Weekend Plans (and not plans)

This past weekend was an eventful one. My sister-in-law and I went to our second march together. This time at our nation’s capitol! I cannot get over how great it feels to be around so many people with my same political values and beliefs. I’m still reeling from the experience.

 

DC has been a hopping place almost every weekend since commander dumbass was elected. The weekend before last was the “Science March”, the weekend before that, the “Tax March” and on and on. A few things have changed in the 7 years since I have visited DC, and not just the president. The museum of American African History opened this past year and we were REALLY looking forward to visiting it, but they have been so busy that visitors must buy the tickets in advance for an allotted time only. We didn’t think about that, or that far ahead, so we only visited the Holocaust museum. Which is just as I remember it. Maybe a bit more emotional for me this time around now that I am a mom and have all of these hormones raging about me. I will always tear up reading about the extermination of children with disabilities whom were housed in the state asylums. I will always tear up reading the quote on the wall:

 

“We are the shoes. We are the last witnesses.

We are shoes from grandchildren and grandfathers

From Prague, Paris and Amsterdam.

And because we are only made of fabric and leather

And not of blood and flesh,

Each one of us avoided the Hellfire.”

-Moses Schulstein

 

Aside from opposing the current administration and marching on Washington, the signs were also a benefit of the trip. Progressives are creative.

 

Here are some snaps of the signs we saw:

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Coming home was bittersweet. It was wonderful to be reunited with my daughter again (not that she was affected by my absence or figured out I was gone, bless her cute self). But after my mom picked us up from the airport, she said that my childhood cat was dying or may have already died while she was gone to get us.

 

Upon arriving home, we discovered that she had passed. 16 years she had lived. At about the onset of my anxiety disorder and panic attacks she entered my life. She was alive when my dad was; a reminder that I am just getting that much further away from those years.

 

I wasn’t the best owner, although I think some inbreeding had occurred in her gene pool so she wasn’t a very friendly cat. But she was my cat nonetheless and I feel bad for our other cat that is now alone and howls and wails in mourning at my mom’s house. I’ve been more appreciative of our three cats since yesterday morning. It made me think of how much I will miss them–they are much friendlier and sweeter. It also reminds me that we are only promised a lifetime—but the fine print doesn’t guarantee it will be a long one.