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By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

I would like to cancel some things from my past and my own life. Here are some things I’d put on my cancel list:

Self doubt: Movies (remember when we used to go out to movies, pay way too much money for popcorn, candy and enjoy previews for upcoming films that looked better than the one we were about to watch?) often encourage us to overcome self doubt. What if we never had those doubts in the first place? We might become arrogant and insufferable, but we also might truly become our own versions of “The Little Engine that Could.” Wait, that hasn’t been canceled, has it? Well, if it has, I’m going to ignore the latest cultural eraser.

Self stuffing: When self doubt crept into our minds, how often did we reach for the kind of comfort food that just didn’t do us any favors? Sure, those cupcakes, cookies and sugar cereal might have tasted good in the moment, but was the momentary satisfaction really worth it? Did the eight vitamins and four minerals do us any good? Let’s cancel that urge and impulse, making it impossible to continue unfortunate patterns.

Self loathing: I admit that the self loathing that has crept in at times in my life has helped me get off the couch and do some sit-ups and push-ups, has driven me to be more productive and has put me on more of the “right track,” to borrow from that Little Engine. Still, maybe all that energy would have been more effective if I used it earlier.

The 2004 Red Sox: Yeah, I know you can’t cancel a team or sports history, but that would be one of the first teams I’d erase from my memory. The Yankees were winning 3-0 in the series and no team had ever come back from such a deficit, plus we had the curse of the Bambino. None of that mattered, as the Sawx not only took the next four games, but then went on to win the World Series. Blech! Now I know how all those New Englanders felt about Bucky Dent, which probably stings a lot less. Bucky Dent is like trying to tease your younger brother with something that makes him smile even more broadly than you do.

Mirrors: We should cancel mirrors. After all, they keep showing how much older and more exhausted we’re getting. Sometimes, like when we conquer the self stuffing and the self doubt, we see the version of ourselves we’d like to be. Other times, though, the mirror tells us, albeit in a backwards way, that we aren’t who we’d like to be and that we need to climb back onto that train car to get to our desired destination.

Report cards: Students, parents and teachers can’t win. If a teacher gives everyone A’s, the teacher will be popular, but the students probably wouldn’t learn as much as they could or should. The teacher who has more of a bell-shaped distribution of grades may reflect the reality of the class as a whole, but he or she may put someone who belongs on the right side of the curve on the left and vice versa. Let’s cancel report cards and let the students prove what they know in some other way. The great thing about this version of cancel culture is that it doesn’t require me to replace it with something that works. 

Bad parenting: We’ve had moments when we have the right intention, but the wrong result. Let’s cancel those unfortunate parenting errors. If kids can get a do-over on the playground, we should get to cancel one or two of our mistakes.

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Stock photo

By Leah S. Dunaief

Leah Dunaief

The second time around, of course, I knew the routine: where to drive, what paperwork to fill out, how quickly the shot would be administered into my designated vaccine arm, my left, then how I would have to wait in case of an immediate reaction. After the allotted 15 minutes, there being none, I left and drove myself home, picking up a sandwich for supper at the deli along the way.

Shortly after I finished eating and got up from the table, however, I started to feel a bit lightheaded. By the time I had cleaned everything up, I was decidedly dizzy. I climbed the stairs to the bedroom, got into pajamas and, book in hand, tucked myself safely into bed. After a couple of hours, when my inoculation site began to hurt, I took two Tylenol and ultimately fell asleep.

The next morning, Sunday, the dizziness had stopped and I was wolfishly hungry. Thinking that was a good sign, I hurried out of bed only to realize that my left upper arm seriously ached, and upon inspection, was red, hot and swollen. It remained that way throughout the day and the next, until it finally dawned on me to apply ice to the area. Almost immediately the swelling was reduced. Otherwise, except for a slight and short-lived headache, the kind one might get when coming down with a cold, I had no further difficulties.

Now that I have had both vaccines, what does that mean?

First, it means that I have to wait 14 days before the full preventive effect of the vaccines take effect. Then, and only then, a curtain will lift and I will be able to walk out into the sunshine. At least, that is how I would like to think of my life changing two weeks from now. But not completely, I have learned. Yes, I will be able to socialize in small groups in homes with others who have also been twice inoculated. That means friends around my age. We will not have to wear masks nor remain socially distanced. Hallelujah! 

I will also be able to meet with my unvaccinated family in single family units at a time — son, daughter-in-law and their children — if they have been living together the whole time and are basically healthy. According to CDC guidelines, this can happen in a home and without requiring masks or our standing six feet apart. The very thought of hugging them makes me dizzy again, this time with pleasure.

