Picture It...DC, January 21st 2017

"It's a world gone crazy keeps woman in chains..." -Tears For Fears

This is NOT a political post. This is simply a first hand account for those who want to know the whole story. This is for those who wanted to join the Women's March but couldn't. This is for those who joined a sister march and want to know about the mother of them. This is for those who didn't support the marches, but are curious. Most importantly, this post is for those who try to distort the marches with alternative facts.

3:30 am: We pull into a packed parking lot at our local mall. We see many women carrying bags and pillows. Some are already wearing their pink pussy hats. I deliver some hats made by Michele of 144stitches.com to one of my friends designated for another bus and then line up for bus number three. I'm pleasantly surprised to see a couple of men have joined us. I meet up with another friend who has brought both her mother and her daughter. I've never seen so many sleep deprived happy people. One woman asks us if we can photograph the back of her jacket. It says "I am the daughter of Muslim immigrants."

4:00 am: We are on our way. Our bus leader welcomes us. She's wearing a pink sweater. She hands out contact cards so we all have her information. She runs through some general information and then urges us all to sleep. It will take us 5 hours to get to the train station in Greenbelt Md.

6:15 am: We are woken to take a quick break. I run to make the giant bathroom line as all we have is 15 minutes. I sadly pass up the Starbucks I desperately need. I talk to two women in line who are my mom's age. I get back on the bus. One of the women from the bathroom suddenly knows my name. She's an old friend of my mother's who recognized me despite not having seen me in 30 years. Two women my age  in front of me get on with Starbucks. I'm jealous and joke with them about my envy. Later on they become our new friends and spend the whole day with us. 

9:00 am: We arrive in Greenbelt. The line for the DC Metro wraps around the parking lot four times. A sea of women and men in pink hats carrying signs, some gently stating their resistance, some with curses. Some depict the earth begging for protection from climate change, some with vaginas begging for "tiny orange hands" to keep off. No matter how "vulgar"the sign, the person attached is friendly
and upbeat. It takes us an hour to get onto the train. I see a trans teenager get on with a sign in defense of her rights. An interracial group of gay men board and stand with me. We start to talk. They tell me how important it is for them to stand with women today. So selfless, as I know they have their own issues to fight for. 

11:50 am: We finally get off the train. The station is packed. Signs are displayed and people chant. A nice man starts to talk to me. The mood is positive. Any anxiety I've had during preparation for this day begins to fade. Nobody is here to fight. Everyone is here to have their voice heard and to be one with their fellow Americans. It's overwhelming. I'm overcome with emotion. It's a feeling that will wash over me again and again during this experience. Out on the street people are walking in every direction. We aren't sure where to go so we just start following the crowds. We lose our multigenerational group of friends when they get stopped for pictures with their signs. We make a pact to stay with our new Starbucks drinking friends. One man is shouting into megaphones. We can't tell if he's with or against the cause, but he's harmless. I see a group of women wearing Planned Parenthood hats and wearing matching aprons. I wish I could remember what they had painted on them. Young girls have perched themselves high on a wall. Their signs beg for freedom of choice and power over their bodies. I realize the threats to these things affect them more than I, since my childbearing years are pretty much behind me. I mentally vow to not let them down. We suddenly realize we've been walking in the wrong direction. We turn around and try to find the main event.


1:00 pm: Time is flying.There's so much energy around us that we don't even realize we've been wandering for an hour. We find the rally which is already in full swing.The area in the gates are packed and with one of our new friends expecting, we decide to stay on the fringe of the crowd. We stand atop a bench and can see the event via a television in the middle of the street. I can't tell who is speaking. There's an entire family next to me...parents, children...males and females. An elderly couple passes. The man is wearing a Make America Great Again hat. People notice, but nobody bothers him. We decide to get a closer look at the rally. We end up at a glass and metal divider next to a wall. We climb it and then jump down and wade through some bushes. We are laughing. It's the first laugh I've had since before the inauguration. We now have a clear view of the television. Randy Weingarten of the AFT takes the stage and talks about public education. I'm cheering.  Then Alicia Keys takes the stage. She gets the crowd going with a short rendition of  "This Girl is on Fire." The crowd is ready to march. We are lucky enough to be one of the first to break free from the rally. I hear Maryum Ali talking about her father as we make our way through the gate.  We head towards Washington Monument. I've never seen so many people. We join in several chants; "My body, My choice", "Black Lives Matter", "Love Trumps Hate", and "This is what democracy looks like." So many signs, so many people. Every race, religion, and walk of life represented. THIS is the most American thing I have ever witnessed.


3:45 pm: We need to head back to the Metro if we want ample enough time to meet our bus. We decide to stop at the Smithsonian Museum of American History for some food. I pass pictures depicting African American History. I wonder out loud if any of these photos will be replaced by an administration that seems hell bent on everything being white. I feel sad. We get food and make a bathroom stop before we go. I meet two women outside the bathroom. One is a teacher from Seattle. I give her a hug. I want to give out more hugs. I'd never felt so much love in one place. At the station we see two women draped in patriotic scarves. They are wearing winter hats with TRUMP embroidered on the front. People notice, but, again, nobody bothers them. We make it back to the trains. Two Muslim women in Hijabs board with us. We talk and laugh together until our stop. On our next train I'm next to a woman in a wheel chair. She is also a teacher. A seven year old girl stands next to me. Her mother lovingly asks her what she learned today.

