I could get weepy over the United States Postal Service. Weepily grateful.
On Tuesday, May 26, I walked my passport application over to my local post office.
On Wednesday, June 3, my mailbox contained a priority express envelope, within which was my new passport.
My Reality has been wrested by the United States Postal Service, established in 1775, out of the shambles loosely called “the Trump administration,” and laid gently at my metaphorical doorstep.
Despite the godawful mess created by and around this White House, on July 4 I will celebrate the parts of and people in our federal government who continue to function at a defiantly high level. I invite you to do the same.