Spon: www.cailorfleming.com/ https://chickfilasouthernpark.com/ https://hbkswealth.com/staff/anthony-j-scrocco/ Ps 119: A lamp to my feet is your word, a light to my path.
I really don’t remember a lot about what I was doing on June 15, 2019.
I know it was only 12 months ago, but at this point, it might as well have been 12 decades ago, am I right? I am wracking my brain trying to remember what a typical day was like last June.
As I recall, it was a rather hot month ... which is my favorite kind.
It was also a crazy time, methinks. If memory serves properly, people were acting in mad fashion.
It was wild everywhere I went. I’d see them frolicking openly on beaches, at swim clubs, and in parks (and in groups, no less!). They were haphazardly hugging at will, going to the market sans scuba masks, and generally passing by one another in malls, on sidewalks, and even along hike/bike pathways.
A mere 12 months ago, most humans were clumsily conducting themselves. They were going to movies...like in theaters...even when other homosapiens were already gathered therein. They didn’t seem to mind the random people seated inside, you know, all hanging around leisurely in couples or by triplet or more, calmly breathing in and out, sharing buckets of popcorn, literally rubbing elbows and what not.
What about those mad cappers sitting within inches of each other in casinos; or the zealots out there dancing and hopping together in unison in concert halls --or the kooks occasionally brushing up against one another in food courts, cafeterias and the like?
The most daring of them were Uber-ing regularly—some to crowded restaurants or bars, oh my! There were young bloods indefensibly bunking in bunches at dorms; and older people who should’ve known better who checked into over-booked hotels on vacations.
People were pretty much just publicly prancing about; it was cavorting chaos, basically.
Oh, wait - hmm; no, no – that’s backward, isn’t it? It’s today that’s all scary and sad and seriously strange.
Isn’t it bizarre how, when we catch glimpses of people in movies or on TV shows that were recorded pre-pandemic --and they’re doing the things we once considered commonplace– we find ourselves wanting to call the U.S. Surgeon General on them?
“Girl, stop consoling your heartbroken, just-dumped gal pal with your arms! FaceTime her your feels like a normal person; why don’t you just walk a high-wire without a net? What are you some kind of adrenalin junkie?!”
Man, where’s Doc Brown’s ding dang DeLorean time machine when you really need it?
If I COULD go back to 6.15.19, here’s what I’d tell my year-younger self:
1. Hug your family and friends for hours on end. Every day. Until the day after New Year’s. Then, maybe start fist-bumping.
2. Buy the extra super-duper jumbo humongous big-time XXXXXL rolls of toilet paper...by the pallet...for about a month.
3. Stock up on Lysol wipes. And Purell. And canned chicken…and tuna…and beans…and soups. Get a bunch of packets of dry yeast and about 87 crates of dry pasta. Eh, get some more TP while you’re at it. Oh, and do it all at your locally-owned supermarket.
4. Buy stock in Amazon. Oh, I have it? BUY MORE.
5. Skip the chain restaurants. Period. Patronize only local eateries, wineries, and sandwich/ice cream shops for now.
6. Go to the gym. Every day. Twice. And don’t renew your membership just yet.
Here’s hoping 6.15.21 looks a heckuva a lot more like 6.15.19 than today, Capisce?
Kimerer is a columnist and blogger who just wants to smile at people freely again. Send her electronic grins at www.patriciakimerer.com