The Women’s March.  It was great.  So much energy and compassion being emanated from one soul to another.  Hundreds of thousands of people gathering in pink hats, holding clever signs, and all on the same page.

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A Sea of Pink Hats and Signs

We don’t get that kind of consensus often. 

For those few hours on Saturday, all of us were united, all over the world, focused on the same agenda, the same issues and the same outcome – resisting the intolerable new administration, and demanding the sanctity of our rights, as women, and as people.

We opted to attend the March in Boston, over DC – more convenient, more familiar territory, less expensive then traveling all weekend, and it was a good call.  We felt, as

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Love Trumps Hate

well, that it was more important to be somewhere other than Washington, so we could show the strength of the people from many corners of the country, and we were almost 200,000 strong in Boston alone.

 

I don’t remember a time when I’ve been with that many people.

Never before has there been an opportunity in my life, for me to make the decision to participate in this type of populous assembly. 

I was too young to attend protests on my own for the Vietnam War or Civil Rights, and though I believe my parents cared about these issues, they did not feel moved to participate in any meaningful way.

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The Girls – Ready to be heard

All the more reason why the attendance of my children, one in Boston, the other in Denver, at Saturday’s Marches, were such a proud moment for me as a mother, feeling the joy in knowing I had given my kids solid values and taught them the importance of having your voice heard.

 

Sadly, we missed most of the speeches.  The T in Boston was overwhelmed and it took many attempts on different subway lines to get to Boston Common.  Once there we were swallowed up in the crowd, though we miraculously located our daughter and her friends.  We wouldn’t have heard anything anyway.  Too many people, but we took that as a good sign.

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Masses of people in Boston

As we walked the procession route along Charles Street, inching towards Beacon and around the Gardens, we met dozens of other peaceful marchers, all willing to share their time and personal space with us.  We took photos of one another, talked about where each of us was from, and reveled in the energy that our collective mass had created.

 

It wasn’t that much happened.  It was only that we were all there, together.  That we were there and we knew so many others were gathering in dozens of cities, and that we all care.  Care about our country, care about one another and the dignity each and every one us deserves, care about the future of our planet – noticeably warm on a 50° day in January.

And now what?  For starters, I’ve set up an alarm on my phone as a daily reminder to make calls to my congressional leaders, and have their numbers programmed in as contacts.

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High School Buddies and Daughter Rachel on the Bandwagon

I’ve registered with Planned Parenthood to send emails for weekly action plans, and though I probably cannot get to my local representative’s office every Tuesday for the next 100 days, as MoveOn.org is promoting, I can send postcards, make the calls and show up at rallies when these take place.

 

It’s a frustrating time for many of us who believe our rights and our dignity are at stake, when we can see the destructive forces of an oligarch in play.  It’s therefore a time for us to pull ourselves out of our personal stupor and stand up for the principles of our country that we hold so dear, but that we often take for granted.  My plan is to get busy, get active, and get involved, and I hope the millions of others that took to the streets this weekend will do the same, and will help to return our world to the people, and to sanity.

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Stronger Together
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