Hey there – hope you had a gentle weekend and managed to do some cocooning. We did, although it wasn’t our intention.
 
On Friday, celebrating a sunny day, we were outside and I decided to rearrange the garbage cans (yes, my life is just that exciting. Next up: sock drawer). While standing in loose fitting loafers, on a hill of gravel, I somehow rolled my ankle and went down on the driveway. There was no outward damage: some scrapes on my hands where I (thankfully) broke my fall. The problem – aside from that rolled left ankle – is the right knee, which bent inward (towards the other leg) at an angle that the body isn’t quite meant to achieve.
 
When Rob came out from the house, I had caught my breath and taken inventory. No blood, nothing broken. Phew! He helped pull me to my feet and off we went on our little outing, a drive to nearby Rancho Mirage for dinner.
 
Overall, I felt fine and grateful not to have hurt the ankle I sprained so badly about ten years ago when I hit a wall on Rob’s motorcycle/scooter while learning to drive it – something I gave up immediately, as I felt it was God saying, “Oh, no you don’t.” I cancelled my lessons at Humber (which were to start that weekend) and spent a few days on crutches due to those right ankle and knee injuries.
 
Anyway, Saturday was the Women’s March in L.A.. A bus left Palm Springs at 7 am taking everyone to the march, which was to wrap up with performances and speeches. Having been wildly inspired last year in Seattle when we took part, I was hoping to add to our experience L.A.-style this year. But, alas, not to be. I wouldn’t have been able to walk far on my bum knee.
 
Yesterday, this picture popped up in my Facebook memories from last year.
 

 
We’d driven to Seattle to see comic Lewis Black, and as luck would have it, we fit in the matinee for an August Wilson play as well. The 2018 Women’s March coincided with those highlights and we were not only grateful to have taken part, but marvelled along the way what Lauren would have said! I mean, we had never marched in protest or support of anything during her lifetime. 
 
Why march? Why as parents and grandparents? See the quote above. That’s why. Because women’s rights are human rights. Because any equality or progress that we have made over the last century is due to women who stood up and were heard, and those sacrifices and that bravery can never ever be taken for granted or forgotten.
 
I liken it to the “what’s wrong with being friends with ‘Russher’?” question that tRump and his ilk have asked since questions of collusion began to arise before the 2016 election even took place. I liken it to the MAGA-hatted gang of Kentucky Catholic high school thugs who intimidated, mocked and threatened Native American Nathan Phillips of the Omaha tribe – a Vietnam vet at that – at a march on Friday. (One of the most prominent boys’ mothers blamed “Black Muslims” for intimidating her boy. I kid you not.)
 
We are bound to repeat history if we do not remember it – and what better way to remember than to make our voices heard?
 
On this day honouring Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. here in the U.S., we remember and salute those who have sacrificed to bring awareness to inequality, unfairness or outright illegal practices. Whether it’s Canada’s own Viola Desmond or Dr. King himself, Nathan Phillips on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial or a Women’s March in Toronto’s Nathan Phillips Square, we have a right and an obligation to stand up and be heard, lest that right be taken away. If the past two years here in the U.S. have taught us anything, it’s that the future holds no guarantees.
 
March for those who did so in the past, but with your eyes on the future. I don’t know where Rob and I will be next year, but we’ll be looking for a march. 
 
Have a gentle Monday and we’ll be back with you tomorrow.