To: The Backwards Santa

Just one more full month minus one day of you and yours and then we’re truly in the homestretch to Inauguration Day. I’m guessing, though, that if March 2020 felt like a year, December 2020 is going to feel like at least three years. It’s a buckle up and hunker down sort of time. The WP’s piece on how to reach out to loved one’s you’re concerned about will probably be getting lots of clicks this month. Just so you don’t need to go searching for it if Melania’s feeling despondent over having to do Christmas again this year, here’s the link: https://www.washingtonpost.com/lifestyle/wellness/mental-health-suicide-help-covid/2020/11/30/af45a7a6-2e88-11eb-96c2-aac3f162215d_story.html.

I’m not going to ask whether you’ve noticed the excess, all-in on outside X-mas decorating this year because I know you aren’t doing anything remotely like “keeping your finger on the pulse of America.” That reality established, I’ll go ahead and inform you that outside holiday lights and inflatables are full on this year. If manufacturers anticipated that the combination of tons of downtime and desperate desires to stave off depression on the part of millions would lead to holiday decorating on steroids, they’re going to be happy campers. My guess, though, is that it’s mostly manufacturers overseas who looked across the water and said to themselves – “Self, those Americans love their consumer-oriented holidays and they’re in a world of hurt over their messed-up COVID response, so Self, better make sure and have shit-tons of easily tangled strings of lights and easily punctured ginormous blow-ups for the poor souls to buy – from me.”

Right? Somebody, or really, lots of somebodies are falling asleep every night to visions of sugarplums dancing on cash register keys.

What got me going on this rant 23 full days ahead of X-mas was walking by THE MOST pathetic thing I’ve seen in a long, long time, which was a triple-life-sized Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer inflatable lying on its side, completely deflated in the semi-wee hours of the morning. It totally makes sense that RNR’s owners turn off the air machine at night to save on electricity and to cut the incessant noise it makes, but I’ll tell you what, the sight of Rudolph lying crumpled on the ground was a bit much to take. Several houses down there was an even bigger, non-Rudolph “reindeer” crumped in its tracks too, but it didn’t strike nearly the nerve that RNR did. It could have been that I was desensitized by that point, but I kind of think it was more seeing that little red nose flattened out in the grass that did it.

Sigh. The unforeseen consequences of over-the-top consumerism – random middle-aged lady getting all verklempt walking by a favorite childhood character laid out on the lawn.

Let’s move on to what sounds like quite the Santa role for you. There’s sure a lot of chatter and speculation about your upcoming pardon spree where you’re expected to give passes to the naughty people who’ve been nice to you (or who promise to put very nice presents under your tree if you do them just this one favor). There’s even Sir Hannity (I like “Sir Insanity” better) encouraging you to do you and your family in a pre-emptory, pre-indictment, pre-conviction sort of pardon (for what, pray tell?) extravaganza. Total bat shit crazy, but hey, go for it. Let’s see what happens with this ultimate CYA sort of move.

I know I’ve been silly and sarcastic tonight, but I will close by saying I just heard that your administration finally handed over telephone numbers and addresses of parents whose children were taken from them at the border two and three years ago, information you all claimed didn’t exist. Hopefully all of those children will be reunited with their parents very soon (in time for Christmas?), but if there was such a thing as hell, you would burn in it forever.

May we be safe from cruelty.
May we be willing to address the loopholes and oversights that a corrupt POTUS will exploit.
May we step up and take care of one another’s mental and physical health.
May we not accept that it’s going to be a very long 49 days.

Sincerely,
Tracy Simpson