tale of Two Romneys). Still, tickets will always be extraordinarily difficult to get, as a few thousand supply for I'm guessing tens of thousands, at the least, clamoring on Ticketmaster would last for all of say, 2.8 minutes assuming they didn't put them on sale early and their website didn't crash!

While pondering how I would get into The Official Inaugural Ball, I figure I might as well get dressed, because if I got tickets at 7:00 p.m. after the ball already started and it took me 1.5 hours to get ready...I'm slow at getting ready for a ball, folks, hair and makeup are not my thing. As it happened, or maybe it was fate, it had been exactly one year to the date that I had anywhere fancy to go to...When I heard that the inauguration was on Monday, January 21, 2012 instead of January 20th per the 20th Amendment (when inaugurations fall on a Sunday, they are pushed to Monday), I knew something was up even though I had no intention of traveling to the capitol in the winter! But something made me apply to my Congressman for tickets to the inauguration despite my dread of the cold winter temps...and wouldn't you know it, I got a confirmation 9 days before the inauguration! (See Part One of how I got to the inauguration.)

I packed several dresses because no time to shop for a new dress (wouldn't have anyway, as I've plenty that I've worn only once) and also had no idea what I could still squeeze into. As mentioned, the inauguration was on Martin Luther King, Jr. Holiday on Monday, January 21, folks, and was exactly the day to the year when I wore a traditional ethnic dress, dazzling pink in color, with high button neck and so form fitting I was corseted like a plastic doll (I think most of me was made up that day) and was one of the most punishing days of my life. One of the happiest, yet one of the most grueling, lol! (I am so glad that day's over!) There were twenty snap and hook buttons on that dress so that if you exhaled or laughed too hard, the button would pop open! Anyway, I had not tried on my gorgeous pink ethnic dress for exactly one year and had no idea if it would fit. No, I've never been on a diet (knock on wood) but even two pounds in the wrong place meant I wouldn't be able to button up.

The dress has two ve-ery ver-ry high slits up both sides (like all the way to the waist!) so comes with matching swing pants, which were as unforgiving as the dress, so as I squeezed myself into the dress and pants like a caterpillar spinning a cocoon around itself (the dress really requires someone else to button you into it while you hold your breath like a dummy, mannequin, that is), one button kept popping open while I was busy buttoning another one! Then, when I had on ALL 18 hooks, snaps and buttons, I realize that one button wasn't fastened! Which one did I miss? That's why you need a second person to button you in while you hold out your arms like a scarecrow! Can you believe some women wear these costumes riding to church on a motorcycle in the heavy, humid tropical climates near the equator? I did that once and thought how backward some traditions are for women and am so thankful I live in America where I go around in jeans and tees all year round! Yay!

So I redid the snaps and hooks, hopefully correctly but realized later that night one button was off but not noticeable, lol. Just keep smiling I always say and no one looks at anything else, =)  So, thusly attired with my hair in a chignon, unlike a year ago when it was loose, I put on my pink coat, and headed out. Had no idea if I'd be able to find a ticket outside the Washington Convention Center where the two official balls were being held, but if you don't try, you don't get, I always say! (I also say you should migrate to warm weather because God didn't bless us with fur coats at birth!)

It might also be noted that in 2008, there were over THIRTY (30) Official Inaugural Balls for President Obama's first inauguration, so you can imagine how scarce tickets were in 2012 when there were only two Official Inaugural Balls in respect to the budgetary problems and struggling families. That means Official Ball tickets were practically nonexistent weeks before January 21, as in asymptotically approaching zero, from below no less! It was also dropping below freezing as I went downstairs and hailed a cab. As stepped out of my hotel to get into a cab, the wind whooshed through the lobby cutting against my legs as if I were wearing shorts. I practically was, as the crepe-thin silk pants were no barrier against the onslaught of icy winds.

When my cabbie got to the convention Center, only one mile away, he asked me where I wanted him to drop me off. I saw a long line snaking around in the dark for blocks and my heart dropped. People were leaning into the wind like it was an invisible easy chair. No scalpers, but I think they're illegal anyway. Funny thing is, I was trying to find someone to crash the ball with but no one wanted to come given that I already felt as if I was getting frostbite in my fingertips, toes, noes, and hair.

I approached a couple of security guards to inquire where the end of the line was--I couldn't even see to the end--at least it was moving briskly. I thought about cutting in line but what for? I didn't have tickets yet. I walked a couple blocks until I thought I saw the end of the line and swung in with the rest of the partygoers I asked them where they got their tickets and if they knew whether anywhere still available and where one could get an ball ticket. Yeah. Right. Although I couldn't feel my ears anymore, the line was moving briskly and security was calling out that we should have our tickets in our hands ready...Way up ahead, I saw where security was checking for tickets. My heart dropped. To travel all this way and not get to the inaugural ball! Why, that was just cruel! What else was a girl supposed to do on the night of a presidential inauguration! I wondered what idiotic idea got me to this place. I remembered waking up early to see Obama's first inauguration and that was thrilling.

