This Pridefest is brought to you by....

Denver's Pride Parade--or The Coors Light Pride Parade--was Sunday, and thousands of others, I found a spot along the East Colfax route to watch what is truly Denver's best party. For two and a half hours, laughing, dancing, singing marchers--on foot or on float--paraded down the street enroute to a rainbow festival of food and entertainment in Civic Center Park. I had hoped to be part of the parade, as I have in the past few years, but a wonky foot led me to a chair under a shady tree instead. Watching is of course, a big part of the fun so no regrets there.

As I often do, I summoned up one of my younger selves--one who would have been marching in the early 80s down this street, a time when the AIDS epidemic was at its peak and the legalization of gay marriage was far from a possibility in anyone's minds. More a protest than a parade, though I remember its playful irreverence, such as the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence--gay men dressed as nuns--posing on cathedral stairs. This younger self would have felt awe and joy at how mainstream LBGTQ acceptance has become--though in fairness she would not have used most of that acronym--just "L" and "G". At the same time, she would have been appalled at just how corporate everything has become. Perhaps she would have stalked off and joined her friends in the park to grouse about it. We would have thoroughly dissected the rainbow equivalent of "green-washing", a distraction from corporate practices that should be questioned.

Coors was a major sponsor of the parade this year, as it has been for a number of years now, but it was not the only one backing Pridefest, the weeklong celebration preceding the parade. Other big players were Walmart, Wells Fargo, Nissan, Smirnoff, Comcast Xfinity, along with Channel 7TV and The Colorado Department of Health and Environment. There were a host of supporting and participating sponsors too--retail outlets, oil and gas companies, banks, among others. (Click here for a full list.) Many, many other groups participated, not for profit, but with a message to share: churches, non-profits, politicians, cultural and student groups. My beloved square dance group, The Rainbeaus, danced their way down the street, while behind them the Mile High Freedom Band played.

Older Kathy is less likely to rush to judgment, while lamenting the fact that Coors beer has been and probably remains a taste abomination, far inferior to the numerous craft beers in Colorado. Craft breweries were banned from selling their tasty wares because of the deal with Coors and instead held an alternate event in West Denver. (Perhaps I'll take younger Kathy there next year.) Older Kathy would have also pointed out the fact that sponsorships underwrite programs for the LBGTQ community at The Center all year long. And--let's face it--we're in a corporate age, in which non-corporate funds are scarce and the costs of putting on any public event--insurance, security, materials--are well outside the limits of passing the hat around.

Seeing the youthful energy and creative decorations of the marchers on Sunday, I found it impossible to be churlish. This year was the 50th anniversary of what's now called the Stonewall Uprising, that night in June when patrons of the Stonewall Inn in NYC rebelled against the police harassment they were constantly subjected to. That rebellion provided the energy to launch a gay liberation movement that led to such amazing changes in US culture. The results of this long struggle led to Sunday's celebration, which I cheered on along with everyone else.  I didn't take a single picture, knowing that The Rainbeaus' chief photographer, Frank Bull, would share his album with me and other club members. Here are a few photos I downloaded from his collection. The first one expresses the conviction I'm sure all would share.

And this one expresses the contradictions. Corporations may well have excellent hiring practices for LBGTQ job seekers, but their work in the world raises questions, such as: How is our community affected by fracking of oil and gas in Colorado?

I enjoyed the creativity here on this float and many others.

Then too, the spirit of protest still lives.

Skipping the party, I headed toward the bus stop on 17th, ready to give my foot a complete rest. Two women passed by and pressed a rainbow crown in my hands--with the King Soopers supermarket logo. How appropriate, I smiled to myself. And at the same time, in my heart, I thought: Until next year--all good wishes for pride, activism, persistence and above all--love.

Moving toward resistance: the power of old women

Has it been just 10 days since our political frames were upended and Donald Trump became President-Elect? As with all disasters, it seems like I've been living with this knowledge so much longer. Like many of my friends and people around the world, I'm still somewhere along the continuum of grief*: denial, anger, bargaining, sadness/depression, and finally, acceptance. I supported Clinton, campaigned for her, and until her upset loss Nov. 8, expected her to win.

