I have a cold. My colds go chest to throat to nose, and this one is still in the chest stage. Coughing, wheezing. Went to a dance concert last night, played basketball this morning — I’m of the firm opinion that sweating it out is the best thing, though I didn’t have a lot of oomph and played rather badly — and came home exhausted. But the good part is this: checking my book last night to see whether I could cancel anything I had coming up for the next day or so I saw that I have nothing! From now until Tuesday night, when I teach, my schedule is blank. This never happens, and it especially never happens when I’m sick.
So I finished playing basketball, did a little shopping on the way home, took a hot bath, and will be burrowed in here for the next three days. Today I’m not even going to write. I’m going to clean out some files, finish my taxes (I warn you, say nothing), nap, and make chicken soup. And catch up on some reading, and watch the women’s NCAA Final Four while I eat the chicken soup. I’ll write tomorrow and Tuesday, but nothing more ambitious because more files and more napping. Tuesday evening I’ll emerge, all better (or, with a cold in the nose, which is more likely) but somewhat, I hope, de-stressed.
I’ll let you know how it goes.
My staycation partner:
Quiet gray river
Two ferries too far to hear
Raise frothy white wakes
Brant geese flock swims by
Stops to breakfast at seawall
Gull swoops down to watch
Joggers’ bright shirts glow
Red, blue, yellow, acid green
In foggy morning
Windy, heavy snow and sleet when I was out this morning, but blizzard? Nah. Still, almost no one down by the river but me. One other photographer, two joggers, and one dogwalker: the big tattooed guy with the four little dachsunds. This is their foot/paw prints in the snow.
And this is the dogwalker with the dogs and the jogger. These are all 8:00 a.m. photos, by the way.
Water taxi dock.
Pier 46 pilaster.
Blue light with snow hat.
Lots of action on the river this morning. A pair of Canada geese swam south; a pair of Brant geese swam south a few minutes later, then turned around and swam north. I wondered why until I saw, about twenty feet behind them, the Canada geese also swimming north — that is, escorting the Brants out of Canada goose territory. A cormorant flew low over the water and dropped into the area at the end of the piling field where a male bufflehead was already fishing. A male red-breasted merganser popped up from his underwater fishing grounds. I saw the female yesterday. He must have been finished with his breakfast because he swam a ways out, groomed his feathers, and stuck his head under his wing for a nap. A pair of mallards glided in for a landing on the pilings. Then the male Canada goose set up a major squawking fest, as another pair of Canada geese swooped overhead, but lifted again and didn’t land. Mid-February, Canada goose mating season. This land may be your land, but this stretch of the river is mine all mine!
Red-breasted merganser photo not mine; it’s from allaboutbirds.org. I thought this post needed a visual, and he’s so cute.
Note on a NYC subway seat tonight. No one sat there. I love New York!
I already recommended Swing Left, which will give you your closest flippable district in the 2018 midterms. Now comes Sister District, which is also focusing on the 2017 local elections. People keep asking “What do we do now?” Many things. We use the Tea Party’s tactics, their close local focus, against them, for one.
This is one of the greatest posts I’ve read on the subject of how we can make it through the coming times. It’s by Mirah Curzer, and I agree with almost everything in it.
Read the whole thing, because it contains wise and practical words like this:
“If you try to maintain this fever pitch of anguish and fear and outrage, something far worse than a little down time is going to happen. Your brain, to protect you, will just turn down the volume on the outrage and adapt.”
(If after you read it you want to know my one reservation, you have but to ask.)
It was glorious! You’ve read by now that it was three times the size the organizers had hoped, and that the sister marches were also gigantic, everywhere. (Apparently there were six marches in Alaska!) The energy was electric, joyous, and kind. (At one point I was chanting, “Show me what democracy looks like!” until I started to cough. I muttered, “Show me what a cough drop looks like,” and the total stranger behind me grinned, reached into her pocket, and gave me one.) Also, the energy was funny. The one percent is on their side, but the laughter is on ours. We’ll harness this energy and keep up this fight. My favorite chant: “Welcome to your first day! We will never go away!”
(Photos below by me, Jackie Freimor, and Lorena Vivas.)
Me, my marching buddies, and our pussy hats.
The escalator down into the Metro — AFTER we waited in a half hour line to get to it!
What genius ordered these?
My favorite sign.
Below, more great signs and shirts:
LOVE this one:
And finally, the call to arms:
Quick post, gotta catch my bus. On the road to a DC protest again. I’ve been doing this since ’61 or ’62, when my lefty folks took us tadpoles to school-integration picket lines in NYC. When Obama was elected the first time I thought we’d entered a new era in the US. And lo, we had, but not the one I thought. So here we are again. I’m taking in my pocket the names of friends and family, deceased, disabled, or for some other reason unable to march today. Proud of them, of the friends of my radical youth who will be there, the friends of my (ahem) middle age who are coming with, and all of you who’re marching in other cities. Remember this next four years will be a marathon, not a sprint. And remember Emma Goldman: “If I can’t dance to it, it’s not my revolution.” Shoulder to shoulder!