ACHING FEET, JOYFUL HEART

My buddy, former VP Al Gore, would be proud of me.  I logged 12, 667 steps on my Fitbit yesterday at the Seattle Climate Strike March and Rally.  I expect that this whole climate crisis thing is now taken care of.  Done and dusted. You're welcome.

Wait?  What?  It's not fixed?  Damn!  There were marches worldwide yesterday, with millions of people taking to the streets over every continent.  In Seattle the only figure I can find this morning is "thousands" so I guess no one was doing an actual head count, but I can attest to the "thousands" number as marchers stretched for blocks from a festival type rally at a neighborhood park, then marched for a little over a mile on closed city streets to City Hall downtown.  I was one of those, as was Hub.

We got up early, hopped on a bus for the 25 mile trip to downtown Seattle, transferred to another bus to get to the park and felt pretty proud of ourselves -- we used no fossil fuels, did not contribute to clogged freeway lanes, spent a total of $2.00 using our Senior transit cards and ended up a block from where we were to meet up with the group we marched with:  Washington Physicians for Social Responsibility.   

We were part of that organization in the early 1980's fighting nuclear proliferation and the siting of a Navy base on the waterfront 1/2 mile from our home.  Yes, the base is here, but we slowed them down and helped reduce the number of ships homeported in our town.  Small victories.  Alas, some of those ships still house nuclear reactors and carry nuclear weapons and we hope to this day that none of our warnings about accidents and incidents come to pass.  Anyway, we are back with WPSR, now working with their Climate Change Task Force, and helping to organize a chapter in our county.

The park was jammed with people of all ages, toddlers to great-grandparents, carrying signs, staffing booths of local organizations, listening to youth speakers, and an air of hopeful enthusiasm infused the festivities. It was actually sort of a Progressive Nirvana.  

We noticed 3 black-clad Antifa types standing around looking like middle-school gangbanger wanna-bes, not intimidating anyone in the least.  The crowd would likely have overwhelmed them with rainbows and unicorns and Progressive talking points, so they remained mostly marginalized.  (Also there was a significant police presence in that area of the park, watchful, but relaxed and smiling at the crowd.)

Once the march began people filled the streets and spilled over onto the sidewalks, mostly chatting, smiling, taking photos, waving signs.  It was the typical Seattle crowd of polite, happy, optimistic, enthusiastic, and slightly self-righteous do-gooders who are earnest about their causes and ready to join with others to make change happen in whatever way it must.  (And, of course, along the route was the usual one guy with a megaphone shrieking about humanity's sinful ways and that we cannot save the earth because God will destroy it, as prophesized, to punish us.  Seriously?  Jesus, if you are listening, please do come back and set them straight.)

This event originated with 16-year-old Swedish Climate Activist Greta Thunberg, spread worldwide, and made way for local youth to lead.  All the speakers at the park were teens, as were the march leaders, and city hall speakers.  It felt amazing to literally follow this generation and to cheer their determination to make a better world for themselves and all who come after.

Hub and I had gone to Minneapolis in early August to take part in and be trained and certified as Climate Reality Leaders, an opportunity offered by Al Gore's Climate Reality organization.  Generally twice a year in the US and once a year internationally, Climate Reality trains folks to spread the word on the climate crisis, to become educators and activists locally.  There were 1200 people in our 3 day training, the typical number.  Gore was integrally involved, not just giving the opening and closing statements, but also taking the stage for his famous slide show presentation (which we now have in our possession to use as we want adapting it to a variety of audiences), moderating panel discussions, and recognizing outstanding volunteers for the organization.  His closing speech had everyone on their feet cheering and clapping.  (That guy should run for something! HA)

I thought of that training yesterday as we marched, as I looked around at the crowd, as I watched news reports covering marches worldwide, as I watched the two-part special on the Climate Crisis hosted by Chris Hayes on MSNBC this past Thursday and Friday evenings, as I watched the 2020 Democratic Candidate Climate 7-hour Town Hall a couple of weeks ago.