I hated to be so-o-o close and not get in, but there was no way on earth I was getting through Secret Service, no way in hell...I even forgot about how my pants were not keeping me even the slightest bit warm in the gusting wind. But I felt that I was meant to go to the ball, no, not the fairytale Cinderella feeling, just the same feeling I got when I found out that the inauguration was going to be on January 21, that this was going to be one of the funnest days of my life. I mean, I only got confirmation the week before the inauguration that I was allocated tickets to the swearing-in ceremony and had less than a week to plan my trip, which granted, wasn't planned very well since I was outside the Washington Convention Center in freezing temps walking in line with all the ticket holders  doing lord knows what. But I had got bumped up a section for the swearing-in ceremony and got the tiniest glimpse of the President. It was all coming together, the stars and comets and galaxies...What was I going to do next? Go with it, I guess, the way I always do...Figured I probably couldn't talk myself in because I never was a salesman anyway...I had about thirty seconds left before I hit security...What was I gonna' do?


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MY OTHER WRITINGS AND POETRY

The Unofficial Inaugural Poem for President Obama, yet written with as much Love as anyone could.

A Tale of Two Romneys, a Satirical Poem on the Flip-Flopping Mitt Romney

Chapter 1: Princess Boo Wakes Up on the Wrong Side of the Bed, , A Serial Story a la Alice In Wonderland but probably more confusing because it was written by me.

What I Said When I Saw Salvador Dali's the Metamorphosis of Narcissus in the Tate Modern (Besides, Wow, This is Really Small!)

The Cataracts of Iguacu, A Story Poem I Wrote When I Couldn't Make it to the Waterfalls of Iguazu (Iguacu).

If You are a Led Zeppelin Fan, You Will Like This. Remember Houses of the Holy? Wrote some lyrics that continue the story, Led Zep style (yes, it rhymes and you can sing to the song as well)!

Dusame in the Mirror, An Epic Poem reminiscent of Edgar Allen Poe's The Raven, A Modern Day Medusa (with a lot of Baggage and a Conscience)

Part Two: How I Got to the Inauguration, the Morning Ceremony

Next, it took two hours to pick up my inauguration tickets as all of D.C. was jammed and roadblocked. My sister and her husband drove me. Driving one block took so long, it became evident that taking the Metro would be faster. So after over an hour of trying to navigate the closed streets of D.C. proper, my sis and I jump out at a Metro Station because the Congressman's office holding my tickets call me: Do you still want your tickets? Because there are people outside our office waiting to grab them if you don't.

It was after 4:00 p.m. when my Congressman's office called. It was close. I mean it was a close one. After we jumped off the Metro, which was already crowded for the inauguration, we found the building that housed the offices of Congressional Representatives and ran in. Security stopped us and it was a good thing my sister warned me not to bring my bag because all the junk would set off the metal detector and it would take us ten minutes to get through. So, I only set off the metal detector twice and we were up and running on the fifth floor!

Offices are located by district and thus state, but we turned left when we got off the elevator and had to run almost a full lap of the floor until we found my Congressman. Sure enough, there were people waiting outside to grab our tickets had I not made it by 5:00 p.m. Even better, my Congressman's aide upgraded me to standing room seats behind the Reflecting Pool instead of the Mall Area, which would have been a mile away!

Afterwards, my sister and I walked to my hotel, met her husband there, schlepped my junk to my room, and had dinner. Traffic was crazy congested going in and out of the City even at 8:00 p.m. so we had dinner at a restaurant that didn't have a two-hour waiting list! After that, they headed off and I went up to my room, dizzy excited while I was unpacking.

I unpacked my gowns just in case I could find tickets to the Official Inaugural Ball. It was tomorrow night and I still did not have tickets and not likely would get any since they were sold out and way impossible to get. The vast majority of Official Inaugural Ball tickets are doled out to big donors, which I am not by the way. I was so excited I couldn't sleep, and it didn't help that I kept the television on; CNN only had coverage of the next day's inauguration. I got my thermals out, put my tickets in my coat pocket so I wouldn't forget, and hopped in bed. I knocked myself out in order to get some decent hours of sleep and when my wake-up call came at 6:30 a.m., I went downstairs to get breakfast. I asked one lady (sleepily) what time she planned to leave the hotel for the inauguration. She said 8:30 a.m. Now for those of you who do not know me, I am very slo-o-w in the morning, lol, to say the least. It was already past 7:00 and I had not as yet showered, and as you know, showering before going into 40 degree weather is not advisable unless you super dry yourself so you don't catch pneumonia.

