I’m struck by the contrast between my life and the times in which I live, a contrast not in my favor.

Many times during the past few days my attention has been riveted on the massive surge of popular protest against ongoing police practices recently highlighted by the daytime murder of George Floyd by one of American’s Men in Blue. This feels like the possibility of a moment of real change for the better. Over my lifetime, our police force has become increasingly militarized, monetized, and focused on protection of its own over protection of its country’s citizens, with black citizens in particular singled out for victimhood or extortion. Before I was born, the foundation of white wealth on black slavery or underpaid labor was already well established, and continues today. Could these huge trends be close to being reversed?

In this age of bluster, prevarication, corruption, and incompetence, it’s hard to be hopeful, yet I feel hope.

Other than following this on the news and talking about it with family and friends, however, I am not participating. We had a huge peace rally in Santa Cruz, and I was not there. I have not sent money to any organization, nor have I written a letter of support, or even signed an online petition, not that those accomplish anything.

So what have I been doing? Several things I had not done since March.

Friday night we ate at a restaurant ! We sat at an outdoor table–although indoors was also available–and had waitstaff, and cocktails, and great food, and no dishes to wash. I could not have anticipated a trip to Paris more keenly, nor enjoyed a meal at Chez Panisse more. Every table was full, and everyone appeared to be having a fabulous time, because we were.

Saturday morning I got a hair cut! I no longer look like a Cave Woman. I had to wait about 20 minutes, even though I had a reservation, and the other three people in line had all driven over from Santa Clara County, where haircuts are predicted to be available in two months. I was so giddy my tip doubled the cost.

Saturday afternoon we had a live Morris team practice in Palo Alto! Four musicians and three dancers came, with two other dancers Zooming in. Taking over the quad of a closed school, we danced 2-meter wide sets, did not touch hands, and carried two sticks each so we could auto-clash. All four of the musicians played at the same time and could hear each other. It was 73 degrees and breezy. The public restrooms in the adjacent park were open. We drove over and back in the Mustang with the top down.

The contrast between my petty but pleasing pursuits and the serious work of turning the ship of state off of its course of racism is sharp. Worse, I don’t know how to motivate myself to be, well, more serious. The specter of Covid resurgence post-opening does seem to motivate me, though; I just made a brewpub reservation for Tuesday night.