Friday, I was taking the BART from the Mission to downtown Market Street in San Francisco.
In the downtown station, I heard a really good jazz trumpeter, and that music got me thinking about the small things (like that) that make me happy. I came up from the station onto Market Street and there were Hari Krishnas in bright robes chanting and ringing bells, taking me straight back to 1969.
An hour later, still on Market Street, an I watched anti-Israel, pro-Palestinian demonstrators going by. Many of the women wore scarves and there were lots of “Palestine is an Occupied Country” and “The Koran = Wisdom” signs. I’ve never seen so many police cars protecting a relatively small march. Where I was, folks on the sidewalk were either watching or going about their business – there was no tension in the air.
Then, as I was walking on to meet Debbie and write Friday’s blog, an all-percussion middle-school marching band was marching right by me on the sidewalk, playing. They were intently serious and really good. A teacher marching last played commands on a piercing whistle.
Two hours on Market Street punctuated by work, a serious demonstration, and some small things that made me very happy.