A non-political and also comedic post is coming tomorrow, but for now, sit with me in the shaky, dispirited place I’ve been since K and I left the Capitol around 2.

K, aka Thursday walking friend, and I signed on for today’s day of action as soon as we heard about it late last week. It was a Herculean organizing effort in just a few days with people from all over coming in to make our voices heard, and she and I wanted to add ours. My longtime resister pal, Julie, signed on too, as did another friend, Marne. K and I met up at 9:30a and headed to an Episcopal church in Northeast DC for the pre-protest training.

There were tons of people of all stripes there, the organizers and musicians were inspiring, tables were laden with shirts, pins, stickers and more, all of which everyone was welcome to, for a donation or not, the spirit of inclusion and purpose was pervasive. We sat on the floor behind an older man with hearing aids, an elderly woman with stickers on her cheeks, and an inspired woman wearing so much flair that the manager of Chotchkie's would have hired and promoted her on the spot. We papered ourselves with stickers. Reverend Barber and the Poor People’s Campaign prepared in the room next to ours.

I completed a form that would allow the organizers to track and support me were I arrested, and K agreed to be my contact and pick the boys up if need be. Marne found and plopped on the floor next to us. She has a tiny baby at home and came out for a few hours to do what we should all be doing. It was really good to see her. The organizers introduced the marshal's and outlined the plan of action: we’d go to the Hart Senate Building atrium for a silent protest and then head to the steps of the Capitol. Julie said she’d meet us at Hart.

Around 11:30, we headed out of the beautiful church. We were many. We chanted, hugged, smiled, power-fisted. We didn’t verbalize it openly, but we all felt a sense of hope and determination: how can people who say they want a fair trial NOT want to hear from witnesses? Witnesses and documentary evidence. Aren’t we told, as citizens when we sit on jury duty, to impartially listen to both sides, taking into account all witnesses and evidence? Of course we are. So why shouldn’t Congress?

Our path took us past the Supreme Court: Justice the Guardian of Liberty. We waited patiently in the security line at Hart. We quietly applauded the number of civil disobedients there. We took stock of the number of police folks, both Capitol and DCPD. We know the rules. We respect them.

we never could figure out why we were smiling. conditioning? enjoyable to do something so meaningful together?

And yet the increasing numbers of enforcement officers felt intentionally threatening. The Silent Swarm, everyone meandering around the atrium like silent dust motes on various currents, is the way you can “protest” in the Senate. And so we did. The police presence grew, Julie waited nearly 20 minutes to get through security, and finally we were told that once we passed the seemingly arbitrary police line, we couldn’t go back. To the Capitol we went.

It was a glorious day here. Blue skies, dramatic clouds. It was cold. A pro-democracy org handed out hats; K and I each took one and were grateful. Marne left, Julie walked with us, we saw another resister friend along the way. We met a woman using a walker who’d taken a 1am flight into DC. Young people with bullhorns, older people with canes. Moms with strollers, people who looked rigid with anger and heartbreak. I felt bits of all of them. I tucked a snack bag of almonds into Julie’s pocket and gave the woman with a walker a small packet of Kleenex.

As we walked up to the Capitol, straight on, I felt I was approaching the reaping in The Hunger Games: determined, worried, enraged citizens maintaining equilibrium and decorum while marching up to a giant white marble edifice guarded by vested, armed officers who seemed pissed before we arrived. We lowered our signs, our voices, our fists. We have the right to assemble and the right to express ourselves. But past a certain line, on federal property that we pay for and to which we send elected officials, our rights become fuzzy, obscured in a vortex of permitting, mood, private and public space, and the people behind the window treatments.

It’s not a good feeling. That feeling didn’t improve as we were pushed off of and back from the stairs and then back, back, back towards the Supreme Court by a thick line of police. It didn’t improve as those who remained on the Capitol stairs were arrested one-by-one and handcuffed with zip ties. It didn’t improve as the final protester, a person in a wheelchair, was pushed away toward the paddy wagon (even though we cheered wildly for their courage). It didn’t improve as we checked in on Twitter to hear of the bullshit arguments against every law-breaking activity perpetrated by trump being made by his shill cavalry of sell-out “lawyers.” Does no one care about oath? Rules? Right?

