under the tent

I pulled out a folding chair and sat under the tent last night.

Not in the middle of the crowd, though. More like on the peripheral where the canvas flaps seemed less defined and the grass far less trampled--where I could excuse myself easily, summarily, and without much ado. As a matter of fact, there was a tent peg just to the left of my foot. I leaned my purse against it.

While reclining on my folding chair (family room couch) and leaning forward to watch the action under the tent (live broadcast TV from the GOP convention), I pulled my purse (my security blanket) a little closer to my feet while eyeing that aforementioned peg (party platform agenda) suspiciously. I was also uncomfortable with the group chanting, over-the-top headgear, and the frantic waving of signs/banners/handkerchiefs/and small children.

Alright, maybe not small children. But it was edgy.

I held out for some familiar faces. Tiny quibbles aside, don't we all love Rudy? And Huckabee can hold a crowd like a good Baptist preacher should. Their rhetoric was good, but it got late. I was weary of the group-emotion and was very ready to fold up my chair and wend my way to the parking lot (bed).

But I stubbornly stuck in there just to meet her. And wow. Wow.

Wow.

It may take me a few days to check her out thoroughly, so that's all I'm gonna say at the moment. I might just warm up to being under the tent after all.