Helen, I Am Ready

I’ve never been a very political person.  I read and listen to the news just enough to feel like I have a basic knowledge of what’s going on in the world.  I vote but I’ve never gotten involved in the political process other than the one time I put an Obama sign in our yard.  I’m not proud of it but I’ve just never been deeply knowledgeable about world and political affairs.  I stand back and assume everything will work out. 

And I’ve never been a brave person.  Not that I haven’t wished I was.  I’d like to think I could take a road trip by myself to go visit a friend.  Or drive up to the mountains to meet somebody for hiking or skiing.  Or drive myself to the Denver airport all by myself.  I tell myself I don’t do these things because I get lost so easily I'm surprised I even found my way out of my mother’s womb.  But the more likely reason is I’m just afraid to try.  I admire women who are not afraid to try new things; women who are brave.  I so wish I was more like them.  But I’m not. 

However, after I recovered from the despair and shock of Donald Trump’s election I decided I could no longer use fear as an excuse.  I have decided I can no longer stand back and assume everything will work out.  I accept the fact that he is now our President but I do not have to stand by and accept his lies.  I do not have to stand by and accept that what Donald Trump seems to care about most is Donald Trump.  I do not have to stand by and accept Donald Trump's misogynistic comments.  So when I heard there was going to be a Women’s March On Washington DC to stand up for women’s rights, I wanted to go.  Oh, I really wanted to go.  But I wasn’t brave enough to go by myself.  And I wasn’t brave enough to drive to the Women’s March On Denver by myself to take part in that one either. 

But because of Donald Trump's words and actions, Leslie also felt compelled to attend the Women's March.  And because Leslie is brave, she drove Emerson and Myra and I seven hours to Denver where we held hands and, together, we marched.  We didn't go to protest Trump's election.  We went to to stand up for women's rights and all human rights.  We went to show Emerson and Myra that they have a voice.  That they can stand up for what they believe.  That they can be part of the democratic process.  That they can make a difference.

We found our way to the starting point, Voorhies Memorial Pond in Civic Center Park, at about 8:30 a.m., an hour before the march was to begin. 

Riding the light rail to the march.

As we walked through the opening in the archway and saw there were already hundreds of people ahead of us my eyes welled with tears.  There were women of all ages, there were men, there were families, there were young girls, there were babies.  Some were carrying signs, some were wearing pink – hats, scarves, shoes, mittens – and everybody was upbeat and smiling and excited. 

Our starting point.  The center arch behind us was the beginning of the march.

We walked around a bit to keep our feet warm since it was only about 30 degrees but as more and more people arrived we finally had to find our place and wait for the march to begin.   The newspaper that morning had predicted 40,000 people would attend the Denver march.  We had no idea if we were anywhere close to that number because all we could see were the people around us.  So we hoisted Myra up on my shoulders and she took some photos of the marchers.  But still, we had no idea how to judge the numbers.

The time for the march to begin came and went.  15 minutes late.  Half an hour late.  We had no idea what the holdup was.  Had there been a delay in blocking off the streets?  Was the person who was supposed to lead the march late in arriving?  All we had to do was start walking, how hard could it be to give the signal to start?  Finally, about 10:15 a.m., 45 minutes after the march was scheduled to begin, we realized we were actually taking small steps forward and making progress. 

As we neared that central arch where the march began a volunteer yelled out that the march really HAD started on time.  It had taken nearly 45 minutes for us to even begin making forward progress because there over 100,000 people marching!  Almost three times more than the morning paper had predicted.  We walked through the opening of the arch and were met with a solid mass of people. 

Thousands and thousands of women, men and children chanting and waving signs.  They had completely filled the streets and sidewalks out front because there was no room for them where we had been waiting.  It was overwhelming.  The waves of emotion that I felt were indescribable and the tears that had only welled up in my eyes when we first arrived spilled out this time.  I could not believe my eyes.  I felt like I had found my tribe.  And it was liberating.  And I thank Donald Trump for giving me that most transforming experience. 

Photo from Denver Post on-line.

Yes, Donald Trump, I thank you.  I thank you even though I think you’re a buffoon who will make decisions based on advice from whoever who stroked your ego the most.  I thank you even though I think our country and the environment are going to suffer in innumerable ways from those decisions.  I thank you even though I cannot respect you, because you, Donald Trump, made me realize I can no longer stand back and do nothing.  You, Donald Trump, have forced me outside my comfort zone.  Yes, you, Donald Trump are making me brave. 

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Helen, I Am Ready

I Was For It Before I Was Against It

I thought when we bought our Sheridan home, it was pretty much move-in ready.  I knew it had been a smoker’s house for 30 years but I figured we could shampoo some carpets, wash some walls and later, when we had time and nothing better to do, we could paint a few walls.  I don’t know where Dean was while I was living in this fantasy world.  He must have been so busy fantasizing about his garage-workshop that he forgot to warn me that this house was going to involve a little more TLC than I realized.   

Remember this?  

And this?
   
And the new wood floors we finally had installed? After a lot of work and more time than we anticipated, the house we bought had gone from this:

to this:

Things were changing for the better but there was still the issue of the windows. They just don’t make paint sticks the way they used to and every now and then I’d hear a loud bang! when one of the windows slammed shut which would not only make me jump but would send the boxelder bugs scurrying for cover.  So we had seven new windows installed.  This past December.  About one week before Christmas.  Most people might think installing windows in Wyoming in the dead of winter would be a less than ideal situation.  But I felt that was a better choice than the distinct possibility that one of the window installers would drop a window onto his partner when a boxelder bug crawled under his shirt, up his body, emerging at his neckline and headed straight for his ear.   It was much more fun to bake and feed my installers Christmas cookies than clean up blood spattered shattered glass.

Which brings me to the point of this whole post – our latest project.

Right after we bought this “move-in-ready” house Dean said, “We should tear out the paneling.  I hate it.”  I said,  “No.  I can live with it.  It’s not that bad.  We can paint it.”  In hindsight, I have been wondering why a guy who hated the paneling insisted we NOT paint this section.

Hey, maybe he knew if I had to look at it every time I walked down the stairs, eventually THIS would happen --------------

Flash forward to last week:

Me:  We should take off the paneling. 

Dean:  We should have done it before we paid somebody to paint it and before we paid somebody to put in new wood floors and before we moved in a bunch of furniture.

Me:  I decided I don’t like it after all.  If we’re ever going to do it, now’s the time. 

Dean:  The time was before we paid to have somebody paint it and paid somebody to put in new wood floors.

Me:  I thought I could be happy with it painted but I decided I don’t want to live with it that way after all.  We haven’t put in any new baseboards yet and now we have new windows we need to frame too, so if we’re going to take it off, now’s the time.  It’ll be easy.  We’ll just do it a section at a time.  Pull off the paneling, paint the wall, move on.  Pull off more paneling, paint the wall, move on.  Easy peasey. 

Guess what we did this weekend?  

First piece of paneling ― off!  Uh, oh.  Might not be paint ready.

 

Really?  Duct Tape?  Who does that?  I'm not worried. Much.

And then we discovered this gem.  Ah....true love....................except every time I walk in the door and see it I feel like my house has been tagged and I'm living in gang territory.

Brick ― uh oh.  Removing the brick ― real brick it turns out, not the fake brick I always assumed it was ― hasn’t gone quite as smoothly as I had expected.  Dean thought I would get all stressed and tense and regret beginning this project when we discovered we were going to have to completely remove the wall board to get the brick off.   And I probably would have if I hadn’t become a TV addict.  But after spending time with Nicole and Drew and Jonathan (what else can I do in Casper when 

most of my stuff is in Sheridan?) I knew there was nothing we  couldn’t conquer with a little elbow grease and the right tool ― if only we could find the right tool …

“Just bang it with a hammer.  That's what they do on TV,” I told Dean.  And it worked.  It was faster.  What's a little missing wallboard?

Nothing about house remodeling scares me now ― which really scares Dean.  Especially when I wondered outloud how hard it would be to remove this part of the ceiling so we could really

 

open up the area and give us that open concept.  Dean thinks there’s support beam hidden in there.  A support beam wouldn’t be THAT low in the room …. would it?  There’s only one way to find out.

Once we get the rest of the bricks ripped off the wall and all the paneling is gone we’ll call a drywaller and have him texture it or do whatever it will take to get it ready for painting.  I may be much braver about these projects thanks to my new TV friends but I’m not stupid.  I know our limits.  And anyway, I'd like this project to be finished relatively quickly.  There's a guest bathroom I have my eye on.

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I Was For It Before I Was Against It