Protesting in Walnut Creek

I took to the streets yesterday, at Walnut Creek, putting my body on the line. I was ready to be arrested, I guess – better have a lawyer lined up to call. Well, that's pretty dramatic. In fact, I grabbed a pre-made sign and joined other middle aged or older protestors, some with kids, and lined the streets of the Broadway Plaza shopping center with some occasional mild chants, no opposition, occasional car honks of support, a closed Tesla show room, and gave witness of opposition to the coup. I missed Ann, with whom I also gave witness, once in front of the Grand Lake Theater in Oakland, another time in Maui. When we were younger, we protested separately, with other partners, she in Berkeley, me in Washington, DC. Giving public witness of opposition might have some effect – it certainly did with Vietnam – and it feels good to be at least doing something. I'm preparing to do it again, this time with a sign that I will prepare at home.

There were maybe 2,000 people there – not just a handful, not just 100 – yet there was no press or TV coverage at all that I could see. (Later, I saw that the San Jose Mercury News and East Bay News covered it.) Rachel Maddow tries to highlight nationwide protests at the beginning of her shows, but it's really a minimal number of people. What'll it take? Missing a social security check would do it, maybe – it's actually amazing how important those checks are, even to people I know personally, in my social class. There have been so many outrages so far, and so little resistence. It's lamentable. But I'm out there.

I was told about this Saturday protest by my Saturday walking partner, Mary Lou. She's from a conservative family in Missouri, is surrounded by conservative friends at work, but she knows her own mind, and is given to public and private events. So we met there at noon, walked around together, I took some pictures, and I was glad my gluteous medius was recovered enough for me to endure our 2.75 mile traditional walk around the Lafayette Reseervoir, and our traditional wonderful breakfast at Millie's American Kitchen with our friends the owners, Aimee and Victor, and then to stand around and walk the protest. Then as the manifestation was coming to an end, I said to Mary Lou, want an ice cream? I thought I remembered an ice cream store near the pretzel wagon just outside Macy's and Starbuck's. Sure enough, there is was, Haagen-Daz, so I had coffee ice cream and she had chocolate. We sat outside and ate it at a table that I used to sit at on Saturday mornings while Ann got her hair cut nearby, and I would work on this or that on my computer. It was familiar.

Today I remembered “stopping for ice cream” when I was a kid, maybe early or mid teens, and for some reason I was in the car with my father driving and my mother riding shotgun and one or two of the other kids in the back seat with me. It was somewhere near Upper Darby, I think. My father said, “What about a softserve ice cream?” My mother said OK. Then my Dad said, I think there's a Dairy Queen just over this rise here. My mother looked askance at him. He was having some trouble with his weight. “You're really disgusting,” she said. Clearly, he had not been adhering strictly to a diet. He just took it and we stopped.

So, clearly, it imbedded itself indelibly in my mind. I sure didn't want a marriage where my wife would say that to me. No way.

Explains a lot.