For the first few days after the election, the first three grief stages were dominant for me. Denial lasted only until late election eve, when Hillary Clinton's loss became a mathematical certainty. Anger followed--at everyone who voted for this ignorant, vulgar and dangerous man or who didn't vote at all. Bargaining didn't last long. I applaud those who are circulating petitions that the Electoral College be abolished or its members agree to vote for the popular vote winner (Clinton), and I would like to hope along with those who predicted DT would soon be impeached, yet I can't pin my hopes on either of those unlikely outcomes. So that leaves sadness, trying to move into acceptance, which of course is the precondition of resistance.

So why is grieving the word that fits our condition so well? I've certainly seen my candidates lose before, and I don't remember grieving. It was more like stumbling, picking myself up, dusting off my pants, and moving on. My string of losing candidates started with Nixon defeating Humphrey in my first election as a voter in 1968. A winner--a brief Democratic respite--emerged in the late 70s with Jimmy Carter, and then came a decade of Ronald Reagan, followed by Bush Sr.. We drew a winning ticket with Bill Clinton in the 90s, and then...George Bush Jr. for 8 years. Finally, Barack Obama won in 2008--the best win of all. I was in Japan then, and I remember calling my US election office to make sure my absentee ballot was on its way. A portrait of Obama hung in my office at school, the familiar one with the word "hope" printed underneath.

2016. The unthinkable arrived last week, which, when we parse out all of the factors, seems almost inevitable. The world turns, the backlash phenomenon reappears, and we are immersed in a media environment where truth and lies blur. "Post-Truth" was just named the Oxford Dictionaries' Word of the Year. (Click here for a discussion of that.) In earlier times, I recall recovering from defeat more quickly. One reason might be that for a big chunk of time, I put less faith than I do today in the electoral process as a source of change. Also, I was or felt young, with decades ahead to help turn the world around.

Like so many of my friends who are now old, I see my past as so much longer than my future. The likely damage from a Trump administration is frightening to contemplate. How much can be undone during my time on Earth? How much energy will I and my aging friends have to be part of the struggle? It was in that sad spirit that I drove to the monthly meeting of OLOC (Old Lesbians Organizing for Change), an event I join when I can. For the most part we're a support group, focusing less on marching and more on helping each other get through this thing called aging. We have potlucks, collect money for worthy groups, host visitors. Our most political effort recently has focused on activities helping us acknowledge and learn from differing communication and leadership styles. This Saturday we had set aside for a post-election discussion. "What would come of it?" I wondered as I walked in the door of the Northglenn Community Center.  This image below, which I found by googling "powerful old women, images", epitomizes my feeling about that day. I think it fits the tone of Saturday afternoon. We weren't smiling a lot, the two dozen or so of us who attended, but we took our places, looking into the future. And as this woman's hands show, we all brought a history of work in other times and places.

As our discussion began, our work on communication styles--as well as our long experience in different kinds of groups--paid off. We had excellent facilitators, Katherine and Trish, who guided us through three parts of the discussion: how we are feeling, why that is so, and what we hope to do. We agreed to guidelines: short speaking turns to allow everyone time to speak, respect for differences. Not surprisingly, our feelings were similar, and the grieving metaphor was invoked by many. We acknowledged fears and uncertainty about the future. Gillian brought information about the safety pin solidarity movement.

There was music: a song by Holly Near, and a Peter Paul and Mary old standby, Mr. Bigot. Brang brought copies of a short Buddhist text, which includes this phrase: "Greed, hatred and ignorance cause suffering. Let them go. Love, generosity and wisdom bring the end of suffering. Foster them." At several points, we remembered that we've gotten through hard times before, that wisdom and experience are valuable tools.

Moving into talk about what we can do, we were ready to begin the long work of resistance. Numerous ideas came up. One is to monitor and follow up on the actions of all of our Colorado representatives and senators in the US Congress, contacting and working with national OLOC, reconnecting with those working (still!) on the ERA (Equal Rights Amendment), and focusing in a number of ways on issues we feel passionate about.

