God, Country and

Possibly, today’s social isolation is the cause of the reemergence of ever so many of my yesterdays. I must admit to finding the experience quite thought provoking.

My parents never discarded anything. Recycle wasn’t a word in their vocabulary, but a chore done instinctively.

Dining out was for an occasion, not a daily, weekly or even monthly event.

I had lovely shoes, but one pair. I wore a warm winter coat, but only owned one.. When I outgrew mine, it went to Ellen, my younger sister. Neither she nor I were deprived and both of us always felt well dressed.

Potato chips and/or similar snacks wrapped in colorful plastic bags were unheard of, not only in my home, but also invisible on grocery shelves. Dessert was a lone piece of fruit or from a box of jello that fed the entire family.

I have absolutely no memory of hunger nor of food deliveries.

Few neighbors, friends or acquaintances were obese because most Americans were by necessity, active. Few, if any, of adult population had gym memberships. Climbing tenement stairs daily eliminated the problem of varicose veins for most of the female population in Hells Kitchen.. Sometimes, however, genetics caused weight issues and so it was for me.

Yesterday while obsessively watching updated Coronavirus guidelines on TV, abruptly I remembered the hot August day when I first learned an exercise regime.

The afternoon Mom accompanied me to my first spa experience, I was 13. That was also, the final summer before I entered high school. During the torrid, hot and humid weeks before Freshman classes began, I was tutored in a simplistic program of stretching movements akin to ballet training. It soon became a daily practice, while maintained, that worked marvelously for years. Then suddenly I was far too busy watching TV. Certainly there is no need for me to relate the consequences.

I think I will attempt to begin the regime slowly again .Certainly social isolation provides ample time.

My “to do” list has hit a roadblock. To be totally honest, it is virtually dormant. Too many other vital things (napping, eating, daydreaming, streaming) took precedence. The daily pattern of reminders certainly hasn’t shortened nor disappeared.. I believe it’s still intact in documents on my Ipad. When I investigate, I know it can be revived, and indeed there is much to be done.

Despite all the good intentions, my walk-in closet has not yet been organized. Nor has the lavender delivered from Amazon last week been unpacked. Undeniably, there is now abundant time to initiate this long delayed agenda.

One frigid winter Friday, my youngest son and I were snowbound and alone . He was 15 and suggested, “Mom, let’s make bagels.” That dreary day quickly changed from boredom into being a fun adventure. We both forgot our isolation the moment we proceeded doing something radically different.

Today I won’t make bagels, but perhaps attempt a German Butter coffeecake that requires yeast. Last month I feared it would be time consuming and require too much effort. The treasured fragrant kuchen was served with marvelous dark coffee the first evening I visited my potential in-laws. The recipe was given to me many years later.

As haunting memories of blessings keep floating back, including a few I believed virtually lost, I understand the strongest one is gratitude. Not only for all I once had, but those I still enjoy and others, I pray, truly may yet to be.

Because I do believe America will, “Keep the Faith,” In God, Country and Each Other.

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