The March

Since we couldnt get close to the performances at the rally, we walked around people and sign watching until time for the official March. At one point Maggie Gyllenhaal was right next to us in the throng of people and later John Kerry went by (with security detail, of course - but he was definitely in the crowd).

We had to get to the Smithsonian where the March was to officially start. As we walked that way and 500,000 of our fellow marchers did too, the streets became so packed that officials had to barricade some side streets and entry points.

I never saw anything violent or contentious except for perhaps a few testy exchanges between anti-abortion activists who tried their hardest to prickle nerves. But whenever they did, the crowd simply didn't take the bait. It was too important a day...the message was too precious to ruin it by getting off-message through ugly confrontation and the resulting controversy that would certainly follow.

I remember being at the Smithsonian and then just moving with the throng of people. All those people. All those people! So very many people perfectly practicing democracy and doing it in a hopeful, peaceful and joyous way. And sometimes we chanted, "THIS IS WHAT DEMOCRACY LOOKS LIKE"!

The March route was supposed to be 2 miles long, ending at the White House. Somewhere after mile 1 think, organizers started rerouting people...there were just too many people to continue on the original route. They had everyone retreat from proximity of the White House, but it was all very respectfully and peacefully accomplished. But even though the March was over...the march wasn't over. It continued with people throughout all the streets, continuing to shout with their signs held high.

I was moved by people coming together to fight for women's rights, human rights, climate change, gender equality and so much more. But at the crux of it all, I believe we marched for one thing: basic human decency.

I saw middle aged ladies holding signs touting "Women's Rights are Human Rights". I saw young moms with babies, marching for their child's future. I saw old ladies - very old ladies - pushed in wheelchairs by their grandchildren. I saw brave physically-challenged people doing their very best to complete the March.
I saw lots of white men marching, one whose sign read, "I am a white male and I apologize for Donald Trump". I saw Muslims and Mexicans and African Americans and beautiful people of all colors and shapes, and, and, and I saw America.

I won't forget the day. I won't forget all the joy and hope and fear and anger. I won't forget the March.

The March is over. But the march isn't over.

Images

Prelude to the March

When we got off the bus this morning we sort of knew where we should go but there was a definite "follow the crowd" aspect to the whole day.

And there were crowds. 

We headed to the National Museum of the American Indian for the rally. It was crazy to look around at all the people -- the diversity and positive energy was astounding. We never made it to a point where we could see the speakers and performers but it was okay; we were part of something big and it didn't matter. 

Bathroom talk

Finally back at the bus.

I am exhausted, empowered, enraged, and inspired. 

I completely underestimated what it would take to get through the day. Because the march grew to unexpected proportions, it was difficult to find water and food and coffee (yikes!) and non-icky bathrooms. Oh! And about bathrooms - just take a look at that photo!

Our Children!

Good Morning DC!

Finally arriving in DC...the traffic is incredible. We stopped at a truck
stop a couple hours ago and there must have been 50 buses...the lines were
crazy. Still, it's an atmosphere of excitement, inclusion and love.

We're creeping through traffic...still on  the bus...but even from within
we can feel the excitement in the air!

Marching on Washington

First, let me address the elephant in the room. Six years since my last entry. Yep.

I've dusted off my little corner of the Internet to document my trip to the Women's March on Washington. I'd normally not do something like this...yes I support the cause, of course...but to actually go to march in a "protest" --- not so much. But my friend Bobbie asked me to join her...and well, 'nuff said.  Bobbie.

500 women (and men), seven busses, and so much hope, anger, fear and love all wrapped up into wanting to do "something". Something to make a difference and to raise our voices for equality and respect. We just hit 70 East. This trip is gonna be wonderful.

Kim

November getaway

Went to Florida with John's sisters this past weekend for a little getaway.
Here is the view from the deck (uploaded from my Blackberry):

It was a little cold for November, so the beach was practically deserted. I like it that way!

It was a nice weekend, and I appreciated so much the chance to spend some time away with them. They have been so good to me, and honestly, they both treat me like I'm their real sister, not a sister-in-law.


It's been eleven years since I lost my real sister. It doesn't seem that long ago. She was in my dream recently; the first time I've dreamed of her since her accident. Some people think that when you dream of a loved one that has passed away, they are speaking to you.


I've thought and thought about that dream, but can't figure out what Linda was trying to say, if indeed she was speaking to me. Maybe she just wanted to say hello? In the dream, I was at a large party. I was young -- college age, I think. She was at the party, too, and came over to introduce me to her friend. The friend said, " Wow, you two look nothing alike! Your sister is so much bigger than you!"


This was always a joke between us. My sister (and my brother, too) was a little thing, tiny and petite. She wore size 0 jeans and she may have been 5 feet on tiptoe. I, on the other hand, am not tiny nor petite. She was small, dark skinned, and had poker-straight brown hair, and not a freckle on her skin. Again, so opposite of me! She used to introduce me as her "little" sister -- looking up at me, the height difference laughable...and people would get a kick out of the irony.


As I get older, I find that life is full of little ironies. After I lost both of my siblings, I was always comforted by the fact that I did have a far away half-sister that I never knew. I always dreamed of one day connecting with her on some level. Another lesson here to do the things you want to do -- you know, don't put off until tomorrow....