We left the community center that afternoon, still grieving but ready to carry on. For me, I felt much more powerful than I did earlier. We may not walk as fast as we once did or stay up into the wee hours, but our wisdom and experience count for a lot. And we plan to use those.

*The 5 stages of grief listed above were first identified by Elisabeth Kubler-Ross in her 1969 book, On Death and Dying. For more discussion, click here.

The 4th of July: Reframing an afflicted holiday

Like Dylan Thomas' Christmas memories, wrapped in a snowball rolling to the sea, my memories of childhood 4th of July events are a blaze of sparklers, illuminating images of backyard barbecues, barefoot summers, relatives enjoying a day off with a beer and home-cooked food, evenings with fireflies and the echo of far-off fireworks, TV reruns of Yankee Doodle Dandy. The 1950s in Hammond, Indiana.

After that, the magic ended. In later years, the day brought sadness or indifference, and now, sitting here on July 4, 2016, I wonder what to make of Independence Day. Skimming through my Facebook feed, I picture this holiday as a stressed Statue of Liberty trying to move through an excited crowd. People are grabbing at her sleeves, insisting that the day reminds us how much the promise of America has failed, or how it never was that hot to begin with, or how we've failed to honor those who have served, or how we should be proud of the freedoms we have. Polarizing thoughts in a very polarized country. Cautionary notes too: this is, after all, a noisy and stressful day for animals. Some friends, mercifully, simply wish me a happy 4th of July. I hope to join some of them later in a non-ideological viewing of fireworks.

By the mid-1960s, as I entered early adulthood, my image of this celebration of national independence had darkened. The Vietnam War, which I opposed, made any patriotic display distasteful to me. Living in various apartments in Chicago, I had no backyard or interest in barbecue or sparklers. Less time for TV or family visits as well.

By age 30, the day acquired a painful meaning: my father died suddenly on July 4, 1977. En route from Denver to Chicago that day, I didn't know the news until later, watching fireworks for the last time as a young woman with two living parents. That day was also my half-sister's birthday, the day she received such a terrible present. Can any anniversary of a painful event ever escape such an association?

Years passed, I acquired animal companions along the way, and the celebrations of the 4th were a source of anxiety for them. It was usually hot, and I still had no interest in patriotic displays. Some years I enjoyed having a day off work, I'll admit, though not always. It was summer vacation for those working or studying in the school system.

In 1990, I escaped the 4th of July by moving to Japan. Early July is still part of the school year in Japanese universities, and the 4th came and went as I prepared for final exams and the following summer vacation. Japan has only one national holiday in July, "umi no hi" (Sea Day), a day set aside for enjoying vacation time, preferably at a beach. I was usually on my way back to the US by the time it arrived.

Since returning in 2010, I've observed or not observed the holiday in various ways. One year I cooled off while watching rather impressive fireworks off Navy Pier in Chicago. Last year I was at my cabin, venturing out for a couple of hours for Guffey Heritage Day. I enjoyed the library's book and bake sale, but had to pass on the chicken wing cook-off. Guffey used to have a "chicken fly" contest, in which children could see whose chicken could fly the farthest, an event the chickens never seemed to mind. (Only hot dogs were served in those days).... I digress.

If July 4th has to have a meaning, I vote for a national "Interdependence" day, one in which we try to heal the polarization and acknowledge all of the ways we are bound to each other and to the developing world. Acting locally, thinking globally--my favorite ideological phrase these days. We could fly the Earth flag, reminding ourselves where our true allegiance lies. (Image from NASA)

This morning I started the day with music. The GALA chorus convention is in downtown Denver, and thousands of singers with LBGT choruses all over the country have come to sing together. They have a live broadcast stream, which began today at 9 a.m. The Boston Gay Men's Chorus performed beautifully in a program which included a commissioned work celebrating peace and interconnectedness. More concerts will be broadcast daily through July 6, and you can access them free. Click here.

For the rest of the day, I'll let my mental image of the Statue of Liberty free herself from the crowd, letting herself and the beleaguered country she represents have a day off,  just to chill and look up at the sky.

