80 Years of Trying Is Circling Down the Drain

[madamesilverspurs]

62. Thanks for this!

Sometimes it seems that misery really does love company. In this time, however, it's more "WTF loves company."

At 77, I can be clearly seen in your rearview mirror. So says my brother who turns 80 in a couple months. Your comments about how girls and women were treated really hit home; there have been many times when it seemed my brother and I were raised by different parents. He and I have talked about it, and we're both grateful that he reset his sails and set a better course.

After high school I bounced around the country for a number of years, coast to coast and back again, no particular goal in mind. I did manage to participate in a number of protests, although some of those memories are a bit fuzzy, clouded by a regrettable fog of booze and weed. When the time was right, I set aside the fog machine and finally took ownership of my life. I came home to Colorado and have been here ever since.

Of late, I've been really missing those days of rampant, unabashed enthusiasm for our groundbreaking candidate. The energy was palpable, our Dem offices and campaign HQs too small to contain all the volunteers. By then I wasn't able to walk the neighborhoods, but I could do data entry. And I put my button machine to good use and filled a grocery bag with buttons I handed out at our election night party: the Obama sun with the words "Yes WE did!" That room was packed, and when the votes rolled over to victory we burst outside and literally danced in the street on that cold but joyous November night.

These days I'm mostly at home, thanks to crunchy bones and lungs that run out of air walking from one room to the next. I miss being with those who are out there, miss being one of the sign-wavers. But I have markers and paints and brushes and a steady supply of cardboard with which to equip those who march; in that, I'm grateful that my involvement is ongoing, if somewhat less energetic. My sister and brother live a few states away, but we exchange ideas for signage, all while missing our other brother who is firmly entrenched in the trump camp. Who knows, maybe some day he will hear us. Hope springs eternal, we are told.

Meanwhile, I could maunder on and on. But, as it happens, there are two protests this weekend and my brushes are calling. I am content to be facing the right direction, and welcome anyone who wants to share that journey with me.

Right on.

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