My Picture in the News!

https://www.thebulwark.com/p/ten-years-of-trump-with-a-bit-of-light-ahead-no-kings-resistance-military-iran-israel (Photo from The Bulwark William Kristol, Andrew Egger, Will Selber, and Jim Swift Jun 16, 2025)

Since November 2024 …I descended into hopeless despair—negative, alone, bothered, burned, depressed, stuck, furious, cynical, listless, suffering from malaise. I banned the news in any form, left for Canada—a frozen hide-e-hole full of generous people who patted us on the head and said, “We are so sorry.” It didn’t help.

On our return, I buried myself in Swedish Death Cleaning, writing about death, scribbling angst in notebooks, scrubbing out the dreary washing machine. I attended boring, useless meetings with friends suffering the same as I. No spark, no hope to fix it. I assembled three enormous jigsaw puzzles. I plugged my ears when others brought up my banned topics, read only ancient literature about far-off lands and books about fictitious detectives with chips on their shoulders.

Nothing, nothing could alleviate this, I thought. Impossible to change it, we were doomed, my grandchildren were unwitting victims of a devil. The workman tnext door shouted, “Es un demonio! Es el diablo! Que vamos a hacer?” I told him that I had no idea what to do, that perhaps we are destined for ruin and should just accept it.

But just the other day—I sensed a glimmer of a long-dormant sensation—a childish twinge of excitement. Before, I’d felt worried maybe, apprehensive, yes, but excited—not in the least. Yet here I was, actually bursting.

Why? I am embarrassed to admit…

In a rash moment, when no one else did, I volunteered to help carry the banner that led the  No King’s demonstration. Me, way to long in the tooth, carrying the banner, right in front!

How ridiculous, I thought, I’ll probably be the one who is blown to bits!

 Of course I’ll fall and take everyone down with me—

I’ll be too slow and the younger banner bearers will get annoyed!

I fervently regretted it the moment I volunteered. But . . .

We arrived early at the march’s launching point so we could set up and be ready promptly. My companions went off to various activities. At the stage, as the program of speakers started I walked around in my volunteer vest feeling important, answering questions. I even officially blocked the men’s room so the women’s line would be eased. Nothing like a vest and no authority to make a person heady with power..

I thought maybe a few thousand die-hards would show up, the old guard—all of us who got tear gassed in the 60’s—with our gray hair, walkers, and our new hips.

I looked up and stood in stunned awe. The arriving crowd! Thousands and thousands of people headed my way down into Waterfront Park. They were young, old, brown, black, white, gray-haired, bald, blonde, and tattooed. They had on funny costumes, t-shirts that expressed their views. Angry, hilarious, artistic and slapped-together signs. Hundreds, thousands—Hand-Maid’s Tale women, monarch butterflies—the only monarch’s allowed—polite signs in Spanish, rude signs in Spanish. There were Pride banners, and signs that cried “No to Kings but Yes to Queens!”   60,000 plus of them.

And there I arrived in the very front. Sage smoke drifted over me as the Kumeyaay people did their prayers for our march. I felt joy, a rush of it, a shower of joy, a gall darned-rainbow-colored wash of happiness like I haven’t felt in months. We yelled, chanted, wiggled the banner; we clapped, laughed, cheered and danced.

And this a lesson I need to learn and relearn and remind myself of the rest of my life . . . that joy and the best of us are always just around the corner when you least expect it.