I took a bike ride again yesterday. This time I went the other way, not down the hill toward the fancy houses but up the flat road toward the high street. It felt like I hadn't been out in days, weeks, years, had I ever been out?
I rode slowly. It was still quiet, as quiet as it was months ago. My tires were low and it was hard to pedal, which felt right. Everything feels hard. I thought of the tens of thousands of protestors all over the country, out there for hours, hour after hour, day after day. I thought of the struggle of Black people and people of color, and how unbelievably exhausted they must be. I thought of George Floyd and the searing, sickening tragedy of his murder. My legs felt tired, my muscles atrophied and fragile, my bad foot aching and sore. House after house had signs in the window. Black Lives Matter. No Justice No Peace. Say Their Names. Say Their Names. Say Their Names. Sign after sign after sign. Flowers in the gardens, toys scattered in driveways, the smell of mulberries or something like them, sweet and old-fashioned and ripe, in the air. My wheel rubbed against its dented fender, scritch . . . scritch. The tears bubble up so easily these days. There's so little between them and everything, anything else. But there should be the easiest of tears for the evil and cruelty of this senseless, ruthless murder: IT IS WRONG. My heart is breaking for the Floyd family, for the others who have been senselessly murdered, for the pain and suffering of Black people, and for the centuries of systemic racism they have endured. It is all wrong. But . . . so many signs! Thousands and thousands of peaceful protestors in our parks and on our streets! Young people and old people, people of every race and gender, families and children, marching, listening, speaking, begging to be recognized, begging for justice in our country. I have hope. I pray that these days will result in real change. I pray that their voices are heard. Add mine to them.
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Andy Paulson had a birthday last week and he turned 49. Amelia and I made him an Earl Grey cake with honey-buttercream frosting and gave him a Polaroid camera, a frozen hot-dog kit from Portillo's, and several (frozen) Lou Malnotti's pizzas. We watched the SpaceX launch live while talking on walkie-talkies with our neighbors and eating Bomb Pops together. The weather was hot for five minutes and I immediately ordered a gigantic blow-up pool and a side table for my drink and my book (Remain Silent by Susie Steiner, my favorite mystery writer, and the book just came out yesterday). About three weeks ago I suddenly developed some kind of nervous rumble in my torso that never goes away and feels like I'm perpetually about to bungee jump off the side of a cliff. I finished my Things of Summer cross-stitch design and sent the pattern to the printer but I don't remember proofing it and am not sure it would've helped anyway, so let's just keep our fingers crossed on that. I should probably add an errata page to my web site. I made a quilt for my sister's birthday and don't much remember doing that, either. We took sandwiches to the woods and sat under the trees but there were so many people and so many baby mosquitoes that we didn't stay long. Amelia writes in her (school-assigned) journal: "Yesterday I had to take a bath, but I didn't want to. So I did best & soon I'm done." Next day: "Yesterday I had to write in this journal but I did not want to. But I did best & soon I was done." Lord help me. I want to go get a burger and fries at the brew pub more than I can say. I watched Virgin River and New Girl on Netflix and countless episodes of Gardener's World and Escape to the Country. The seeds Amelia and I planted at Mother's Day are coming up. I would give anything for this rumble to be gone from me. . . .
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I hope you are all well and healthy. My neighborhood sent out this list of resources and ways that we can actively work against racism. Parts of it are specific to Portland but it has a lot of other good information. I am listening, and I pledge to continue listening. As we head into summer I am looking forward to parts of the country re-opening and I hope that it goes well. I doubt that things will change too much for our family in regard to reopening, quite frankly, even when Multnomah County does ever start to re-open. I am mostly looking forward to having the playgrounds open for Amelia. I think that has been the very hardest thing for her: no friends and no playgrounds. It's hard to be an only child right now. I promised her we would make New York Cherry ice cream today. I would, if I could, give a scoop and a hand and a hug to all of you.
