All of the Excitement...

Surrounding the imminent inauguration of one Barack Hussein Obama, further aligned by the calendar and perhaps the stars with the birthday of Martin Luther King, is a wonderful thing to behold for both my demographic (we used to say ""my generation") of Boomers who came up in the North. Even more so for my particular life circumstances: Chicago Heights by way of South Chicago, then on to Upstate NY where there were probably three black families in a working class town of 10,000. Old enough to remember MLK's untimely - or perhaps timely, death (if you're going to die for the cause of racial equality, why not 1968?), yet young enough to reasonably expect to see at least Obama's 1st full term. Seems all that ennui from after Barack's election has dissipated at least until the last inaugural ball. And no, we're not dressing up, chilling champagne and pretending while watching TV, the way some people dress up for soap opera weddings, or suit up to watch football games. I'm way too sophisticated for that. Doesn't mean I won't cry a little, if only from the relief of the humiliation of 8 years of #43 and dodging a Sarah-Palin-death-by-meteor-for-America.

I also had to cry a little when I learned that Julian Michels, AKA "my other dad," had quietly left this planet on January 14. Julian, who went by "Mike" among his many friends and fellow scientists in the little town of Norwich NY, or "Hoo-le-Han" among his six (including me) rambunctious children, was a tall man with a necessarily stoic and calm demeanor. In my memory, his only "vices" were the occasional glass of Thunderbird wine, and a predilection for the "Condensed Reader's Digest" versions of contemporary literature. He and Mae (AKA "my other mom," who took her leave of the planet ahead of Julian, probably to get their room ready at the elder hostel-of-whatever-comes-next)also possessed an impressive - and to me - ancient collection of National Geographics. Julian and Mae were kind and generous, especially with meat, mashed potatoes, corn-on-the-cob and iced tea, almost any evening, even if I'd already eaten dinner once at my house. Julian and Mae's son Jeff writes that Julian's departure leaves five smaller families where there was once one. Five families, but six kids - 'cause even after 40-some years, I'm still one of them.