Glimpses of hope amid the turmoil

I didn’t attend the welcome and wonderful “No Kings” protest that occurred nationwide in the United States this past Saturday. Months before I knew the importance of this weekend, I had back-to-back activities planned out of town.

I visited with a beloved friend I had somehow lost touch with for 20 years, an absence that still befuddles me, but will not continue. I planned an author reading and book signing in my hometown of Buffalo at the West Side Rowing Club where my sister Ellen was an oarswoman and coach. And I attended a reunion with the amazing women with whom I graduated from our small, girls high school 50 years ago (gulp!).

I told myself I had attended the other protests and would again, to fight the United States’ slide into a corrosive mix of harshness, persecution of immigrants, and ignoring the rule of law. Not to mention Donald Trump’s bullying and insulting every democratic country on the planet that isn’t among the dictatorships he so admires.

During my travels I found glimmers of hope in the least expected places, far from the offensive display of Trump’s shameful military parade, or the direction the country has taken since he took the oath to a Constitution he probably has never read completely and certainly doesn’t understand.

Let me tell you about those signs.

The first occurred when I approached the Southwest Airlines gate for my flight to Buffalo. Southwest has always been a little different from other airlines. Less formal. More fun. And ready to decorate for any holiday.

June is Pride Month in the U.S. to coincide with the anniversary of the Stonewall riot in 1969 protesting police brutality against gays. It was the beginning of their long-overdue affirmation and acceptance on the part of society.

The counters at the gates in the Hartford, Conn. airport were festooned with rainbow flags, pictures of civil rights heroes along with pithy sayings, such as, “Don’t let anyone define you. You define myself,” from tennis champion Billie Jean King and “Hope will never be silent,” from gay rights icon Harvey Milk. The biggest banner said, “EVERYONE BELONGS” in capital letters.

Damn right.

After I landed, I drove to Talking Leaves Books in Buffalo to wrap up any last-minute details for that evening’s signing for my book, “Saving Ellen: A Memoir of Hope and Recovery.” I chose Talking Leaves because it is the nearest bookstore in the heart of my old stomping grounds, Elmwood Avenue in Buffalo. The area has gotten fashionable and the section of the city is called the “Elmwood Village,” which would have made my parents snort with laughter when they moved in 60 years ago. But they would have loved Talking Leaves, an eclectic and independent bookstore that was flying a rainbow flag when I stopped by.

It, too, had a sign in the window proclaiming that everyone was welcome, and everyone is. Just the kind of place I like to patronize – and I am happy to report that by the end of the evening employees told me that they have sold nearly 60 of my books since the end of April.

The last sign of hope was the least unexpected of all. It came from a hard-working and tiny woman, a Chinese immigrant, who worked as a maid at my hotel. I saw and – more to the point – heard her several times during my visit. Not because she was talking loudly. She wasn’t.

As she worked, she played a recording of questions common to United States citizenship exams.

While she set about all of her tasks, she tested herself continually.

The questions would float down the hall:

“How long is a term for a United States Senator?” “Six years,” she said, walking down the hall with a stack of towels.

“When did President Lincoln issue the Emancipation Proclamation?” “1863,” came her soft response, taking out a new dust rag.

I wondered whether most Americans could answer the same questions.

The next day I heard the recording again.

“Name two of the rights found in the First Amendment.”

“Freedom of speech and assembly,” she whispered, taking out her vacuum cleaner.

I stopped to congratule her on her study, telling her that she will make our country stronger.

She beamed even as she shied away from sharing her name. She admitted she is a long way from being able to take the test for real. But she wants to be ready. And I suspect she will be.

As I returned home, I spied one more saying, courtesy of the still-decorated Southwest ticket counter:

“I am no longer accepting the things I cannot change. I am changing the things I cannot accept.”

Words to live by. See you at the next protest.

Connecticut peeps, I will be at RJ Julia Booksellers’ Debut Author Book Club today, June 16th, in Madison, Conn., at 6:45 pm. It’s open to the public. Imagine me, a debut author at my age!