This Too Shall Pass....

I was a law clerk for Judge L. Leonard Ruben in the Montgomery County Circuit Court when I first came across the expression, "This Too Shall Pass". The quote was framed and hung in the Judge's chambers, purposely situated on the wall just before the door that led to the courtroom. It stood alone so as to deny any conflicting focal point. It was the first and last thing you saw before the start of court, as if to say, "no matter what, we have tomorrow." Those four simple words, its origins dating back to King Solomon, and more recently, to Abraham Lincoln during his inaugural address, were just enough to remind me that nothing is permanent. And somewhat subconsciously, it became my mantra. I found myself reciting this expression with frequency to my kids whenever they would complain about their current situations, whether it be a teacher at school who, according to them, grades assignments unfairly or having to suffer through their baseball team's losing season or even being afflicted with COVID. It offered a more gentler approach than just saying, "deal with it," to which they eventually presumed it to mean. But it also proved to be a constant reminder, albeit, sometimes to them a petulant reminder, that life is momentary, and that we live in a world that is constantly transitioning. What once seemed inescapable would become trivial or certainly less caustic. Inevitably, though, they would respond with, "What? How does that help me now? He'll still be my teacher tomorrow, and we will still suck at baseball." I got nothing in response other than, "deal with it." "This too shall pass" helps me get to tomorrow as it did during the horrific destruction of the twin towers and the aftermath of 911. And again through the terrifying days surrounding the sniper attacks in our community and through the emergence and scare of the AIDS crisis around the world. Those same words helped me comfort my children when they've experienced a devastating setback. And again when I suffered overwhelming pain of losing a brother and of losing a best friend. Unquestionably, though, during those moments, tomorrow can be a long way off. So, if it's Monday, I will work-out, play bridge and pay bills. Tuesdays are my set-aside days for appointments and to write. Wednesdays are for golf. Thursdays are another work-out day and bridge class, and if it's Friday, it's tennis. The weekends are reserved for Shabbat dinner with friends, Saturdays for date nights and Sundays for family days around the pool. That's how I get to tomorrow. I will lose myself in routine. But due to the last eighteen months and the still uncertainty of the months ahead, my routine is now with purpose. It's not just making dinner. It's preparing a meal. It's setting a table with placemats, folded napkins, and a bottle or two of wine. It's a bouquet of sunflowers adorning the room. It's about having a conversation without the interruption of cell phones or the television. It's about sharing our day or at least the best part of it. And it's about focusing on each other as if nothing else matters. And it's not just another Sunday. It's the celebration of Sunday. It's the raucous sounds of the kids in the pool and the shared laughter of family stories that seem to never get old, just retold. It's actively engaging with each other and watching grandparents and great grandparents revel in their offspring. It's about encouraging conversation amongst the ages and savoring the cumulative interactions. It's watching my twenty-one year old son giving advice to his 15-year old cousin about the appropriateness of his younger cousin's tweets. It's about my 61-year old self dangling from my 87-year old mom's legs while she sits poolside with me in the shallow end, reminiscent of my childhood days at our community pool. It's making sure to have on hand Diet Dr. Pepper that only my Uncle prefers, and a variety of food choices to accommodate a plethora of personal health restrictions, be it gluten free, low carbs, vegetarian or carnivorous options. It's about having food for the masses in case they stay for dinner. It's about hoping they stay for dinner. It's about making the best during difficult times but appreciating the routine during normal times. If there's one thing that this past year and a half has taught me is that we fail to enjoy the ordinary and take for granted what's right in front of us. My walks with Baxter are no longer just for a potty purpose. It's a meet and greet. Where I used to put my headphones on and pretend to be on the phone so as to evade a neighbor's attempt to elicit conversation or engage our dogs, I am now that "shunned" neighbor. Where I used to peruse Facebook only on my birthday to see who remembered, I now take time to comment on other's timelines without thinking it's a waste of time. When I do a grocery run it's not just with a list but with the intent to find something new to try, whether it be a spice or an entree. Just last week I bought an eggplant and admittedly made a less than stellar parmigiana. This week will be all about improving that parmigiana. But, no harm as Baxter had a new spring to his step. And when I do a workout, it's with a challenge and not just for a 'check-off'. It might just be an extra set of sit-ups or an additional weight for my arm work-out or an added five minutes to my treadmill routine. It used to be that I always needed to be looking forward to something, whether it be in a month, six months or a year ahead, hastening the days to get there without ever embracing the day-to-day rituals of just living. COVID and its strict protocols unintentionally forced me to welcome the ordinary. It's all about consciously choosing to be "all in" the day in order to resist giving in to the moment. Should all that fail, I'll put on my earpods and get engrossed in a good book because, as we all very well know, this too shall pass.