So...I thought, if I don't write about it, how do I know it happened? Does it matter? If I don't write about it, what's the point of doing things?
Sometimes I journal. Sometimes I don't. That's what the blog is supposed to be for but...I'm not very disciplined. Life beckons with food and books and television and sunshine and movies and whatnot. So many distractions.
I must conquer the distractions. Win over their tempting luxury. I must write to survive, to resist, to become immortal.
Here it goes:
The other day we watched "Dolores", a documentary about Dolores Huerta, the activist who worked with Cesar Chavez organizing the farmworkers in California and elsewhere starting in the 1960s and still active. What am I doing? What have I done to improve people's lives? To find justice? Sadly, not much. Dolores Huerta had eleven children and still had time to organize, travel, work hard and resist the injustice of the growers and improve the workers lives.
The day before we took our granddaughter to see the film "A Wrinkle in Time." It was a Monday at noon. There were only five other people in the cinema. I love going to the movies during the day. It's quiet, calm, and you can sit wherever you want. The movie was entertaining but no great shakes. She was frightened during a few scenes. She's 7.
Now I know it happened.
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