PrideFest 2016: Look who's celebrating

This year I attended Pridefest 2016, my first time to join a US gay pride march in 30 years. It was an exhilarating experience--and a relaxing one, as I rode the Banjo Billy bus with other older friends from Cheesman Park to downtown. More than 2000 took part, on foot, on floats, on stilts, on horseback, in wheelchairs. Lesbian, gay, transgender or not, all moving to music, to shouts or just happy silence. I've followed and celebrated so many changes affecting LBGT communities over the years that I hadn't expected to be surprised. And yet I was, as the feeling was so different from my memories of marching here in the 80s. PrideFest is now Denver's answer to Mardi Gras as well as a celebration of the progress made since 1969 when Stonewall marked the beginning of the gay liberation movement. Do you believe we've seen these changes in our lifetimes? I asked Gayle, who rode on the bus with me. She nodded, knowing just what I meant.

Jump back to the 80s: I can't remember exactly what year I participated or even who I marched with, having unearthed no pictures from that earlier era. Also, I was more left-leaning lesbian-feminist than gay identified in those days, marching for other events: safe streets (Take Back the Night) or an end to US military interference in Central America. As for gay pride, I do remember that we were clearly less festive then, clearly out of the mainstream. In the 1980s, banners called for an end to gay oppression, for unity in the community, for resources to fight the AIDS epidemic. Not that we were without humor. I still remember two men dressed as nuns, posed provocatively on the steps of the Basilica of the Immaculate Conception on Colfax as the rest of us marched past. I refreshed my memory of gay pride events in Denver through an excellent article by Aaron Marcus in Colorado Heritage magazine a few years ago. You can access the pdf here.

Fast forward to 2016. Here I'd like to show the spirit and diversity of Pridefest through these photos, shared by photographer Frank Bull, fellow square dancer in the Rainbeaus.

There were many remembrances of the victims of the mass shooting in Orlando, like the banner carried by these cyclists.

It wasn't until 1997 that New Jersey became the first state to allow same-sex couples to adopt jointly--another landmark change in my lifetime. Colorado allows LBGT individuals and couples to adopt or become foster parents. Marchers affiliated with Denver Foster Care and Adoption turned out on Sunday. Photos of family diversity are on their website.

Founded in 1972, Parents and Friends of Lesbians and Gays (PFLAG) was one of the earliest--if not *the* earliest) support groups for the community. There are seven chapters in Colorado today.

This contingent reminds us all that HIV and other health concerns remain a priority.

What would a parade be without horses? The International Gay Rodeo Association had its representatives at the march. The Rocky Mountain Regional Rodeo is scheduled for July in Denver.

Sen. Michael Bennet, who is up for reelection, was present along with other politicians and candidates. Sen. Bennet is expected to win--and his popularity rose recently after he joined other Democratic senators demanding Congressional action on gun control.

Yes, and what would a parade be without the Imperial Court of the Rocky Mountain Empire? At least I think that's their float here. I don't know much about them, actually, but a check of their website shows they've been around since 1974 and have provided fun and fund-raising for a variety of LBGT organizations. In the 80s, I would have disparaged them perhaps. Now I wish they had been my fashion consultants.

An LGBT Equality Caucus was formed in the US Congress in 2008, and now Colorado has one too. Their mission: to support bills promoting equality.

Hillary supporters joined the parade and so did Bernie's, still not unified, but all agreeing to "trump" hate.

The Colorado Society of School Psychologists were there too, reminding us that they support all students.

Who knew? Denver continues to grow and change and drink kava too. So what is kava, I wondered? A relaxing, social drink, it's said. Find out more here.

I looked for my square dance friends, but couldn't find them! Not surprising. The parade was so long. The Banjo Billy bus was at the front, and my friends danced along near the rear, on a float or on the street. Perhaps next year....

Such a satisfying morning. After Gayle and I hopped off the bus, we watched from a shady patch of pavement on Sherman Street in front of the State Capitol before seeking refuge in air-conditioned Capitol Hill Books. We skipped the security check, the speeches, and the hundreds of vendors in Civic Center Park. The temperature was climbing to 100F that day. Later I saw coverage and photos of this year's iconic symbol, a large black box with messages honoring the lives of the shooting victims in Orlando. And I made my own silent promise to remember in the November elections all candidates who support--or don't support--effective gun control.