Sunday, January 22, 2017

landscape of gratitude

Thank you to the women who walk. Thank you to all those who march and run and strut and stroll and hobble along for the rights and dignity of women, all women, all people, everywhere.

I missed the signs, the cues, you see, so I was not there, I should have been there, walking, one place or another, with you, saying, Hey, don’t you dare minimize me or my sisters our mothers our daughters our husbands our brothers our wives our people our families. Don’t you dare twist my arm and ridicule me, say you speak for me. You may drown out our voices, you may mock us, ignore us, but you can never silence us because we speak from our hearts and it is heartening to know there are so many different voices still out there that speak loudly, speak softly, speak to me—voices measured with intelligence, voices deep with experience, voices strong with conviction reaching out with compassion believing America, that people, can aspire to something much greater than what you have offered.


You see, a woman started talking to me about knitting a hat. I had just entered the library wearing a hat I had knitted, it was blue, but I was in my own world, have been in my own world, safe there because sometimes it feels not so safe elsewhere, and then it was a pink hat she was hoping to make, a pink hat with ears, and then this was about the march, the protest, oh no, she said, the “demonstration,” we have to call it a “demonstration,” and I said heck, let’s call it what it is: a protest. I protest. You protest. We all protest. Right? She agreed. And there was a bit more, lots of buses from here going, but I wanted nothing more, was just looking for a book for my mind to sink into.


Thank you to all those who walk for human dignity, for respect, for freedom of choice and freedom of movement. Thank you to those who stand up not only for themselves but for all.

I shirked my responsibility.


And how I’ve wanted to walk these past few days, maybe that was a clue, just get out and walk up or down street after street taking random turns at random corners, no plan, no destination, just walk, like I sometimes used to walk in the city, but here there are not the streets for that nor the intersections, the choices, so many choices, so Josie and I we wandered into the woods in the rain, and the rain fell on the snow.

I found the book I needed, a perfect one it seemed, and maybe even it was a clue: Barbara Ehrenreich’s “Living with a Wild God.” – I have known people who are duller than trees, as well as individual trees that surpass most people in complexity and character. –


I tuned out the world readily, gladly.

I am grateful for those who stay tuned in, those who face the world and walk in protest.

Guess it’s time to get some pink yarn, knit a new hat.


Looking at these photos, my favorite sign for right now shows up in Salem, Oregon.

The Marquette, Michigan walk.