I showered as quickly as I could, used a headband as a scarf, wrapped a real scarf around that, put on my earmuffs, then my Dr. Seuss hat, about five layers, then my goat, liner gloves, gloves, inserted hand warmers in between the gloves but not my socks, and headed out at 9:00 a.m. The inauguration started at 11:30 a.m. It was an eight minute walk from my hotel to the entrance. I just followed the hordes of people walking. After going through security after security check, I finally got to the standing-room area and it was already crowded by 10:15. I maneuvered myself this way and that to get a better view. And realized that I didn't know what I was trying to see. I could see the jumbotrons perfectly but wanted to get a direct sight of the President. A nice man pointed out that the arch covered in red velvet was where the speakers would be standing. So, I moved to another spot since the latrines were blocking part of my view and after an hour, the music started.

Buses with blackened windows drove past, and we realized it was people in the VIP seating area near the President. When various people appeared on the Jumbotron screen, we cheered, like Hillary and Bill, the crowed loved Beyonce evidently (one young girl seems to have attended just to take pics of Beyonce on the Jumbotron screen. When the cameras showed the President and his family walking in the hallway approaching, the crowed went wild. I was elated and knew it was all worth it, traveling cross country, buying last minute tickets and everything, standing hours in the cold, cold weather!

I also realized that I should have inserted my foot warmers into my shoes before I set off from the hotel. My feet were icicles, they went from biting cold to numb, which I gather can be bad you can't feel your extremities for a while. I remembered reading Jack London's "The Call of the Wild" and tried to insert my foot warmers when we were squashed in like sardines. I think my butt was pushing against someone when I bent over trying to balance myself as I unlaced my hiking boots and inserted two foot warmers apiece. After a while, the foot warmer under the arch of my foot directly against my skin started burning. (You shouldn't do that but I wasn't exactly in the mood to read directions). Couldn't feel my toes and the bottom of my foot was burning. But I was happy!

Yes, I did listen attentively to Richard Blanco's Inaugural Poem (here's mine if you haven't read it yet--my inaugural poem rhymes, btw). I didn't make a face like Republican Representative Eric Cantor did, and was very polite indeed, even if my inaugural poem was not chosen to be read for B.O. (I still love him to death!)

Sometimes, the President's voice floated by as in a dream but I noticed the reference to "takers" (the 47% that "take handouts" in this country). Was thrilled to hear a reference to gay rights, laughed when Sasha yawned during her father's speech, was so glad it didn't rain as the forecast predicted, and then it ended before I knew it! Took a few pics for some people. Can't find the pics I took, misplaced my micro SD chip, or SD micro chip and lingered after the ceremony the way President Obama did, looking back one last time...

Part One: How I Got to the President Obama's Second Inauguration January 21, 2013

Yes, I'm talking about the one where First Lady Michelle Obama makes her debut of Jason Wu's now famous red dress.

Michelle Obama Dress by Jason Wu at the Official Inaugural Ball

No, it had nothing to do with my Inaugural Poem, sniff sniff. As far as I know, President Obama doesn't know that I wrote one for him, but I heard that actor James Franco wrote one for BO as well, so I'm in shaky/good company? Actually, I like James Franco, as he is a real individualist, going back to grad school after he made it in Hollywood. I love the pic of him snoozing during class lecture, something I did frequently as well.

As you know, Richard Blanco was chosen to write an inaugural poem for Pres Barack Obama's inauguration. Check out the full text here. What can I say, I am partial to rapper poems (rhyming) since rappers seem to be the only ones rhyming these days. Also, I am an artiste (with and "e"), which means I am very biased toward my own writing, lol. The Washington Post loved Blanco's poem. The Guardian had a different opinion, but I have no idea what the critique means. It's above me.

And actually, I don't think Rep. Eric Cantor didn't like Senor Blanco's poem, per the Huffington Post. Do you know how cold it feels in 40 degree weather when you have been sitting there not moving for over an hour? My face was screwed up much like that even though I was ecstatic just to be there!

So one week before the inauguration, I was allotted tickets to the President Obama's Inauguration on January 21, 2013. As you know, only a very limited number of these are awarded to citizens, but still quite a lot for the morning swearing-in ceremony. Viewing of the inauguration is free, of course, but tickets allow the ticket holder to be closer to the action! That means closer to the Capitol in front of the Reflecting Pool or behind, as opposed to behind the Mall area where you cannot see the action without a telescope. Okay, binoculars.