4:45 pm: We are back at our bus. We are tired, but energized all at once. We've shared this experience that is so much greater than us. I call my 91 year old grandmother who tells me just how worldwide this demonstration was. She's beaming with pride. I know she would have marched if she could have.


I never saw malice. I never saw looting. I never saw anybody arguing. I never saw disrespect for the police. I saw hope, I saw love, I saw concern, and I saw America. I was there. I saw. I heard. I won't let anybody else pervert that or twist it for their own benefit. I marched.

*Miles ran this week 8. Days until marathon 286.

What Our Children See...Or Don't

"Children waiting for the day they feel good...Happy birthday, happy birthday." - Tears for Fears

Aside from the physiological benefits, I love running because my mind wanders as freely as my feet when I'm hitting the pavement. I come to my best realizations and rationalizations when I'm out on the road. It's no surprise that many of my blogpost ideas begin to take shape as I'm logging miles.

This post started forming yesterday morning as I spent 46 minutes weaving through the streets of my neighborhood, up and down hills past quaint homes built in the 1960s and 1970s. The streets here are peaceful, quiet, and very long. It's the perfect place to train.

This particular day I was trying to get in some miles before I was to open my door to 40 plus guests for the twins' first elementary school birthday party. Some of the parents I had met in passing, one or two I had managed to forge friendships with, but the rest were basically strangers to me, only familiar by the names of their children whom I'd heard random stories about from my sons. 

While my neighborhood could be more diverse, the surrounding areas do not lack diversity at all. My children go to school with children of many different races. Our district office has options for Spanish and Creole on their phone system. This was a conscious choice I made when choosing where to buy a home. You see, I was raised in a diverse school district and I wanted the same for my children.

My husband was not raised with the same level of diversity...heck he didn't even have girls in his high school.  I saw the difference that made in us as people when we were getting to know one another. When you grow up one way, you just don't know anything about the other way. Amazing he married me when I'm of a different religion. Of course by now his mind is wide open...he's a good guy, it never took much prying. 

President Obama gave his farewell speech last week, and he made it a point to talk about race in America, and just how much work we need to do.  How sad it is that I sit here on Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.'s birthday sharing that sentiment. Though I grew up not seeing, or feeling, that I or any of my friends were different, I painfully see and feel it now more than ever. What's transpired in the last few years is something I never thought I'd see. Growing up in the area surrounding New York City, you tend to imagine the whole world is a melting pot of acceptance, but as this country becomes further divided, especially in the wake of the 2016 election, it's getting harder to pretend that it is. My heart hurts over it. It really, really hurts.

Growing up I never felt "white". I never thought I was any different from my friends who weren't white. We were just friends. We were kids, we were teenagers, we were music fans, we were silly, we were serious...but we weren't white or black or Asian, or hispanic...or maybe we just didn't talk about it. Maybe we didn't have to then.

But now, now we have to talk, because things have been moving backwards, or maybe they were never as forwards as I believed they were. For the first time in my life I am hyper aware of my whiteness...and it doesn't feel good. It feels like shame. White privilege has been added to my vocabulary. I never realized just how much privilege being white has attached to it. I feel extremely guilty about it. It's not my fault that I have this...and I just don't know what to do with that.

Race relations are such a fine line to walk. A white person cannot pretend that she knows the struggles faced by a person of color. I've seen arguments break out on this issue on Pantsuit Nation groups...the very groups supposed to be the place of peace, love, and Kumbaya. But really, how can you not get inflamed when you've spent your life with the hyper awareness of your skin color (because society sucks) and then some white chick in yoga pants decides she can sympathize? She can't, we can't, I can't. So I ask my friends of color...what can I do? How can I defend you and walk beside you, without pretending that I know what you're going through? Without feeling that I have to constantly apologize for the actions of others in my race? 

That brings me back to the birthday party. Twenty two beautiful children and their parents. All different colors and religions. All a culmination of different experiences and traditions...all sharing this  Kindergarten journey together. I saw the faces that matched the names and the stories...but none of those stories ever involved anybody's color. That's the America I thought I lived in, and that's the one I want to work for.

Our school has Peace Prizes they award in each class. The children vote for their classmates (one boy, one girl) who they feel exemplify peace and kindness. One of my boys was voted the winner by his class, the other one said he voted for his friend who won for his class. Many say it starts with the children...but it starts with what they learn from us...I couldn't be more proud.

*Miles logged this week 13.75. Days until Marathon 293.

