Good Feelings at My City's No Kings Event

And other places

Timothy D. Easley/The Courier-Journal

Feeling tired when I woke up Saturday morning a couple of weeks ago I figured that I would be writing the day off as a total waste. I had no energy. I had no plans.

It looked as if all I might accomplish would be trimming my hair after taking a shower and cleaning the bins in the refrigerator of bits of desiccated purple cabbage and broccoli florets. Or wiping out the bottom of the freezer.

Every time I have opened the door and glimpsed the dirt that’s somehow flecked the area I have thought, Tomorrow. It looked like this Saturday might be that Tomorrow. I hoped that I could at least achieve that.

But after dragging myself through my usual morning routines, followed by a brief, easy nap after breakfast against the back of my chair at the dining room table, I rallied and went to my city’s No Kings event at metro hall downtown. It was scheduled to begin at noon. I left about twenty minutes before then. I live about three miles away.

As I neared metro hall and looked for parking, I glanced to my right and saw a couple of friends on the sidewalk among a small group of people. I turned at the next block and lucked into a parking spot just past the intersection.

Joining my friends I saw among the group a woman with whom I once worked at a local bookstore 30 years ago. She and my friends did not know each other. They just happened to be clumping together on the sidewalk and meet one another at the moment of their gathering.

Karole is the name of my erstwhile book-selling colleague. She’s also an actress. She is very tall and expressive with thick reddish hair. I recognized her right away. And the unusual spelling of her name helped me remember it as well as her profession, “role” being part of Karole.

I also recalled seeing Karole 15 years ago when I took my children to a production of “The Tale of Jemima Puddle-Duck” staged by a local children’s theater company. She played the farmer’s wife.

After saying hello to my friends and Karole, I walked with them to metro hall. People had gathered in front of the building as well as across the street in a park. When it began to rain, Karole opened and shared her umbrella with me.

Someone was speaking from the steps of metro hall and leading the growing crowd in some familiar, heartening chants and cheers.

Hey! Ho! Donald Trump has got to go!

No hate! No fear! Everyone is welcome here!

Signs bobbed, American flags waved. I saw a few other people I know and nodded toward them when we caught each other’s eyes. Somehow everyone felt familiar. It was a good feeling.

I tucked myself closer to Karole to stay dry as the rain increased. “Real rain!” someone said. Karole is so tall I felt as if I were standing under one of the towering pin oaks in my yard. That was also a good feeling.

The rain eased to a light drizzle after a couple of minutes. It stopped altogether after about 15 minutes but the weather stayed breezy and overcast. Karole closed her umbrella and slipped her hand into the loop at the end of its handle to let it dangle from her wrist.

After about half an hour I decided to leave. I said good-bye to Karole and thanked her for sharing her umbrella with me. “Maybe we’ll see each other again in another dozen years or so,” I said. “Yeah!” she said, laughing.

On my way home from the protest I stopped by the day shelter for homeless men where I volunteer a few days a week. I had not signed up for a shift but I thought I would see if there was anything I could do. Being at the protest had revived me a little.

It turned out that no one was in the laundry room. It had been a while since I had helped out there so I thought, Why not? I spent about an hour there, laundering towels the men use to take showers and handing out toiletries like shampoo, soap, and toothpaste to men coming by who wanted to shower or just freshen up.

A man named Bates came by at one point. He was excited to tell me that he will be moving into an apartment soon. “My own place!” he said. But he’s nervous about its being in a part of town new to him.

“I don’t know no one over there, Miss Polly,” he said, “I don’t know where nothin’ is!” He gently tapped the top of the counter by the door with his fist. “I think you will be alright,” I said, “this could be the last time I see you!”

Bates smiled. “Yeah, I guess so,” he said, “okay, then—next time, or maybe not!” He patted the counter with his hand and turned and walked over to join some other men sitting at a nearby table.

Leaving the shelter not long after talking to Bates, I said good-bye to some staff and another volunteer at the front desk. On my way home I stopped at a coffee place I like. The baristas always include a small tumbler of Topo Chico seltzer on the house.

I realize that in sharing my day I may come across as some civic do-gooder. I went to the protest! I helped out at the shelter! Good for me! Take a bow! Give me a medal! Okay, fine.

But my goal in going to each was only turn myself around. By doing that, I hoped to turn my day around from one that was looking pretty flat and flattening to one that would have some color and texture to it.

Cleaning the refrigerator bins and freezer may have also done that—after all, dried-up purple cabbage and broccoli are colorful and crunchy. But after I got home I decided to save those tasks for when I next wake up tired and listless.

I hope that won’t happen any time soon, but I know that it will, because that’s just how life is. I could then find myself opening the refrigerator and freezer doors and thinking, Tomorrow—it’s Today.

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