You might wonder how I was lucky enough to be given these tickets. It is because of my Open Letter to President Obama. Read it and check out what I wrote.

I contacted several Congresspeople and Senators. Since most tickets to the morning swearing-in ceremony were distributed by December 15, 2012, there was virtually NO chance of my getting any tickets. On Friday, January 11, I even received a phone call from my senator's office. Her assistant informed me that they had already distributed the senator's inaugural tickets in early December through a raffle. The benefits of planning ahead, people. Except I never thought I could endure the cold temperatures of an East Coast Winter. Even colder than New Year's in Las Vegas. If you're ever in the area, you should try the Strip on New Year's Eve. They have fireworks all along the strip (about 4 shows) all synchronized and EXACTLY the same. I did not realize this last, last year (December 31, 2011) when I was there the first time. We were located on the northern part of the Strip around Harrah's and had a limited view. This year (December 31, 2012), I planed early, did some hardcore reconnaissance, and waited it out at MGM Grand until 30 minutes before midnight. Then we sent out into the frigid 40ish degree weather. All the good spots were taken, that is, the few spots where one can sit or stand on a low ledge for a better view.

We found a high ledge that I had to jump up several times before I reached it and sat down with my legs dangling over the side. Waiting in the cold when your BMI is less than 15% is rather hard. You feel as if frostbite is setting in within 10 minutes and gangrene 15 minutes. Mucho frio, people.

So I wondered where a couple of guys and gals were going when they descended in front of where we were sitting on the ledge. It was actually a ledge that led downstairs, but to where? I did not know. Seeing people go down to who-knows-where, I had to follow (and regretted it later when I had to jump on a ledge four feet high. If you're 6 feet tall, it's no problema.)

Back to the main story line.

My Congressman, bless his kind heart, just sent me an email yesterday on Friday, January 11, 2012. Soon, I was trying to obtain Inaugural Ball tickets, which are even harder to get! These are given to the elite, you know, wealthy donors who give at least $250,000 or politically connected people. I was only someone who traveled to Nevada (check out my story here), a Swing State during the election last November, to get out the vote because every vote counted!

If you haven't heard, a very limited number of Inaugural Ball tickets were made available to the public for $60. Something suspicious happened, as Ticketmaster, in charge of making tickets available, put the Inaugural Ball tickets on sale eight hours early. Instead of in the morning, the Inaugural Ball tickets were put on sale at midnight! In the morning, people who made plans to stay home from work to nab the Inaugural tickets were heartbroken that they could not get any. Then, the Official Inaugural Ball tickets were being scalped for as much as $6,000 on eBay and Craigslist! That's 1,000 times the original cost of $60.

Of course, even if you were lucky enough to get Inaugural Ball tickets for $60 instead of $6,000 or Inaugural Ceremony tickets, you have to pay for airfare and hotel rooms, which began at $500 per night with a 2-3 day minimum stay. How did I afford shelter in D.C.? The forecast predicted freezing temperatures and rain! And I get cold when it's less than 76 degrees. And yes, I mean Fahrenheit.

I started by getting a one-way ticket to D.C. Couldn't afford the return trip because I had to get a hotel room first before I bought a return trip ticket. It's called logistics for the broke person!

Since I am so computer illiterate, I tried to set up a PayPal donation button unsuccessfully. I struggled with this all night long with no luck. It was really to get people involved and interested. (Contributions are not tax deductible, not sure why, but I think it's because I'm not a registered charitable organization or a church.) I got exactly $0 in donations, yay! So, I faxed some hotels in the proximity of the Capitol building asking for a reduced rate because I could not endure the 3 hour metro ride and being squished in like sardines on the metro. Although not as many attended this inauguration as in 2009 when almost 2 million people attended, President Obama's second inauguration was still the second highest attendance, I believe. Almost a million people.

I flew into Baltimore because ticket prices were crazy high into Reagan and Dulles Airports. Arrived in the middle of the night and my poor sister and her husband had to pick me up past midnight. There was still congestion believe it or not and I waited aver an hour at BWI trying to get Wi-Fi reception because we all know that the suburbs of Baltimore are in the boonies.

I checked in two free bags with Southwest because I had no idea what I was going to wear and no time to decide. My sis and her hubby finally arrived and we got home by three in the morning. It's nice to have family isn't it?

The next day was spent buying hand and foot warmers at the sporting goods store and making sure that my 100 pound person (when inhaling) would not catch pneumonia in the near freezing temperatures. My mother was particularly concerned and praying since the moment I told her I had tickets to the inauguration. At first she was like, "But honey, it's so cold, you'll free to death!" And then she prayed about it overnight and told me the next morning: "I think you should go. I will pray for you!" Evidently, my mom's prayer's worked because I had an awesome time!