In public places, however, we should continue with the same precautions of masks, social distancing and frequent hand washing, as well as avoiding poorly ventilated spots. Scientists do not yet understand if we can still carry and inadvertently transmit the virus. Also they don’t know exactly how well or for how long the vaccines protect against the disease. There are, as we know, ongoing multiple mutations by the virus, some of them more contagious and more virulent than the originals, and scientists are not sure how well vaccines will protect against those variants.

Meanwhile, we who are vaccinated need not get tested or quarantine if we are exposed to the virus, unless of course, we come down with symptoms. We are advised not to gather with unvaccinated people from more than one household and should avoid joining medium or larger groups. 

Further, we are still advised not to travel long distances and to stay home if possible until more facts are known. This is disappointing, but travel brings exposure to more people and the possible spread of variants. Every time there is more travel, there is a surge of cases, the experts point out. If we go to a gym or restaurant, the risk is lower, but we should still be aware and take the usual precautions, like wearing a mask on the treadmill or while waiting for a meal. 

So we are returning to normal life but slowly and with great care.

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TBR News Media Editor Julianne Mosher

It’s pretty funny. Journalism was always known as a male-dominated field. 

Back in the day, women were mostly secretaries in the field — a select few would end up publishing their own works like the famous Nellie Bly.

But even so, thanks to the brave and loud people who fought for women’s rights all those years ago, we’re allowed to do what we do.

In celebration of Women’s History Month this March, we thank them, from the bottom of our hearts. 

Now it’s 2021 and a lot has changed since Bly took a trip around the world in 72 days and uncovered the horrors of mental institutions in the late 1880s. 

TBR News Media currently staffs primarily women — its three editors are all female. We’ve had men work here before, but it just happened to work out that the majority of employees are now female.

Although the world has given our gender more rights than before, it’s still tough out there for women in journalism — between community to national levels, broadcast, radio, print and the web.

Our colleagues have been harassed on the street, cat called, grabbed. Some of us have been victim blamed or spoken to in a condescending way. Some of us in journalism don’t earn as much as our male counterparts — even on Long Island (yes, equal pay still does not exist).

But yet, women are still out there talking to you, telling your stories, being as empathetic as we can be when interviewing, photographing, taking videos and writing an article. 

We have a lot to be thankful for, but there still needs to be change.

We need to be paid properly for what we do. We need to be thanked for the work we do. We need respect — and not to be grabbed or harassed while we do our jobs. This applies not only to us but all the women out there who are doing their best to feed their families, achieve their goals and to make their mark on the world.

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Photo courtesy of Pexels

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

In my daily conversations with a range of people over the last week, I have heard stories I thought I’d share, as a reflection of the reality of our lives.

The first involved a discussion with Joe about his vaccination. Joe had been trying to sign up for a COVID vaccination for weeks. He thought he’d landed a coveted vaccination appointment at Jones Beach. Driving out there for a 6 p.m. appointment, he drove in circles.

The site had the wrong address, he said. In addition, even the correct address, which had a phone on-site that wasn’t working, naturally, was closed that day because the winds were too high.

“Who would put tents up on Jones Beach?” Joe asked, his voice barely rising but his frustration evident from the time wasted trying to get a vaccination that would allow him to do a job that required interacting with the public. “If you want to build a tent, put it somewhere that’s not as windy. It wasn’t even snowing.”

Fortunately, Joe, who spent more time the next day sharing his experience with a vaccination operator, was able to schedule a make-up appointment much closer to home.

The next day, I spoke with Matthew, who is worrying about his son Jim, who is a sophomore in college. Jim, you see, has already received a COVID warning. A second warning or infraction could send his son home, which would, as Matthew put it, “not be good for anybody.”

As it turns out, Jim has a girlfriend, Sarah. Normally, that wouldn’t be such a cause for concern for his parents or for the university. Still, with his girlfriend living in a different penitentiary, I mean, dormitory, Jim is not allowed to visit with Sarah.

The problem is that Sarah, who is an excellent and committed student, not only works hard at school, but also inspires Jim to expend considerable additional academic effort.

If Jim stops seeing Sarah, which he may do to comply with school rules designed to protect the campus from spreading the dangerous virus, he will miss time with his close friend, while he will also likely not study as hard.

My friend Matthew advised Jim to be careful and comply with the rules, although I could tell that he felt his own return on the investment he spends for college will likely be higher if Jim spends more time with his studious friend.

Finally, I spoke with Paul, a friend who regularly attended conferences before COVID shut all those events down. Paul traveled at least four times a year to meetings all over the world, visiting interesting places but, more importantly, speaking with people in his field.

One day in 2019, Paul was sitting in one such conference and was taking notes. As the conference ended, he and the man sitting next to him, whom he’d never met, struck up a conversation. The man suggested a follow-up effort to the work that might help the industry. Realizing he had the ability to do exactly what the stranger suggested, Paul asked if the man would mind if he used the idea. The stranger was delighted and a friendship, and an idea, was born.