Kim was born when I was 11 or 12. My dad had moved to Texas and remarried a woman that I'll just say wore the "wicked step-mother" title with pride. Anwyay, I met Kim, my half-sister, when she was an infant, but never saw her after that. Things got complicated.


Early this year, I decided to reach out to her. I knew she was recently divorced and living with my Dad on his farm, in a little guest house on the property. I kept thinking about contacting her, but never did anything more than that.


On a Saturday in May (in a very cruel twist of fate or irony, or something deeper that I can't figure out), she was killed in a car accident on her way to her job at a veterinary hospital. My dad was devastated. The event freaked me out on so many levels. My dad has lost three of his four children -- one to cancer at age 40, and two to car accidents at ages 40 and 37. How does this happen?


When my brother Allen died, and then my sister Linda, I stuffed so many emotions and feelings about life and loss...I've blogged about that before. I know it's the worst possible thing you can do. But losing them and then my mom in such close succession just made that necessary.


But the funny thing is, now I'm grieving hard for Kim, this sister that I didn't even know. I am grieving the loss of what could have been and I am finally grieving my brother and my other sister -- because finally now, I realize there is nobody left for me to have that special connection with. I think that is what I am grieving.


Ah. Life is complicated and mysterious, and seems so unfair. But without the ironies and the hurts, there can be no joy and happiness. I know that is true.


That is why this trip to Florida with John's sisters was so nice. I miss my real sister and the other sister I never knew. But I'm happy to have these two sisters, too.

It's time to piss or get off the pot

My grandfather was famous for his goofy sayings. When my husband first met him, he found the way my grandpa talked hilarious and charming. The sayings were just annoying and embarrasing to me, having heard them over and over throughout my life.

You make a better door than a window.
Is there a hole in the ceiling or did you leave the light on in there?
I guess it's better than a kick in the ass with a frozen boot.

And a thousand more.

He's been gone eight years now, and I still think of those dumb sayings.

A bunch of stuff has happened to me lately. Good stuff. Sad stuff. Crazy stuff. Nothing really dramatic, just the ebb and flow of life, I guess. But introspection has been plentiful. So when I (finally!) opened my blog to write today, I decided that I just need to get my shit together and WRITE. Forget about figuring out some wonderful tidbit to share with the world every day. Good grief, who do I think I am? I'm an forty-something (!) woman, with a house, kids and job, a husband that sometimes irritates the hell out of me, a grandma I have to figure out a way not to feel guilty about, too much weight, and not enough time to do everything I want to do.

Just like a lot of people I know.

Just like everyone else in this world. Trying to figure out a way to be happy and make a happy life for my children.  I know that one thing that makes me happy is writing. And this blog is my vehicle. It's a small vehicle, but it's all mine.

So it's time to piss or get off the pot.

Mid July!

Just finished a nice little book called Crow Lake by Mary Lawson.

It's an "old" book (2002), but I'm a bit behind in my reading...My three four boys (I'm counting John as one of my boys) house, full time job, grandma in nursing home, etc., etc., etc., prevent me from keeping up on my reading.

It's a somber story. Very well written. Insightful, engaging...sweet, sad, heartbreaking and inspiring all at once.

I think the actress in me always analyzes and  tries to identify with characters in plays and books I read. There were many aspects of Kate's life (Kate is the protagonist and storyteller) that I identified with -- painfully so in many ways (not so much in others). And I could see parts of her personality that I really didn't like -- because I have those personality traits, too!

The story starts with a quote that foreshadows the story: "Tomorrow is forever, and years pass in no time at all."  Maybe I just miss reading...but I couldn't put this one down.
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In other news...something exciting may be on the horizon theatre-wise. Keeping my fingers crossed.

Sunday Blues

I've definitely got the Sunday blues this evening. I wish the weekend would last just a little bit longer. I'm not happy with my job so that makes Sunday evenings hard. I just don't want to start a new week.

Today was a little rough. When one of your kids struggles, you struggle too. I wish I could help my kids through all their problems -- actually I wish I could just make their problems disappear.

I spent most of the weekend on house projects...mainly painting the dining room...then that looked so good all of a sudden my french doors looked awful, so I painted them, too. Then the doors looked great but the brass hardware ala 1987 looked ridiculous.

Isn't that the way it always is with home improvements? One thing just leads to another and pretty soon a quick little project has turned into a major undertaking!

Many years ago I met a group of wonderful theatre people and we did some interesting experimental stuff down in the Short North -- before the Short North was a fashionable and hip place to go. I remember doing some poetry readings in several of the galleries there. One poem came to mind today -- out of nowhere; I  don't know how or why, but today I thought of Howard Nemerov's "Storm Windows". There is something about this poem that I really like. Poetry is like artwork -- sometimes it speaks to you but you don't know why.

Storm Windows

People are putting up storm windows now,
Or were, this morning, until the heavy rain
Drove them indoors. So, coming home at noon,
I saw storm windows lying on the ground,
Frame-full of rain; through the water and glass
I saw the crushed grass, how it seemed to stream
Away in lines like seaweed on the tide
Or blades of wheat leaning under the wind.
The ripple and splash of rain on the blurred glass
Seemed that it briefly said, as I walked by,
Something that I should have liked to say to you,
Something . . .the dry grass bent under the pane
Brimful of bouncing water . . . something of
A swaying clarity which blindly echoes
This lonely afternoon of memories
And missed desires, while the wintry rain
(Unspeakable the distance in the mind!)
Runs on the standing windows and away.