So, the Oracle and family went. I know you’re insanely jealous. Let me tell you, I’m insanely jealous of you. By staying home, you got to watch it on TV, from beginning to end. Live.

We couldn’t get on the metro for the crush. Couldn’t get a cab, all taken. What could we do? Walked the four-plus miles from our hotel on Connecticut Avenue to the National Mall. Which was great. Good exercise. Gorgeous fall day. Beautiful buildings. Cool neighborhoods.

We chatted with locals along the way who were surprised by the flow of people walking downtown. An hour and a half later, Connecticut Avenue terminated at the White House, a big house with a small lawn. Hardly a royal abode. From there, it was another half hour to the back of the Mall.

The cheerful crowd crowded closer, the crunch of gravel and chatter got much louder.

Nazi = NaziLots of funky costumes.

Lots of funny signs.

An estimated 215,000 people attended. Most of them in front of us.

Blocking the view, drowning out all sound from the stage somewhere up front.

We envied the folks in the trees. We weren’t alone.

A guy shimmied up-- Yes you can! Yes you can! but failed to pull himself up onto the branch. Abruptly, he lost his grip, and slid down, his hands scrabbling against the rough bark— Ouch! Big crowd grown.

Then another guy shimmied up, very cleverly.

He had taken his leather belt, and slung it around the tree trunk, giving himself extra traction and widening his reach around its girth.

At the crotch of the tree limb, he had a tricky moment when one hand let go of the belt so the guy sitting on the limb could sling it over. It was change we could believe in. Grabbing back the loose end, he pulled himself up.

The crowd ooohed and aaahed, laughed and clapped. That was it, the peak moment.

But we didn’t know that. Hubby, Son and I retained hope of actually seeing the stage. Or one of those huge screens. Behind us, everyone had the same hope.

Politely, relentlessly, bodies behind smushed us into bodies in front. At one point, I lost Hubby. At another, Son.

When a stream of people squeezed by in front, while simultaneously another pushed by behind, that was it. Never mind the excuse-me’s and giggles of apology. Time to get out. Son was disappointed.

We left without getting anywhere near the stage or a screen. The news follow-up was minimal that night, and Sunday. There were no clips up on The Daily Show website Sunday night. Perhaps today. Son says not to worry, there’s always YouTube.