simple things - grace grits and gardening

Sunday Letter: 08.14.22

August 14, 2022 By Talya Tate Boerner

Dear Sunday Letter friends,

Woohoo! Tomorrow I will be two week post-op. My body is still recovering from surgery, although I have to say, so far this has been way less of an ordeal than the wrist surgery I had a few years ago. Other than the first couple of days/nights when I felt nauseous and uncomfortable, I’ve had very little pain. I get tired, especially in the afternoons, but for the most part, I have to remind myself to take it easy, that I’m still healing.

I believe all the get well wishes you sent my way really helped. Thank you.

Sunday Letter: 07.17.22

July 17, 2022 By Talya Tate Boerner

Dear Sunday Letter friends,

Yep. We survived another steamy hot week. And, since my last letter, I celebrated a milestone birthday—the Big 6-0. Sounds serious, doesn’t it? Like it’s time to get on with things; the sands in the hour glass are slipping through at an alarming rate. Well, to tell you the truth, I look forward to birthdays and see them as a positive, a time for celebrating another successful trip around the sun while reflecting on memories and anticipating new things ahead. Sort of like New Year’s Day, but in my case, with way hotter weather and bucketloads of sunscreen.

😎😎😎

Sunday Letter: 05.29.22

May 29, 2022 By Talya Tate Boerner

Dear Sunday Letter friends,

What a sad week we’ve had. The latest school shooting in Uvalde, Texas—number 27 this year 😦—has been extra-heartbreaking to me. Hopeless. Helpless. That’s how the situation seems to me. Like we are living in a Shirley Jackson short story, waiting every day to see which unsuspecting school in which American town will draw the black spot and be number 28.

I see those sweet baby faces every time I close my eyes.

I’ve tried to stay off social media. Some of the comments in my feed annoy me to my core.

Really, I should win a free taco or something for keeping my mouth shut on Facebook.

For the love of all things holy, I don’t understand why everyone with a heartbeat isn’t willing to come together to work on a solution.

Maybe two tacos. And queso.