My name is....
I picked up two more bags of donations in Nashville plus a donation of $230 for fuel to get to North Dakota! How wonderful and what a relief, as I struggle to put the funds together to make this trip.
There are too many 'rump yard signs in the outskirts of Nashville but I'm not surprised: the neighborhoods are loaded with huge houses and even huger yards carved out of the hills and forests that blanket this beautiful part of Tennessee.
But as I head into Kentucky, Hillary signs are most prominent and the positive responses to my truck are about 10 to one negative.
I'm forced to take about a 10 mile detour off the freeway due to road work and an accident, through the back roads of Kentucky where it is also mountainous and beautiful but the homes are small even though they sit on large plots of land. I see only Clinton signs, not one 'rump!
The only conversation I have as I'm rushing to make it to Illinois is with an older Black womon who thanks me for my work and gazes over my shoulder as she ponders where she will move to - escape to - if that unfit man gets elected.
Today, after spending the wee hours of the night into the early morning at a rest stop, I have prolonged conversations with several people: one short bald white man who admires the mural, doesn't speak spanish, and makes no comment when I translate the message for him before he waves goodbye; a tall older Black womon who is taking pictures of the back of my truck as I express my still fresh wonderment that I am quoting USA Today before she reenters her rental car with Texas plates; and lastly a large white womon teacher with salt & pepper frizzy hair who tells me about a white fourth grade boy she confronted on the playground who was shouting "I hate all Mexicans" at a 9th grade brown girl. When she asks him his name, he retorts "my name is donald trump"