Remembering the Ordinary

Last week, my spouse and I were idly talking when we found ourselves wondering when "the last time...." was.  The March trip we cancelled, the last time we went to a party, the last time we shopped in a grocery with full shelves, the last time we did so many once-ordinary things.

I took out my phone.  I like taking pictures, and those pictures, of course, are tagged with dates, times, and locations.

The memories came back, of the days before the mid-March shutdown.

Other memories followed - the last ordinary memories we would have for who knows how long.

A grand opening party of a downtown jewelry store.   Some food and a glass of wine was offered as we walked in.  I took a couple of pictures of the interior of the historic building it was in, and the date of the party was captured.

A sunrise over downtown Binghamton, New York, as I walked  to my office.

An ordinary lunch period, spent in the Broome County library garden.

A magnolia tree, its fuzzy buds awaiting the signal to open.

Crocuses blooming.

And then things, as the expression goes, took a sudden turn to the south. 

Signs everywhere, warning us to wash our hands.

There was the day we went to the supermarket for some bagels.  We walked into the store not expecting what we saw - people leaving with carts full of toilet paper and paper towels.   A store full of empty shelves stripped of paper goods, milk, and even frozen food greeted us.  I took pictures.

A cafeteria downtown posted signs announcing seating was closed, and only "grab and go" permitted.

Finally, the photos of the back of my work computer, the photos our IT department asked me to take as they unhooked me so I could go home with my equipment.  In that way I would know how to hook myself back up at home.  I was expecting it but not so soon.

The date and time stamp for that said Thursday, March 19, 2020 at 9:36 a.m.  I barely had time to say goodbye.  I've only seen a handful of them since that day.  The people I used to interact with five days a week are disembodied voices and emails now.

I've been to downtown Binghamton perhaps five times since that day.  It used to be five days a week.

Ordinary memories are on my phone.  Ordinary memories from another world.

Some people ask why I have so many photos on my phone (over 11,000, currently.)

My phone acts as a memory of sorts.  But I never thought that the ordinary things my phone recorded would be so precious to me.

Our memories are precious.  Right now, we have two options:  living in the past and remembering the ordinary.  Or living in the present, as painful as it is, and moving forward each day towards better times.

I will move forward.

But today, I remember.