We’ve all become couch potatoes and social media addicts. What’s a few ways we can break our patterns?
Parenting friends confess to locking themselves in closets, moving up the cocktail hour, being comatose during Zoom meetings or forgetting them completely. One pleaded with her boss for time off, another’s kid kept hitting his arm with a keyboard while he was on a job interview. A lot of them admitted that they’ve let out a primal scream at some point in their day.
I grew up on Philadelphia’s finest junk food and I intend to eat them all.
As expected, your naked face is greeted with stares. A popular response is to make a sharp swerve into oncoming traffic to avoid you.
Me texting my sister: “So the evening news is freaking me out. I’m staying here… I hate this. I really want to get out of Brooklyn.”
Sue: “You will be fine. I promise.”
Faith in my big sister: “I’ll come down to your house.”
A little less than a month ago, I wrote a post about how history has a pesky tendency to provide a key to what the present and future may look like. 1918 is proving to be quite insistent.
A well-timed post from my most rational colleague provided great tips to staying sane.
I inherited a bunch of community cookbooks from Mom and bought a couple more in thrift stores. The recipes in them are anchored in the character of the region where they were collected, the products of local PTAs, church groups and ethnic societies. They’re also a fine guide to food fads.
Maybe it’s that we’ve learned how to accept life now. Maybe, in some manner, we’re figuring out how to patch together a shade of what was once our daily routines. Or maybe it’s this, from the philosopher Jeff Goldblum. Whatever has happened, small moments of grace have surfaced–some of wonder and others of blessed normalcy.
Spring is here and it’s time to rejuvenate our bodies and spirits in the form of historical tonic recipes.