The Furious Spinner

According to Alternet.org, the antiwar demonstration in Washington D.C. this Saturday, October 25, was not as successful as it could have been: the message was diffuse, the number of demonstrators exaggerated. An A.N.S.W.E.R. press release paints a different picture, saying there were 15,000 demonstrators in San Francisco and 100,000 in D.C. I tend to be more skeptical of press releases. Go figure.

Did you know the people of Bolivia have been mightily pissed off as of late—being the poorest country in South America and everything—so they rose up, and caused not a little bit of havoc: their president, a puppet of the United State government, resigned and got on a plane to the U.S. where he was granted asylum. What's all the fuss? As part of the U.S.'s drug war, the Bolivian government has been "encouraging" their indigenous farmers to stop growing coca. Coca, considered by the Bolivians as a mild stimulant similar to coffee, has been used in Bolivia for "medicinal, cultural, and religious purposes" for centuries. Let's hope Bush and his gang of terrorists stay out of this fight. Perhaps the U.S. should be looking in our own backyard and at our appetite for drugs rather than going into other countries and telling them what they should and should not grow.

Mario and I celebrated Halloween today, cooking up a grand feast, and inviting a friend over to join us. I danced and sang to the Visibles and Invisibles and thanked all the food that had died to nourish our bodies. When everything was boiled, cut up, shredded, baked, I read my "Invocation to the Ancestors" (see yesterday); then we ate. Between dinner and pumpkin pudding, the three of us walked down to the Columbia River and the creek, where spotted salmon moved sluggishly upstream, either on their way to spawn or to die.

Once home again, we watched The Haunting. (The original 1963 movie, adapted from Shirley Jackson's novel The Haunting of Hill House.) I first saw this film one night when I was a teenager, with my four sisters. We huddled on the couch together, actually touching each other we were so frightened. I can still see their faces: they was scared! When the movie was over, a window shade suddenly snapped up, scaring the bejeezus out of us. Isn't that a strange thing to remember for thirty years? When I first saw the film, I really related to Julie Harris' character, Eleanor, who was searching for a place to call home—and who may or may not have been demented. Tonight, I thought the sophisticated Theo (Claire Bloom ) was much more fun—and may or may not have been a lesbian. I still liked the film; it is subtle and overblown all at the same time. Made me want to read the book again. It was rumored that Shirley Jackson was a witch. I hope she's having fun wherever she is—now that she is one of the ancestors. Thanks for your stories, grandmother.

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