Bought, Sold, Terminated

"What have I, what have I, what have I done to deserve this?"-The Pet Shop Boys

There's a growing trend on Facebook where women of all ages gather to Buy, Sell, and Trade their gently used clothing items. By utilizing social media, Paypal, and the USPS, closets across America have become stock rooms...halfway houses for clothing purchased to wear a handful of times and pass on. Some coveted items from collectible brands like Anthropologie can command big bucks in resale (I had an embroidered cape purchased on clearance in 2010 for $39.99 that resold recently for $130+).  Smart women with disposable income (what is that?) have even made little businesses of buying things up during clearance on clearance and turning them for profit when the items become sold out.

When I first discovered the BST trend, I was elated. The money made on a sale was all for me (minus shipping and a small Paypal fee). Making $10 - $40 on an item was so much better than collecting pennies (really I'm serious) from the local consignor store. Even better was finding all this classic merchandise and at a steal of the price. Retail be damned! I became pretty good at the BST game, so good, in fact, that friends routinely come to me for help when placing ads. Speaking of friends, I made some new ones through the pages as well...we sometimes will even trade items with eachother in lieu of selling to others. It's fun, it's thrifty, it's environmentally sound...but there's a dark side.

No it's not the urge to buy crap you don't need and spend money you don't have (though that is a problem), it's the fact that these pages have become a space for women to wield power...think Mean Girls version 40.0. We are talking a new generation of Fashion Police, my friends, and it's a lot nastier than anything said by the late Joan Rivers.

Recently I was the recipient of one of these cruel and unusual cyber attacks. It happened on a 30K plus member page of items from my favorite store...which I may or may not have mentioned above. One woman, looking for dresses to wear to bridal showers in New York City asked what we had for sale that might be appropriate, so I did what any helpful (and longing to unload her bulging closet and fill her empy wallet) girl would do. I showed her a dress I had posted a while back that was still sitting in my closet...and on the page. Before I could say Gucci, there was a buzz in my inbox. A moderator...we will call her Stephen King's Carrie...because it in no way resembles her name...sent me a message that I had broken the rules:

 "Hi Tara! Admin here...We are very clear in the rules that we don't allow selling to these kinds of posts, and it is grounds for removal without warning as selling in the comments creates all kinds of issues-so please don't let it happen again. Thanks!

Now if you have ever joined one of these BSTs and seen these rules you will agree that the rules are lengthy, intimidating, and often ridiculous. If I tell you, the by-laws to the condo I once owned were less detailed and confusing, I wouldn't be exaggerating. Whatever happened to ,"Don't post porn, don't rip anybody off, and if anybody rips you off...don't hold us responsible." ? However, as silly as Stephen King's Carrie's scolding was, it wasn't said nastily and never being the rule-breaker girl (I'm sure my life would have been tons more fun if I was) I hung my head and admitted that with so many pages I belong to (and an actual LIFE to live) I often forgot which rules were with which group and that I wouldn't let it happen again. Phew, disaster averted...or so I thought, because several minutes later I got pinged...this time right in the sweet spot:

"We noticed you haven't commented on the Pinned Post that you've read the rules- which is another strike, sad to say. We also have you commenting with interest on an item from TJ Maxx as well,which is not a valid sale post and should have been reported rather than encouraging it by looking to buy.

This is more than enough to remove you, so I'm sure you can see that it is important to remember which group you're in. Sorry!"

Ok lady, that's it, gloves are OFF! I told SKC that "it's sad how ridiculous these rules have gotten." I asked her if the other posters in the "offensive" posts had been virtually executed and pointed out that  she just deprived sellers of a very good customer as over the course of 2016 I had purchased many items. I should have pointed out that I was a collector and over the year had also offered others many hard to find pieces at great prices, but I was so stark raving mad that I didn't think of that part.

Anyway, once the dust settled in my mind I tried to reflect on the positives. The money I would save when things I never knew I needed were no longer flying across my TL, and the fact that there were other groups on which I could just as easily...in fact more easily...sell the same merchandise. I also tried to see things through SKC's eyes.

I began to feel for SKC...who reminds me of the condescending overly academic girls in high school who treated others like they were insignificant as a defense mechanism because in reality they lacked the social skills to try and be friends with them...henceforth why they became overly academic. And despite the fact that SKC looks like she spent far too much time at Lilith Fair and I may not ever covet her fashion sense, I do envy her life. You see, Carrie...may I call you that?...you must have so much free time in order to even have the desire to look up what you deem as infractions on your silly little Facebook page. Last I knew nobody gets paid to run those pages. So basically, while wielding your imaginary power...you're a chump.

I want to let you in on a little secret Carrie...most of us are working real jobs and wrangling families. We are kicking so much ass personally and professionally, that we don't have to hide behind a screen and be the clothing warden. So the next time you want to smack a fellow woman on the wrist for trying to  help out another, who may also be too busy or financially strapped to go to the store, and not wanting to be a tattle tale (did you know that nobody likes a tattle tale Carrie?) please think of me. Think of how I was so busy working full time, raising two thoughtful and kind  humans, and trying to be a good citizen that I didn't have time to memorize your laundry list of rules and read your bible length pinned post. Think of me, and then stop yourself from excommunicating another fellow woman who is just trying to do the best she can and save or earn a buck or two on the side.

*Miles logged this week 7. Days until Marathon 301.