This week I planned to give you a nice post about a Saturday morning in downtown KC. I did a thorough job of taking pictures and making mental notes. Light travel with a personal vibe. It’s what I do.
To be honest, I’m a bit sad today, my friend’s Facebook post read. 85 people died in France, and all I see on Facebook are regular posts or hateful political comments.
We ate fluffy egg sandwiches at Mildred’s in the Crossroads. My husband has been raving about them for months, and he’s right. They’re amazing. So glad we have this memory before the girls leave this fall.
I can’t bring myself to turn on the TV because I am filled with grief, she concluded. Are we just becoming immune to the hate and hurt?
After breakfast we rode the streetcar to City Market. We weren’t the only people with that idea. There was standing room only in both directions.
An African-American couple with matching “My son is a Marine” t-shirts sat across from us on the streetcar. They looked like nice people. I’ll bet their son is brave and smart and ambitious. We avoided each other’s eyes.
City Market fills all the senses: The scent of fried food from the restaurants, the brush of bodies in the crowd. Sidewalk musicians who can really swing.
Another Facebook friend, a police officer’s wife, posted: I was just watching Fox News with my hubby lying next to me as the cameraman pans across 3 officers lying motionless on the ground. Wasn’t ready to see that.
The flower bouquets at City Market are a marvelous sight. The sight of my daughter’s face framed by zinnias and gladiolus will warm me this winter while she’s away.
“Gotta go,” my husband, a federal investigator, said Sunday afternoon. “The Baton Rouge gunman was from Kansas City.” My heart sank. His Sunday rest, and our Sabbath peace, were over.
Our Saturday morning adventure took about two hours. We arrived home with a few souvenirs: Flowers, tomatoes, a bag of naan. A string of digital photos.
Another memory of this precious summer.
This nightmare of a summer.
This beautiful family, about to be separated.
This beautiful nation, divided by hate and fear.
I am heartbroken.