It never improved. Is it democracy when a peaceful protester’s Demand Democracy sign is ripped from his hands as he’s walked away and arrested? As another protester is dragged down the stairs, mouth covered?

This evening, I held my boys tight, helped with homework, played with the cats, served dinner. Keep calling, acting, defending, fighting. She’s worth it.

Several months ago, one of my very dearest pals and I decided that rain, shine, or whatever life was throwing at us, we’d walk together every Thursday morning. I believe the only exception we’ve made is when we stayed in to watch Fiona Hill conquer her hearing during the impeachment trial. That was infinitely worth it.

This Thursday tradition is one of my favorite parts of every week, time with a rare gem of a human that I treasure. Yesterday after we walked, I used my new juicer (the Breville juice fountain; I could not recommend it more) to make us fresh carrot-orange juice, and as we drank our vitamins, I confided that with Tom out of town and the pace I’ve been keeping, perhaps I wouldn’t head downtown to join the #SwarmTheSenate protest at noon.

“I’m tired, but I do want to go.”

“Well, you don’t have to go. You certainly go enough. But it does always make you feel better.”

It does, she was right, and I’m so glad I hauled it down to the Hart Senate Building to join the swarm, not least because just after we began, the House walked the articles of impeachment to the Senate and Chief Justice Roberts began swearing in each senator as an impartial justice (we’ll see about that as not a few Republicans have already made clear they refuse to call witnesses, hear new evidence, or listen to anything that goes against ‘our dear leader is perfect’).

Swarm is a committed, welcoming bunch from all over the country: California, Maryland, Virginia, Pennsylvania, Florida, New Jersey. They have black shirts that together spell out a variety of phrases and others that have Article 2 Section 4 of the Constitution on the back. Some have been adorned with colorful pieces of fabric on which Remove Trump has been printed. Fortunately, I was wearing a charcoal shirt and navy pants so I didn’t stand out too badly. And they have rolls of Remove Trump/Swarm the Senate stickers, so I stuck two to my chest.

We gathered inside the Hart atrium, in front of a towering black steel Calder sculpture called Mountains and Clouds. Quietly, peacefully, we stood in front of it in rows, the sun streaming down on us through skylights overhead. Periodically, perhaps because of the stringent rules around gatherings and protests in government buildings or perhaps to infuse a bit of performance art into our protest, we walked silently around, a solemn conga line punctuated by silent resisters standing firmly in newly adopted places.

An 85-year-old woman named Barbara had brought a folding stool to sit on rather than stand. The guards told her she was not allowed to sit in the atrium unless she used the stone benches scattered around the perimeter of the space. After some respectful discussion about was that discrimination or not -I mean, would they not let someone in a wheelchair stay put?- Barbara relocated to a bench. We gathered around her in solidarity (see second photo, above).

Roughly forty-minutes in, we made our way to the second floor of the Russell Senate building where the gorgeous, multi-floor round atrium is. I saw a woman I’d marched with and met several years ago, the NRA -> DC march, and also met a great woman from New Jersey. I felt so deeply and sadly that so many of the people who sit behind the wooden desks in the marbled offices in the hallowed halls of Hart don’t remotely respect the country or office enough to deserve the positions of power they hold.

Someone unfurled an enormous Remove Trump banner, and we did calls-and-responses with an ever-growing crowd of protesters until we got our third warning from Capitol Police. I could not afford to get arrested yesterday, nor could the NJ woman I’d met, so we walked around the Capitol grounds. I stopped suddenly in front of a new visual I’d not seen before: a graveyard of House bills the Senate, McConnell, has refused to bring to the floor.

It’s powerful. Rows of headstones each with a bill as epitaph. 347 House-passed bills just languishing on McConnell’s desk. Bipartisan bills that would help Americans in so many ways.

I don’t know what will happen this November , but I do know that it’s worth fighting every single day until then to protect what democracy we have left, to get enough people informed and inspired to vote in new members of Congress who will actually care about oaths, regular citizens, infrastructure, our dying planet, equity, justice, and the future.