I am writing this in real time.

From my nest in the family forest, I did look out to see beautiful sunshine and a temperature of 28*F. The weather gurus have been saying for days how cold it would be here. In places we have not been this cold since 1989. I believe it. Cold is usually 40*F in the winter.

We all have pity party days. Mine has been a few months. When I can not do as I please for myself or others, I become an alligator. I’ll fight with all I have. I’ll figuratively roll the opposition to their death.

For almost two years, I’ve been fighting with my insurance company for healthcare. Please, stay with me for another moment or two. They’ve been holding back care and built a new 23 story office building and last summer live on morning television I saw them implode their eight story old office building.

With health problems getting worse and my doctor’s office calling, I went running for him to see the newest of the worse.

Returning home, I came through the door and hit the remote control on the television expecting to see "Ellen", her antics and great guests. No, national news had pre-empted the show. There is an airplane in the Hudson River.

We all now know how the "Miracle on the Hudson" ended that day. America is Blessed.

Growing up in Boston and every youngster in our neighborhood could talk about the ins and outs of local and national politics. Yes, the Kennedys were a part of our lives. They walked around just like the rest of us. Just regular people. We children knew our local Ward Leader by name and face of course. He was always making his rounds. We’d see him more than the mailman. Mail was delivered during school hours. The Ward Leader knew when to catch our adult family members at home...after work.

We all know where we were when President John F. Kennedy was murdered. Those following days would not be erased from me with a lobotomy.

The years passed. I married and we moved to New Jersey to a piece of Paradise on the Delaware. I had refused to ever live in the south. Yes, this family forest, Dad’s side is in ....the south. Never say never.

I know where I was when Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. was murdered. I’d dropped by a co-worker’s house to assist her at fixing a problem in her rental. I learned her true colors when the news broke in on the television. We finished our task. I never returned to her house. Hate covered by frosting is still hate.

My internationally known employer refused to let me have the day off to view Dr. King’s funeral. I went to work and at noon, I signed out and used "death in the family" for the reason and went home to watch the funeral alone. Darling was with the Marines in North Carolina.

I did not get reprimanded or fired. No one ever said a word to me on the job about leaving to view Dr. King’s funeral.

May 28, I dropped my husband off at the doorway at Philadelphia International Airport.

He was heading for Okinawa, Japan with a week’s stay with his Dad in California.

My Marine husband was calling collect from his Dad’s daily. For those who only know cell phones, in the "olden days" we had two choices. Dial direct or dial the operator and ask for a "collect" call. The answerer would accept or deny the call.

My husband was to spend the last of his days in the Marine Corps at the Brig in Okinawa. He had always been in security.

The day after our Second Anniversary, Darling called collect. The television was on and the news cut in to say that Robert Kennedy had been shot. It took just seconds it seemed to get live coverage of "our" Bobby on the floor in the kitchen, losing life.

A couple days later, my Darling called for the last time to say he’d be flying to Japan the next morning and he’d see me the Tuesday or Wednesday after Thanksgiving.

I’d seen Bobby before. When the train taking his remains from New York to Arlington National Cemetery, I knew the perfect spot to drive and stand in Pennsylvania to give him my last moments of earthly respect. I was the only person at that spot and I felt free to let my tears flow. It was just across the Delaware from our home.

In letters that took forever I recounted my day to Darling. He read my letter in Okinawa.

In August, time delayed letters, I noticed an address change. That same week the Marines were at my door. Darling was Killed in Action in Vietnam. To this day no piece of paper has given me an honest explanation for the change.

Lies live and the truth will change nothing. He’s overlooking Washington, DC from Arlington National Cemetery. In uniform, still protecting the USA.

These next 72 hours I pray we all live to see will be as life changing for the world as Galileo’s discovery; the building of the Pyramids and Christopher Columbus getting lost and beginning the ruining of society and culture of people unknown to Europeans.

We’ll have all the now ensconced Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. Day programs and parades. As a youngster, following playmates to their church I met "Rev. King" in Boston when he was studying at Boston University.

My Darling was not only a Marine, but a Baptist Minister and a member of Dr. King’s Foot Soldiers. Darling’s Street Lieutenant died last year in surgery prep. His Bride of many years said he voted "absentee" before he went into the hospital.

I rejoice to see the Inaugural activities coming to fruition. Too many to count have lived and died to see a brilliant man stand where no other Person of Color has before.

Yes, the People of Color have built this country. Yes, People of Color were only considered Three-Fifth human when Thomas Jefferson and "founders" wrote the Constitution.

Native Peoples were treated in-human and their lands and possessions stolen.

Things are better for some but parity will take another lifetime.

In Boston, Rev Samuel F. Smith, debuted the song, America or My Country ‘tis of Thee on the Fourth of July, 1831. That church is across from the Boston Common on Tremont Street, next to the Granary Burying Grounds. That is where President John Adams and his son President John Quincy Adams are buried.

Today the words in my head sound so beautiful and true.

I have spent in toto probably years in Washington, DC. I was doing legislative work among other things. Time changes many things. My late grandaunt died and I no longer had my digs in DC. I probably still have the keys to the house in a container with many unmarked keys. One day they will be an art project.

So on Sunday 18 January, I’ll surprise my Dad’s relatives and visit their church. [We are of different religions. Our only true ties are the blood line.] When I put it on my calendar last year, this celebratory weekend was not in my mind.

About 1967, my Darling’s ship had pulled into a nearby port and that gave him a chance to visit my Grandfather and was asked to speak at the church. No Minister ever gives up the chance to speak. I was in Boston.

In this cold weather I’ll watch all the Dr. King parades from the warmth of my nest on Monday.

Tuesday, I’ll be glued to the television for the Swearing In of the Forty-Fourth President of the United States of America, Mr. Barack H. Obama.

At the end of the day, I’ll pop the cork, I never did for New Year’s and toast all those who have gone before me. My late Cherokee Mom and her mixed Native family. My late German-Irish-African Dad’s family.

I honor my late Godmother, Dr. Lena Edwards Madison. She was presented the Medal of Freedom by President Lyndon Baines Johnson in 1964, a year later than planned. That was just over 100 years after her grandfather had a fund raiser on the White House lawn. Her grandfather and President Abraham Lincoln were friends.

I salute all the Civil Rights Freedom Fighters including my Darling and all the unsung heroes that brought about this historic day.

I’ll toast myself. Because of all of them, I am who I am and am able to do what I do because of their sacrifices for my education, safety and well being.

I am Blessed!

All the stars, comets, Angels are in alignment to make these days.

America is Blessed.

             Patricia Barbee (c) 2009