On This Day

Written on International Women’s Day, March 8, 2023

I woke up and thought — shower or no shower? — and decided for the shower. The short version.

On this day the U.S. Supreme Court ruled that religious instruction in public schools is unconstitutional.

I saw that I was out of half and half and remembered I was having a coffee date at 9 am and could wait, so I threw the ball for the dog and ate a piece of raisin bread from the loaf I made yesterday.

On this day a Malaysia Airlines Flight with 239 people on board disappeared.

The coffee was a success! I shared ideas and she smiled with authentic pleasure. I felt seen and met and we made tentative plans to help each other. Notes were taken. Contacts shared.

On this day the New York Stock Exchange was founded.

I went to the library to pick up a book on hold. I watched parents coax slow toddlers to the children’s room for story hour and remembered my kids at that age. I marveled, again, that we’re able to maintain libraries when there’s so little we seem to be able to do well these days.

On this day the Beatles had their radio premier on the BBC. They played a song by Roy Orbison.

I waited for another friend who never showed up. I ate a yogurt, the cheapest thing I could find in the store, and reread our messages, finding their clarity lacking. I messaged my tax accountant and set up an appointment.

On this day the first Barbie was sold.

I went to my office and pecked away at a work project when a colleague knocked on my door and said he couldn’t meet after all, He shared difficult news. We hugged. I packed up for the day.

On this day U.S. forces bombed Tokyo with napalm. More than 80,000 people lost their lives.

I stopped by the store and bought mushrooms and milk, butter and eggs, and showed the cashier - who was about my age - my ID in order to buy the small boxed wine I need for the soup, joking at how ridiculous that seemed, though she seemed unamused, then came home to let out the dog and settle back into work.

On this day Napoleon married Josephine. He’d given her this name because he didn’t like what she called herself—Rose. When he died, her name - the one he’d given her - would be the last word he uttered, even though he’d divorced her because she couldn’t bear children.

I chopped onions, garlic, and mushrooms and listened to a dharma talk from the zendo in Santa Fe about everyday practice and imagined them all gathered in that adobe space with its clean wood floors. “How do you practice in your everyday life?” the speaker asked. How do you keep showing up, again and again.

On this day in 1908, women textile workers marched through New York City's Lower East Side to protest child labor, sweatshop working conditions, and demand women's suffrage. It was three years and 13 days before 146 would die in the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory Fire.

And on this day I showed up. Again. And again. To the endless practice.