11/7
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| Into the streets |
I want to remember this day.
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| Morningside Park |
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| bluegrass |
It was bright and sunny and warm as I headed to the Farmers’ Market. A perfect fall day. Even with the ongoing uncertainty, the desire to have it over, but over right.. The market the perfect place to spend some time. I’m cheered by a trio of bluegrass buskers come to play for the people. I wander through the market checking out produce, craft spirits, breads, pickles, art works, baked goods and fresh from the farm meat. Bought some bolognese, some weisswurst, a shepherd’s pie, fresh baked cookies and some Colombian coffee.
I stop to enjoy a cup of coffee and a cranberry walnut cookie on a park bench. Then I hear it. Pots and pans being rattled reminding me of what we heard every night at 7 honoring our “heroes.” A sound from earlier in the pandemic. I wondered what was going on. Only from one window. Could it be a family celebration of some kind? Then slowly the sound began to build as more people joined in. And then the rising crescendo of a cheer and then a steady stream of car horns and even a big bass truck horn. I was almost afraid to hope. What else could it be? But still hesitant to let myself believe. So I nervously pulled out my phone and there it was. Joe Biden had been declared President and Kamala Harris Vice-President. And I felt a dam begin to break.
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| red leaves |
I almost broke when I heard a bike rider proclaim “We did it! We drove him out!” And more and more people cheering, “We did it. We did it.” I look up and realize that some trees have turned bright red. Almost like they had waited for the declaration to be made for their colors to come out. (And maybe wishing they could turn blue?)
I make my way to Fredrick Douglass Boulevard. It seems lie from every open car window I am hearing Kool & the Gang’s” Celebration…..”
People are pouring out of apartment buildings and into the street.
Snapshots:
*A man with a cup walks by, says, “Joe Biden’s President! Spare change? Joe Biden’s President!…”
* I see a couple walking with their little daughter. She is wearing a princess outfit and carrying a sign, “Kamala is my Vice President”. And I know that when she sees the Vice President, she will see someone who looks like her and not an old white man. Her idea of what she can be grows like her glowing smile.
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| celebration |
* The bars are sending servers out with trays of shots of celebration for the people
*. The Mister Softee ice cream truck appears out of nowhere after weeks of absence. its jingle jangling like it’s spring again.
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| a toast to Joe and Kamala |
I’m trying to take it all in. I’m hearing the voices. Seeing the faces. This Harlem. The majority are black. And they truly feel they drove this man out of the Whitehouse. These are the people I saw lined up day after day waiting three hour or more to vote. Sometimes having to come back a second day. Sometimes standing in the cold and freezing rain. Just to vote. And they feel it mattered. And they mattered. And truth be told, nationwide, they, especially black women, were the difference. An al time record number of people voted. And their voting, their participation rescued democracy from those who won do everything I their power to suppress the vote. They still believed it could matter. And it did. And that counts do something. I hear the voices, see the faces, and I begin to choke up. This is special. Like Obama in 08.
Throughout the afternoon, I keep getting texts and messages from people all around the world…Germany, Chile, Denmark…a friend I haven’t heart from in months calls me from Californa, because she has too…my boys report the celebration in Brooklyn. My journalist friend in Pittsburgh and I agree, its like a Mazeroski moment, a walk off home run in the bottom of the 9th, the scrappy Pirates beating the mighty Yankees for the World Series title.
Someone who knows me better than anyone else invites me over. We sit on a balcony, share cheese and crackers and IPA, our accounts of the day, as the sun sets and darkness falls over Harlem.
Look, I understand the proximate nature of this victory. The narrowness. The limitations of the vision of Joe Biden. His problematic history. But there is a decency there, a vulnerability, someone who understands loss. And I feel I can breathe again. Not wake up every morning with a sick headache, another offense of the day. That’s gone. It will take a while to emotionally accept that. There I much work to be done.
I hear the voices again. We did it! People who believe they have won one victory can believe they can win more. And they can.
Church bells are ringing in Paris.
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