It wasn't that long ago that no one was paying attention, that people like Al Gore were shouting into a relative void.  His decades-long fight to get the attention of the country on this issue must have been an exercise in total frustration.  But he and others have persevered.  Now, finally, as the effects of climate change are all around us and impacting everyone, people are waking up.  A good thing, since time is running out to change the inevitable course we are on.

Al Gore often quotes the late Rudy Dorenbush,  MIT economist:  "Things always seem to take longer to happen than you think they will, but when they do, they happen faster than you ever thought they could."  I hope so.

We may be at a tipping point.  People are ditching plastic straws and plastic bags, doubling down on recycling, taking the bus more often, changing to LED light bulbs, but the biggest, most lasting and impactful actions are those we take at the policy level.  We have an administration in office now which not only denies climate change, but is actively contributing to it.  The best action we can take is to work like hell to vote them out and to vote in politicians who will act on policy that addresses the #1 existential threat to humanity.

I looked around yesterday, proud to be part of movement that will not give up or give in; proud to be marching with a new generation of leaders and activists.  And every step of the way I held my grandchildren close in my heart.  One older woman held a sign that spoke for me:  "I'll be dead; I'm marching for my grandkids."  Me too.

At least, that's the view from here...©

SEISMIC EVENT

These days you hear a lot about the climate crisis. Still, probably on some level you just take it for granted that things will always be there in the same way, forever and ever, amen, with the earth... and with your life.

Oh sure, there may be the occasional windstorm, a few lightening strikes, a brush fire, but nothing that we don't have the tools and the wherewithal to handle quite handily.

You are aware, of course, that the threat of a tornado or hurricane or earthquake is a reality, but really, don't those bad things happen to other people???

The barely perceptible tremors can be explained away or ignored for a long time.  Maybe a larger rumble comes out of the blue, but it's over quickly and, well, who wants to worry about what that might mean?

Then one day you wake up and realize that actually you have been worrying, you have been wondering, you have been a bit stressed, and you've been stockpiling for the day the big one hits by wrapping yourself in a protective coating of "I don't care; I can handle anything."

Then, BOOM, the earth shakes, you lose your footing, you grab for anything solid to hang onto, but in spite of your best efforts the walls come tumbling down and you are standing in rubble.  You look around and wonder how this could have happened.  You thought your structure was strong -- stronger than most.  But you were wrong.

You wander around dazed for awhile, kicking at loose bricks, breathing the dust of powdered mortar. You search for signs of life and find none.  So you turn away from that futile task and start to research how this happened.  What did you miss?  How could this have been prevented?  Why are you reacting as if death were at the door when others who face similar messes just whistle while they sweep?  How can you get through the devastation?  How do you rebuild?

You call a couple of friends in to take a look.  They seem to be a bit shocked too, but wise also, and  they sit down in the rubble with you and start to knock the stuck mortar off the individual bricks.  Dust flies in the air and lands in buckets where you mix it with tears and it grows thick and strong.  You have the materials, but how to reassemble what once stood?  You call in professionals for advice.  They mostly tell you things you already know, but they also offer empathy for the job ahead, assurance you are up to the task, and affirmation that the mess is not yours alone to deal with.  You do not live alone in that house.

And one day sooner than you thought possible, you are not alone anymore.  Your partner is standing with you in front of what once was your home.  There are two walls, standing parallel to each other, but the roof and adjoining walls are gone.  There isn't much supporting those two remaining walls.  Still, you look at each other and decide, "We like this house; we have to save it."  And you each pick up a brick and from opposite ends of the expanse and you begin to build again.  You lay one brick, then another and another, spreading the mortar on thick.  One or the other of you gets tired, frustrated, feels hopeless.  One or the other smiles, laughs, reaches out with an encouraging hug.  Every brick brings you closer together until there is a partial wall built to bolster the two that had been standing alone.  One expanse has been filled, strengthening the whole.  It feels like hope.

Soon the two of you find yourselves doing what you do best; making blueprints, gathering tools, setting to work, celebrating each other's joys and acknowledging the frustrations inevitable with any project worth undertaking.  At night you lie in the dark, entwined, and marvel that something new and stronger is being built from the devastation.  And you vow to keep building.

At least, that's the view from here...©