Tomorrow we protest. Tomorrow we park our asses on US Route 1 in Wells, Maine. We will have signs and cowbells. We won't be there long, but there we will be.
Hopefully our token participation will add to the overall disgust a majority of Americans seem to have for Trump, the GOP Congress, and all the slithering slimy little weasels who make up his Administration. It is sad to see them take so much pleasure in their efforts to destroy what took so many years to create.
My job today is to cut up some cardboard for the signs, locate and fabricate sign holders, and find the spray adhesive I used for something awhile back.
We debated for a few weeks about whether we should go or not; both of us in different conversations vacillated from yea to nay and back again. Well, this morning BA came in the kitchen and told me she was going. Was I coming also?
45 years of marriage has created a pecking order, a quiver of intractable tendencies, points of view and most of all, a variety of looks and stares that tell both of us, no discussion is needed because discussion will not happen.
I wanted to be snarky and say out loud, "Yes Dear", with an appropriate snarky look pasted on my face. Her look warned me not to. This was serious..... She is right; it is nothing to make light of. Still, it is damn hard to go against my nature.
"Okay, how big do you want the cardboard, and do we want sticks or are we going commando?"
Our local protest here in southern Maine is only set up for a hour or so. It has a perfect location; a location filled with a slow moving captive audience.... the annual summer log jam on Route 1in Maine. Tomorrow, the punishment the folks from away will have to endure will be intensified as they travel anywhere on Route 1. There are protests spread all along Route 1, north and south.
Of course I have also been ordered to consider what we might put on the signs; Maybe show support for the recent "No Kings" series of protests going down across the country. I suggested, "DHS - The New Gestapo". Not sure how BA took it. That usually means no, she was not a fan.
So, tomorrow my wife and I join millions of people across this country to show our anger and ask for some sanity from Trump and his newly formed Gestapo, the DHS. My big hope is that the protests will be so massive, so spread out, that no lying sycophant's can ignore the fact that no, the idiots are not in charge. They just think they are.
I hope the apathetic rise up and at least pay attention and maybe decide to join the fight with the unthinkable stupidity that has our nation by its short hairs.
Anyway, BA and I will be in Wells in the early afternoon tomorrow with signs and ringing cowbells.
No matter how useless resistance may feel, besides our vote, it is all we have.
Keep it 'tween the ditches .....................................
_______________________
The logical and ever so pertinent song to include here was not going to be my choice. It was too predictable. "For What It's Worth" was recorded by Buffalo Springfield in the 1960s to bring more awareness to the civil upheavel that was so prevalent back then. It is a great, great song. Powerful without preaching.
So as I began to rationalize why I did not want to include it, I realize I had to. I remember playing this song often when a protest was coming up in DC or on campus in the early 1970s. Traditions don't mean much to me. But this one does.
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