I recently recounted the saga of the untimely crumping of our stove in March during a time when neither repair people nor appliance installers would set foot into your home because of the coronavirus.
February 2020 almost seems like a lifetime ago.
I have to confess that I wasn’t initially all that worried about the coronavirus.
Our dog, Lily, is definitely an emotional-support animal, even if she doesn’t have a diploma.
In the last year or so, I’ve been able to reconnect on a more positive basis with my first husband, “Fred,” from whom I’ve been divorced since 1983. He’s been ailing and I’m probably the only one around who remembers his parents, his family home in New Jersey, and certainly his medical school years at Albert Einstein in the Bronx. Pleasantville, New York, where I grew up, was exactly 22.8 miles from Albert Einstein, but the Bronx might as well have been in another galaxy.