August 27, 2024

Left off recording here, but for what pressing activities I don’t remember. Maybe nothing to say except tidbits about gardening, finishing a painting, revising Bears, all things vital to me but making boring copy. 

In painting I am learning to follow my accidents. This almost never works in writing. 

GMC meeting here last night. The drone of male voices makes me long for a woman’s, a woman’s perspective on the things we discuss with what I’m sure must be male shortsightedness and determination. B’s partner has been in the Northwest for a few days, and he said, with some tinge of disgust, “I didn’t realize how much space he takes up, how much noise he makes.” I imagine people saying that about me all the time. 

Day after perfect day. My garden longs for rain, but its voice is quiet. 

Day in the public arena, turbulent as all such days are likely to be. Arrived at the Cathedral in time for my 11 AM appointment with C– a time set by her–to find the office locked. Waited. Rang the bell. Nobody answered. Was walking away when someone else approached the door. I decided to see how she fared. She rang the bell. K answered. When she had stated her business and was admitted, I explained how I was there for my appointment with C.

“C is taking a personal day.”

“Well, we made this appointment so I could–”

“She’s had a very rough week.”

My next question was “There are no phones?” but I didn’t ask it. As it was clear my time had no value compared with whatever was going on behind that locked door, I wandered off.

To the wild end of Old Fairview Rd to the Democratic Party Headquarters. Chaos there, though the two old ladies holding down the fort were doing the best they could. Made a donation, carried off a Josh Stein for Governor sign (the Harris/Waltz signs are not ready), got information on how to be a Poll Observer, which I may in fact do. The lady helping me swore in Polish because she couldn’t get any of her computers to work. Twenty-five minutes spent in getting one email off. The lady in the other room had to listen to a guy go on about a class he designed to teach Black kids how to relate to the police without being shot. She kept trying to interject, “How can the Democratic Party help you?” or “What exactly do you want from us?” prompting him each time to start over from the beginning.  I exited just as her dial neared “explode.” 

The lesson for the Black kids was, by the way, basically “obey.”