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Thursday, March 15, 2018

The irregulars’ rearguard

Laura told me about her National Student Walk Out experience yesterday. She was very somber; sad. All students who wanted to were ushered by 10 a.m.  into the gym of Hudson High School, to stand in silence for seventeen minutes. She often heard remarked, “This isn’t a walk out, it’s a lock down.” There was a police officer at every door, to prevent anyone leaving.

Laura and I discussed her dismay over her school’s lack of support. I told her the civil rights of any student who did plan on walking out of school had been violated (she was shocked), but it appeared to me more a problem of apathy. No adult had planned this event, or stressed the opportunity the students had to organize an event. It seemed to have snuck up and crept on by, unnoticed.

However, we continued, high school is the beginning of her adult life. It was a shame she’d missed an opportunity here to organize some solidarity, but on the other hand, she’d learned that waiting for a teacher to fulfill a promise to help them had been an empty promise, and now she knew she could do better in future, if she wished to. And, part of her college selection criteria should be campus activism.

In the afternoon I had a phone call from the Akron Beacon Journal reporter who quoted me in their weekend coverage of events being planned around the area. The photos of the Beacon reporter already were available to her, and she wanted to know how I thought our unique event went. “Did we chant?” she wanted to know.

I said we stood in support of the students in Florida; we were protesting nothing. We felt it important her readers knew we supported the next generation, and their effort to end gun violence.  She remembered I had said the gathering in Peninsula came about because I’d received an unsatisfactory answer from the Hudson school district, where my granddaughter was in high school, about their anticipated response to a National Student Walk Out. Did I know anything about their response; she had not yet contacted them.

I was happy to give her Laura’s version of the Hudson response, and sad to see nothing about Hudson reported this morning. That means I have letters to editors to write. I have three grandchildren left in high school. Beth posted video of both Caroline and Francis’ schools marching out of school as a group to honor the protest.

Yesterday was not lost on any of my grandchildren.

A group of 37 stood along Route 303 in front of the old Boston Township school in support of National School Walkout Day on Wednesday. (Phil Masturzo/Beacon Journal/

Wednesday, March 14, 2018

Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world; indeed, it's the only thing that ever has. ...

Margaret Mead

A couple of weeks ago one of us thought about supporting the Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School students' seventeen minute walkout in honor of students and faculty shot and killed by a gunman. Another said "I'll join you." And another and another.

I am so grateful to everyone who stood in front of the old Boston School today, for seventeen minutes. Someone counted thirty seven of us.

It was cold, about twenty degrees, and snowing. The township road superintendent shoveled and salted the walk as we began to arrive. Thank you, Ron.

Somebody's mother came, in support, and started her little one off, too.

With my sign, and my flat blogger, who does have a name, Jean, for my friend who passed away last fall, and the mother of one of the three of us who just decided to be old hippies on the corner, doing the right thing this morning. Jean wouldn't have missed this for the world.

Rose and Margie, blogger friends vacationing in Ponce, Puerto Rico, joining us. Thank you.

The silent sentry, who stood with us across the street. Thank you.

For all the horns and waves from passers by, thank you.

To the students of Stoneman Douglass, and to students and adults all over this country, who stood in support of gun sanity and your work to achieve it, Thank You.

Sunday, March 11, 2018

Spring to it

I have a new computer coming, to replace my fairly choked up ten year old, with windows 7. It means moving on to 10. Laura did it; I can do it. It's like, all those little kids in France speak French, and so will I.

Some office furniture has been switched out, including the oak filing cabinet from our weaving studio days. 1989 or 1990. I did not realize the one I bought needed assembly.

Laura and I have opposite assembly protocol. Mine is to clear the area of packing material, lay out parts in order by parts list, read instructions. Hers is to throw packing material over her shoulder as needed, and start. 

She is up to listening to me read directions, staring glassy eyed into the distance, and beginning as soon as I am quiet. The fact I've laid it all out in order before I let her dive in is essential. The fact she is left brained and I am neither, these days, generally gets her home nearly free.

It's March, and here in Ohio some organization is serving pancakes and trimmings every Sunday. We live in the land of sugar maples and dairy cows, and can find pancakes with real maple syrup and real butter if we go to Geauga County.

And so we did. The twin cousins. Two weeks apart in birth, one foot apart in height. I haven't seen Francis since last summer.  On my side of the table, Ruth, Beth and me. We all looked grumpy in our picture. We need smile lessons from the kids.