I have mentioned my protesting habit before.
Since I spent this weekend in my old town, where protesting is a way of life, what better way to spend a Saturday afternoon than marching?
My friend and I became honorary members of Code Pink, the women's peace organization, by donning our pinkest togs and heading out to the park.
We met all the usual suspects: poets, artists, Unitarians, grandmothers. It was like old home week. My old friend poet Kevin Patrick Sullivan was in fine Irish form, reciting poetry to anyone who would listen.
We were to march about 1/2 mile to the downtown area, make a 10-block lap around downtown, then gather at the government center for inspirational speeches and media coverage.
As we headed out, a few raindrops began to fall. It began to drizzle, then sprinkle (or is it the other way around?), then rain. And rain.
The line of several hundred people were in good spirits. We marched with Toni Flynn, who probably holds the title of Most Frequently Arrested Grandmother, since she makes a habit of going to jail fairly regularly for peace and social justice.
My friend and I ended up carrying a banner saying something about global women for peace for some older ladies who had grown weary along the way.
When we reached to government center we were soaked but happy. Someone with a bullhorn was yelling "What do we want?"
"When do we want it?"
But that soon got translated into
"What do we want?"
Confession: we didn't stay for the inspirational speakers, even though the MC said "Weather doesn't stop war, so it shouldn't stop us from sticking around here." The lure of hot coffee was more powerful than guilt, so we power-walked through the now-pouring rain back to my friend's apartment where we gently steamed and basked in the glow of a little social action.