Dear President Trump,

A less than 2 minute scan over the WP headlines tonight suggests there are any number of heavy, hard, actually shitty, things that I could choose to write to you about – the heaviest, hardest, and shittiest of which is the headline “’For black folks, it’s like a set-up: Are you trying to kill us?’” about Georgia’s governor’s decision to relax physical distancing restrictions and to open certain types of businesses. It’s a totally fair question, which totally sucks.

And still, tonight, I’m just going to send a postcard of sorts with a couple of snippets from the day because it’s late, my feet hurt, and I’m tired. Really tired.

The first snippet is that a friend of ours down the block who has turned her backyard into a flower farm texted to say that she had a big bunch of flowers for us at the bottom of her stairs. She had plans to launch a flower business this year, but that had to be put on hold for obvious reasons and so the neighborhood is benefiting tremendously. We now have a bunch of the frilliest pink and white parrot tulips I’ve ever seen on the dining room table and a big bouquet of multi-colored anemones in the kitchen.

The second snippet is that Laura and I had just gotten back in the house after doing some yard work in the back yard (actually, Laura also did a bunch of work in the front yard – she was incredibly industrious today; me, not so much) when we heard very loud marching band music. My first thought was that the high school marching band must be practicing, which of course was absurd for obvious reasons. Fortunately it quickly became clear that the music was blaring forth from two huge speakers rigged up in the back of an old pick-up truck. The speakers were adorned with lights and the back of the pick-up was adorned with streamers, a large American flag, and was peopled by young woman in sequins (I think) dancing in place holding a sign that said “Stay at Home / Stay Healthy!” Across the tailgate of the truck was a very homemade banner that read:

“Seattle Quarun
Tine Parade”

It was pretty hilarious even if it took us a minute to realize that the billowing black smoke wasn’t coming from a smoke machine for effect, but rather from the truck’s exhaust system. And in a flash, they were gone. It was sort of a pinch oneself – “was that for real?” – sort of deal. I’m glad we both saw it or I really might have decided the monotony was just getting to me and I’d made it up.

So those are my Sunday snippets. Other stuff happened today, but I figure it’s good to just run the highlight reel sometimes.

May we be safe to smell the flowers.
May we be willing to be roused out of our torpor by the unexpected.
May we maintain (or cultivate) a healthy sense of humor.
May we accept kind gestures and may we pay them forward.

Sincerely,
Tracy Simpson