Trump’s Assault on Beauty Stops Now
How Mary Trump’s book, a song, and a walk is giving me hope
The heat near Chicago broke today. Embracing the change, I grabbed my phone and ear buds, and headed out on a long walk. Hitting play on my Spotify app, a song popped up on my playlist that I didn’t recognize: “This Will Be Our Year,” by the the 1960s English band The Zombies. It’s a sweet song about love and hope.
I took it as a sign.
As I listened to the simple words, I felt spontaneous joy. A joy that followed me down familiar streets, past people and places that I saw clearly for the first time in a long time. At the first intersection I crossed, two little boys with hay-colored hair sat in the grass and waved to every person and car that passed. On a sunlit front porch, a disabled veteran sat in a folding chair, tinkering with something mechanical. Walking further, I came across a mother and daughter, both wearing long dresses, huddled by a playhouse. A handmade sign near the little home’s gable read, “Stay Awhile.” I almost did.
Heading home, I drew in the scent of flower-laden gardens and freshly mowed grass. A smiling jogger passed and tipped his hat at me. The sight of a sanitation worker kneeling on the ground, his head halfway down a manhole, made me laugh. At every turn, the lyrics from the Zombie’s song made more startling sense to me:
