The Yesterdays

You are absolutely right!

I do tend to romanticize not only my yesterdays, but the days of yesteryear.

That reality hit me with a thud the other evening when I chose to revisit my beloved NYC in what I recall as its Days of Glory.

So comfortably ensconced on my comfortable white couch, I turned the remote and began to view “THE NAKED CITY.”

Within seconds, not even minutes, I returned to the home of my youth, and it was indeed a well deserved revelation,

I watched the vivid film images of riders being manually pushed into dingy gloomy subway cars for their rides to and from midtown offices and midtown schools. A grim reality decades ago.

And recalled in horror that yes, I, too, was once in that crowd. I had opted to forget being not gently ushered into the narrow black tube that once brought most New Yorkers in those long gone days to a place of business as well as city schools. It was not a welcome memory.

Theh as I often recalled my brief career with the famed cosmetic icon on Fifth Avenue as one of glamour, I neglected to remember the exodus from other offices at 5 o’clock. As the film recorded the daily surge of humanity trying to head home, I realized how accurate the description in the film was. And I started to remember rushing so I would not be late for my evening college class and being part of the frenzied mob of other commuters.

And that was when I became aware that I choose to edit the yesterdays in my life with the precision of a scalpel. The revelation made me admit the truth.

Beauty is in the eyes of the beholder, and my strongest memories remain intact due to bonds of love and kindness and happiness.

And perhaps everything that I place into that category does not deserve to do so and is best forgotten, especially vintage subway years.