Amazon Best Seller?

Wow! My Inaugural Poem for President Obama is on Amazon Best Sellers Rank: #623,868. I never thought I would be on a best sellers list! It's Unreal! Frankly, I think these statistics are all screwed up. How can there be 622, 867 higher ranked best sellers, even if I haven't sold any?

And Yes, I got to the Inauguration and the Official Ball! Stay tuned!

Oops, correction, evidently, somebody really smart bought a copy of my Inaugural Poem, amazing! Let's see if we can't climb up to Amazon Best Sellers Rank #528,645 by the end of the month! I wonder how many sales that would take. I'm guesstimating oh, 3 more copies! Let's go!

An Open Christmas Day Letter to First Lady Michelle Obama (Short Form)

Yes! I did get to the Inauguration from morning to night! I was at the swearing-in ceremony as well as the official Inaugural Balls! More to come!

As you might have read, my original An Open Christmas Day Letter to President Obama was in typical Ssal "Long Form", also known as "long-winded" by my pals. I don't think it would be appropriate to mention to President Obama the fact that I gave up a fruit smoothie (two, if you count the buy-one-get-one-free coupon that expired on Nov. 6, 2012), for he might think I am valuing him at only a little more than one or two fruit smoothies (but Burger King advertises them as REAL FRUIT)!


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December 30, 2012

First Lady Michelle Obama
The White House
1600 Pennsylvania Ave., NW
Washington, DC 20500

RE: Inaugural Poem

Dear First Lady,

Enclosed is an Inaugural Poem that I wrote for President Obama. No one asked me to do it. It just came to me (and wouldn’t go away until I wrote it out). Eventually, words came to me and I wrote them out. It does not have a title yet. I call it “A Poem Written in Honor of President Barack Obama’s Inauguration 2013.”

You should know that I have never done anything political in my life. After traveling to Las Vegas for a few days to make phone calls and drive voters to the polls on Election Day, I completed this poem for the President. It starts with an American standing at the juncture of many roads, which are the pathways of America. A gentle giant, George Washington, holds out his hand to the traveler, asking her: "Will you go with me, or will you go with Fate?" Along the way, the traveler hears the voices of Benjamin Franklin and Thomas Jefferson, wise leaders in whom Americans have placed their faith.

As the traveler lets go of Washington's hand, Abraham Lincoln extends his hand to the uncertain traveler. The traveler takes Lincoln's hand believing that one Union was better than two. The next part tells of America’s ascendancy after the Civil and World Wars, while never forgetting minorities, the disabled, homosexual, and marginalized groups, whose voices at times, seem unheeded.

At the end, the traveler faces a road that splits "three-dozen times plus eight." That's 44 by the way, for your husband. As the other presidents before him, President Obama offers his hand, asking America: "Will you go with me or will you go with Fate?" There doesn't have to be an exclusive choice between choosing his vision for America and fate, for in America's history and in this inaugural poem, the bonds of brotherhood have strengthened despite, or perhaps because of, belief in different ideologies. So long as we cherish freedom and justice, America's future will be prosperous.

I hope your husband enjoys the gift of this poem; it was written from the heart. If you have not already figured out, the point of this letter is: The President Is Loved So Very Much By So Many People That He Will Never Know.  I wish him a productive second term, and like so many Americans, I remain

Faithfully yours,

Ssal Nogard

Enclosure: Inaugural Poem for President Obama, Please Forward

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My Other Writings:


My Take on Salvador Dali's Metamorphosis of Narcissus

Metamorphosis of Narcissus by Salvador Dali at the Tate Modern

A Tale of Two Romneys


Inaugural Poem for President Barack Obama's Second Inauguration 2013


Led Zeppelin's Houses of the Holy Lyrics Continued...


The Cataracts of Iguacu (Foz de Iguazu)


Princess Boo Wakes Up On the Wrong Side of the Bed, Children's Poetry

An Open Christmas Day Letter to President Obama (Long Form (Yes, There Will Be a Short Form))

Ssal Nogard
1210 S Valley View Blvd # 114
Las Vegas, NV 89102
(702) 737-8683

December 25, 2012

Dear Mr. President,

(I have been wanting to call you Mr. President.) I would like to tell about a friend of mine named Steve. Steve is seventy-eight years old, and I help him out whenever I can. He’s proud and, like many mature folk, is fiercely independent. It took me a long time to persuade him to ask his doctor for a disability parking placard, (he’d rather walk farther even if it hurts) but once he started driving those scooters in the Home Depot, you couldn’t get him to stop honking!

