The warmer weather, and my dog India’s insistence on more outdoor time, has meant longer walks.

The snow has mostly melted and what was a series of nervous steps around icy patches of sidewalk has morphed into a more enjoyable experience. We’ve been traveling a little farther on our three-a-day forays. I’m seeing some front yards and yard signs that I haven’t seen since last November.

The pandemic has reduced the number of casual encounters I have with my neighbors. I’ve been grateful that the toilet habits of my dog has forced me to go outside.

Even though exchanges tend to be limited to exhaling a muffled “good morning” from behind a mask, this neighborhood ritual, where dogs take their owners on walks, has brought a comforting sort of normalcy to my daily routine. I think my neighbors would agree.

Besides following my fur baby, a roll of colorful plastic poop bag bulging out of my coat pockets, I love to take in the signage along my route. I’ll see signs congratulating graduates of local schools, deprived of the normal hoopla that should mark the milestone.

I’ll smile at “Hate has no home here” signs.

In the absence of much conversation, these signs remind me that this neighborhood is where I want to live. I can see that I share values with others in my zip code.

My favorite sign reads  “Las vidas negras importan.”

This week, as jury selection has been going on for the trial of the policeman involved in George Floyd’s death, as President Biden’s national address actually mentioned the increase in hate crimes against Asian Americans, the idea that any ethnic group, in their own language, would show their support for another group’s dignity and struggles echoes deeply inside of me.

There will always be differences between individuals and between special interest blocks. In hard times, people will often cling to a sort of tribal identity and can easily lose sight of broader commonalities.

But the past few months have been especially assaulting on my sense of fairness, how much I value empathy and compassion.

I’ve been outraged by the refusal of many to wear masks at social gatherings or in public places. I don’t get why someone would refuse a safe and free vaccine. If not for you, it could save someone else’s life.

I recently saw photographs of a eighty year-old Chinese grandmother, her face discolored and swollen. She was beaten by young men who listened to a politician not interested in solutions, only in scapegoating and blaming.

I’ve seen people try to justify unconscionable acts of violence under the guise of patriotism. I’m not sure how to engage them in discussion on possible flaws in their thinking.

Government sets public health standards, including mask mandates. They don’t impose rules to take away someone’s rights.Their guides are reminders that someone’s right to free expression is not more  important than someone else’s right to live.

George Floyd is everyone’s brother, is everyone’s uncle. The bruised Chinese NaiNai whose photograph has been circulating online is everyone’s — is my grandmother.

Seeing that I live in a neighborhood that acknowledges that all lives matter is no small thing,