FINK

April 19, 2025

Yesterday, Penny read about a protest today near our daughter’s house in Poway, California. We were house-child-sitting while their mom was away. The Elon Musk protest was 1.5 miles away, so we walked.  Sunny, 70 degrees, we took water and wore floppy hats. Took exactly 34 minutes, 18 seconds. We gave ourselves an hour to get there, so we were early. Waited around with others who waved colorful signs and American flags. I didn’t see anyone representing trans people, like I did in Montana. Folks appeared to be older, with a few scattered young women with babies. One had a dog. A woman, I mean. Several looked angry, for some reason. Perhaps they were thinking about the protest.

I found on Facebook that a protest in Billings that would occur simultaneously.  I like protests and marches where I see a crowd participating in good faith as citizens. What will we do about the fascist takeover? We will vote!

It is most important to unite with others. We have AOC, a woman with a future. Once when I was with the VoteVets outfit lobbying Congress I came that close to getting a selfie with her.

Back to Poway, California. Or more correctly, Rancho Bernardo.

I’d say we saw 500-1000 people along the busy city street, mostly holding signs and cheering at honking cars.  Once in a while a car or motorcycle would rev its engine.  I supposed they were not supportive of our views.  Signs were similar to those seen at rallies in Billings:  “Dump Chump; Deport Elon Musk; No Kings; Protect our Constitution.”  Like that.  

Several signs in a pile atop a metal fixture looked inviting, so I asked a nearby man if I could hold borrow one to hold up.  He referred me to a woman with long gray hair who eyed me suspiciously.  I asked to borrow a sign.  

I said I thought some of her signs were too wordy to be easily read.  She replied (haughtily), “Beggars can’t be choosers.”  Yes they can, I thought.  In the end, I chose to not hold up any of her signs.  I didn’t feel the love I experienced in Billings, although I got into a conversation with a man who had worked at the Marine Corps Recruit Depot in the early 70s. Didn’t have that “community feeling” for me. But then, it wasn’t my residential community, either.