Steve is like the typical septuagenarian. If you hold your hand at eye level and begin from the top of his head, and slowly move your hand down, you can find something wrong with him from head to toe. Actually, that is his joke; there is nothing wrong with him other than being a seventy-eight year old. They have conditions. This septuagenarian is different in that despite all his ailments, he helped with your campaign. But let me step back a few decades.

At the height of the Civil Rights Movement, Steve marched with African Americans for equality. One time, he was threatened before a protest. An anonymous stranger phoned Steve warning him that if he marched with the “Black folk,” he would never see his family again. They meant someone would shoot him dead.

Steve marched with his Black Brothers anyway.

There were few White folks like Steve who marched with African Americans during those days. The stigma alone kept most people away, even sympathizers. But, not even an anonymous death threat could stop Steve.

Fast forward to 2008. Steve was seventy-four years old and excited about the election. (He was torn between you and Hillary, as was I, lol.) On Election Day, when it became evident that you would win, I rushed Steve to a television. “What’s the rush?” he asked. Well, I wanted Steve to be there when the news stations called the election for you. Steve was quiet, and made those funny faces that people who are trying to stop the tears from coming make by stretching their face this way and that. He said he never thought he would see the day a Black man would be president of the United States. (Now, we’re waiting for a Hispanic woman for president!) Steve admitted that after the Civil Rights Movement, he didn’t see things changing fast enough.

Several years ago, when Steve had a close one, he didn’t think he was going to make it. He was ready to go. On the night you were first elected, I asked him if it was worth fighting for to see you become president, and Steve said, “Yes.”

On your inauguration day, I woke up Steve to see you take the Oath of Office. He grumbled because it was 5:30 in the morning on the west coast. But once he was up, he was in thrall. Watching you being sworn in was another great moment that made it worthwhile for him to “stick around a little longer.” Watching Steve watch you being sworn in as the 44th President of the United States was one of those moments that makes a person believe that good indeed does prevail.

Flash forward 2012. It’s so close that Steve and I want to help you campaign. Steve’s reason for campaigning was not because he had a vested interest in Medicare. Steve is comfortable, but not so well off that he can waste his money. He was not concerned about how Romney’s Medicare vouchers would affect him. Steve wanted to campaign because he always fights the good fight. The way he did in the 1960’s. Steve got nothing out of fighting for Civil Rights except that it helps society in the long run. In Nevada, he made phone calls (a real challenge because he is hard of hearing), and we drove people to the polls. I know it does not sound like much, but for a seventy-eight year old (with a former pack-a-day 50-year smoking habit), Steve is one of those people that make the world a better place. He says he would freeze in the January temperatures of D.C., but I know that he would be thrilled to see you being sworn in next month.

President Obama, Steve never did any of these things for himself. Only because he likes to help the little guy and cannot sit still watching the underdog being put upon. He’s one of the few people that I wish I could be more like because if I were, the world would be a much happier place to live.

Switching gears, Mr. President, I have enclosed an Inaugural Poem that I wrote for you. No one asked me to do it. No one gave me the idea. It just came to me (and wouldn’t go away until I wrote it out). I apologize if it sounds presumptuous, but I did not choose to be a writer. It chose me, so to speak. You see, I became an election junkie this past term (much to the chagrin of those around me), reading and watching everything I could on the Internet. I often went to bed with voices from the election spinning in my head. Each morning I reached under my pillow for my phone and checked the election polls for my daily fix of statistics.

Eventually, words came to me and I wrote them out. It does not have a title yet. I call it “A Poem Written in Honor of President Barack Obama’s Inauguration 2013,” with slightly different versions depending on how tired my fingers are from typing. I suppose if someone had commissioned it, it would have a title.

You should know, Mr. President, that I have never done anything political in my life. Last month a few days before the election, for some reason, I wrote the first draft of this Inaugural Poem. I was antsy to get to Nevada to help with your campaign but had some work to do before I could travel. Most people do not have the luxury of taking off work to campaign, and I am one of those people who cannot easily drop everything whenever I wish.

For weeks, your campaign had been emailing me encouraging me to donate, even $5. I know that sounds little, and indeed your campaign messages indicated that even $5 would be appreciated. I did not have the $5 until the very last day for contributions because I had to make sure I had enough to cover my bills while in Nevada campaigning for you.

