By Katharine Harer
My flight out of SFO was delayed and I nearly missed my
connecting flight. But this time it wasn’t just me running from
one end of an airport to the other. It was a posse of determined
women — many in pink hats with ears — a teenager, a college
student, a few of us in that indeterminate age between 40 and 70,
including two grandmothers. I ran ahead to make sure they’d hold
the flight with one of the grandmothers right behind me. When we
got to D.C., the city was teeming with marchers. You didn’t need
to see a pink hat with ears to know who we were.