(Actually, I had a choice between getting a fruit smoothie at Burger King. They were promoting their new fruit smoothies with a buy-one-get-one-free coupon. I had wanted to get a fruit smoothie as it's the only time that I get my servings of fruits and vegetables. However, if I bought the fruit smoothie, then I would not have been able to donate the $5, also a first for me politically. I had never before made a political contribution, and never wanted to, either. But I gave up the fruit smoothie, two actually, I would have ordered mango-pineapple and strawberry, mmm...)

I do not know if my five-dollar contribution made it in time or not, but immediately after I made my small donation, you sent me an email thanking me (you’re welcome) and asking me to make some phone calls. So I did!

I traveled to Las Vegas and only had a few days to make phone calls and drive people to the polls. Steve and I tried to drive as many people to the polls as possible: Dave, a Veteran who had an old knee injury, a gentleman with Multiple Sclerosis, and an elderly lady who could not even walk to the bus stop.

I realize that all this is very little help and would be happy if Steve received some sort of acknowledgement from you. There are too few people in this world for him to go unnoticed by the people for whom Steve has been fighting his entire life, since before you were born, actually, with no reward for himself other than seeing that the Right thing is done.

As well, I am aware that the gift of this poem is not very much. Please know though, that this poem was written from the heart.

President Obama, if you have not already figured out, the point of this letter is: You Are Loved So Very Much By So Many People That You Will Never Know. How does that feel?

I hope you enjoy reading your Inaugural Poem as much as I enjoyed writing it. (I also wrote a poem entitled “A Tale of Two Romneys,” however, I prefer to be positive these days, four more years, yay!) I wish you a productive second term, and like so many Americans, I remain

Abidingly yours,
Ssal Nogard


"Long Form" means that yes, there will be a "Short Form" Open Letter to the President posted soon.

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My other writings:

Inaugural Poem 2013 for President Obama

A Tale of Two Romneys (Like "A Tale of Two Cities" but obviously not as good as Dickens)

My take on Salvador Dali's painting the Metamorphosis of Narcissus at the Tate Modern

Princess Boo Wakes Up On the Wrong Side of the Bed

Princess Boo Wakes Up On the Wrong Side of the Bed (Dr. Seuss Version)

An Open Letter to the President of the United States?

Hm...I wonder if I should write an Open letter to Obama to let him know about the poem I wrote for him...What would I say?

Any thoughts?

Part IV. The Meaning Behind An Inaugural Poem for President Obama

Click here for An Open Letter to President Obama.

Click here for Part I, Part II, and Part III Explanatory Notes for "A Poem Written in Honor of President Barack Obama's Inauguration 2013."

The next stanza is related to the previous regarding some voices still being helplessly entrapped. They are not adequately represented by their leaders. As all the voices on each side make their demands, eventually nothing can be heard, or as you see in the “fiscal cliff” drama happening on Capitol Hill, nothing gets done. Or, very little very slowly. An utter waste of political posturing.

The voices on each side

                       clamored fiercely to be heard.

Above the din there came a cry

                                    of one solitary word.

The Word was heard by all except

                  to each the sound was different.

Each sister spoke the same word,

                   But the sound still felt absurd.

Here’s a recurring theme in my writing: the Tower of Babel. Even if everyone was silent to allow one person to speak, we are all so prejudiced by our own desires, morals, and expectations, that even if we were considerate and courteous enough to take time to listen to one another, we would not be able to understand anyone else but those with whom we identify.

Have you ever had Person A and Person B say the same thing, X, to Person C, and Person C will react entirely differently depending on who does the telling. It’s not only how, it is the fact that Republicans will react badly to what Democrats have to say and vice versa. Predisposed to being negative, a great human virtue.

Yet we Americans still tout diversity like no one else. Lots of languages, lots of things to be learned from each other. America's "Melting Pot", our "Great Experiment" has been the foundation of our faith in ourselves and our future.

Fi-i-inally, we get to modern day America. I wish I had more time to include more great leaders, but there is a certain time relevance to this poem. If I had waited years the way I usually do before presenting a poem, no one would be interested in it. Hence, the rhyme and meter will be perfected over time, years from now, one syllable at a time.

First, you have to figure out who “He” is in this section of the poem. For “He” is looking toward all roads. By now you now that a road represents America’s History, potential choices, actual choices by a diverse people. The Person facing all roads is a leader who is inclusive of all people, rich, poor, disabled, super-smart, entrepreneurial, people who didn’t vote for him (how do wealthy people feel left out again?)

Well from the title of the poem you know who this Inaugural Poem was written for (there’s only one inauguration in the near future). But how can you be sure? Well, three dozen is thirty-six, and 36 + 8 = 44! Barack Obama is the 44th President of the United States! And it rhymes with “gait” and “Fate”! I patted myself on the back for that one, as it was unplanned and came like divine inspiration.

With His face turned to all roads,

                                   He walked with easy gait

on our winding road that split

                                three dozen times plus eight;

with Bright Eyes and Brighter Smile,

                                      He offered me his hand:

“Will you go with me he,” He asked,

                                 “Or will you go with Fate?”

So, the last “He” is BO, and you know it’s him because he has Bright Eyes and Brighter Smile! An easy majority of people surveyed found Obama to be likable and trustworthy. Again, the poem’s narrator is given a choice as she was in the beginning with Washington and Lincoln, or Abraham, George (are you hearing hints of “Anybody here, see my old friend Martin? Can you tell me where he’s go-aw-aw-one? He freed a lot of people but the good they seem to die young. I just looked around and he’s gone…” That’s why if I had time, I would include more examples of great leaders!

Does that mean if we follow our great leaders that we are contravening Fate? Are we crossing Fate and what other outcome will we reach if not our fate? We will not go into a discussion of free choice and fatalism here. Suffice to say that one can, believe many, choose freely and still go with fate, if that is one’s desire, i.e., to go with fate.

However, if one believes that one is going against fate by following Washington, Lincoln, and Obama, then it is consistent with the last stanza, where the roads plural, are blocked by Fate. Oh, ye Fate! Always causing trouble! See the repeated reference to love and hate. The easy explanation is that these leaders make Americans have faith in their future. The tedious explanation follows.

In the first section, it was explained that the lines of love and Hate in Washington’s eyes are not his but reflecting an already diverse population, as America’s first immigrants were persecuted minorities. Again, we see the lines of love and hate on Fate’s hands, you know, the creases that tell your fortune (forget what they are called). Which means what? That different factions of our country will always hate each other? No, more like there will always be disagreement, great discord if you will.

I took his hand and saw the roads

                             blocked by the Hand of Fate.

On Her palm the tears of love

                           drowned out the lines of hate.

The Halls of Justice are not built

                                         within a single day.

With luck their expanse will never end, 

                                Yet United, We can wait.

The middle lines about the Halls of Justice I remember reading somewhere; they were above an archway or entrance in a building somewhere, leading into a library, I believe. I forget the  author, maybe it was anonymous. I think the saying goes somewhat like this: The Halls of Justice are not built in one day and with any luck, they will never be completed. Very appropriate, I thought. I added the last line in about how we can wait. The first version had, “Yet, Together, We can wait.” I didn’t want to be too Doritos Cheesy by using “United” but hey, we are the United States so stand proud.

Why did I end with the concept of justice? Besides the fact that that’s what my muse ordered me to do. An ex post rationalization suggests that America has been the vanguard of fighting for Justice. Thus, if our country were to be characterized in one respect, it might be that we stand for justice. Whooaah, hold on, I can hear everyone protesting now (at least you’re in agreement). Now, there are many, many, many, people who will disagree with that. I didn’t say that we are far enough along on the road to justice, see again the last stanza about the Halls of Justice never being completed, all I said is that Americans (most of us) do try. And it is our real attempt to be fair that makes everyone optimistic that the best is yet to come!

Add to the mix our great diversity and justice is even harder to attain. In nations with homogeneous populations, e.g., Europe, when you’ve got mostly White Caucasians, you’re not going to get the friction we get here in America, so just because we got more friction doesn’t mean we aren’t doing as well as other advanced nations. You just try adding nonwhites equivalent to 20%, 30%, 40% of your population during a recession when everyone is competing for jobs and see how well you get along.

Americans, for all our individualism, really do love each other. See the scads of flowers and crowds of people coming to Newtown, Connecticut. And that's why we have so much to look forward to in the future!

Check out the Inaugural Poem I wrote for President Obama! With Cliff Notes and Cheat Sheets, i.e., Background and Explanatory Notes, the Meaning behind the Rhyme! Here's a nice formatted copy of  My Inaugural Poem for President Obama on Amazon, (with an Author's Note, lol).

A poem I wrote sort of for Mitt: "A Tale of Two Romneys by Ssal Nogard." Check out Politifact, a Political Fact Checker that follows elections closely. Politifact handed out It's Lie of the Year Award, a dubious distinction for the person who can most seriously warp the truth.

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MY OTHER WRITINGS AND POETRY

PrincessBoo Wakes Up on the Wrong Side of the Bed

What I Said When I Saw Salvador Dali's the Metamorphosis of Narcissus in the Tate Modern (Besides, Wow, This is Really Small!)

A Story I Wrote When I Couldn't Make it to the Waterfalls of Iguazu (Iguacu)

If You are a Led Zeppelin Fan, You Will Like This

A Modern Day Medusa (with a lot of Baggage and a Conscience)