I asked Paul how much he missed conferences and if he planned to attend them when the world reopened.

He said he would not only jump at the chance, but might even attend conferences he wouldn’t have previously considered, just to benefit from such random and potentially beneficial interactions. His only hesitation is that he hasn’t gotten his vaccination yet. He wondered what I thought about driving out to Jones Beach.

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Photo from Pixabay

By Leah S. Dunaief

Leah Dunaief

“What are you doing for enrichment these days, now that you can’t see a Broadway play or go to the opera or comfortably travel to new countries?” asked a longtime friend the other day. “Do you feel like you are in a desert?”

I had to think about that for a moment. True, those events she mentioned that I so enjoy have been on hold throughout this unimaginable pandemic we are enduring, and I certainly miss them. While I have my work with the newspapers and digital media that keeps me happily occupied, the pleasure I take in the cultural side of my life has not disappeared. It’s just changed. I’ll tell you how and see if you agree.

Yes, I love to travel. But, you know, reading books and taking trips have much in common. A faithful subscriber, who writes to me often and sends me clippings that he finds interesting, sent me a column from The Wall Street Journal by Elizabeth Bernstein. 

“Books expand our world, providing an escape and offering novelty, surprise and excitement, which boost dopamine,” she comments. “They broaden our perspective and help us empathize with others. And they can improve our social life, giving us something to connect over.” She could just as correctly be describing travel.

Bernstein goes on to quote Mitchell Kaplan, owner of independent book stores Books & Books and co-founder of the Miami Book Fair. “You disconnect from the chaos around you. You reconnect with yourself when you are reading.”

The Midnight Library

I certainly agree. At the moment, I am reading The Midnight Library by Matt Haig. In this New York Times bestseller, he takes up a subject that has at one time or another occurred to all of us: what if I had taken another road in my earlier life? It brings to mind the Robert Frost poem, “The Road Not Taken,” as it deals with the many choices the young heroine in the novel could have made differently. 

And ultimately, the story reconnects us with ourselves, as travel does for me. What if I had gone south instead of north on my trip? What would I have experienced? Whom would I have met? That is not so different from: what if I had gone to a different college, taken a different major, married a different person, settled in a different place? Books, like travel, stimulate, entertain, and if they are good books with universal themes, speak to you personally. 

Of course, you don’t get to eat the different native cuisine when you read that you do when you travel. Books and travel: analogous but not the same. Yes, books are a magic carpet that can transport you to any place in the universe, but I surely do miss the physicality of travel, of throwing a few articles of clothing and my toothbrush into a suitcase and hitting the road.

As to other enrichment in my life, I have become captivated by movies on streaming services like Netflix and Hulu. Well, some of those films offer cultural enrichment, some just good old entertainment. I fell in love with Outlander, the time-travel series I stayed up until all hours binge-watching, as I have previously mentioned. Since then there have been many that I would recommend, including some that were finalists for the Golden Globes awards that I was able to watch on my Smart TV.

Nomadland, which won for best motion picture, is about a slice of life in America that few of us see. The story follows an older widow who outfits her vehicle so that she can live in it and travels around the Southwest, working occasional spot jobs to sustain her along the way. She meets up with others doing the same, and they are mutually supportive even as they are fiercely independent. Her journey is one of self discovery, revealed through her choices, even at an advanced age.

Others I have enjoyed include The Dig, The Trial of the Chicago Seven, East Side Sushi, Penguin Bloom, Red Sea Diving Resort and the delightful series, Firefly Lane. I don’t feel like I am in a cultural desert, but I want it all back.

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METRO photo

One thing that’s special about a community paper is that we are covering the stuff national or larger media corporations aren’t talking about. 

We’re covering your local school sport teams, the stay-at-home mom who has become a philanthropist and the new Eagle Scout projects sprouting up around town. 

The bigger outlets cover the national news. CBS, NBC, ABC, CNN and FOX — they’re taking care of what the president is doing — not so much the local legislature or town council. 

When we receive your letters to the editor, we are thrilled and so appreciative. We absolutely adore that you want to share your opinions with us, and we’re so grateful you trust us with that responsibility. But sometimes we wonder why residents aren’t talking to us about the community. We want to hear more about that. 

Our readers are able to see things we reporters don’t see. You are out there, talking with people, seeing things with your own eyes and meeting people who we don’t know exist. We need you to help share those stories. 

National politics affect us — we agree, and we feel it, too. But as we continue into 2021, we ask of you to start sending us more letters that stem from where we live. What are you angry about locally? What do you want to see change here? What are you most proud of? What needs to be said? 

This is your chance as a local citizen to share something on your mind that could potentially make a difference. Local lawmakers read the community papers — President Joe Biden (D) and former President Donald Trump (R) do not. 

We love national news, as well, but let’s try — moving forward — that we keep it as close to home as we can. Remember, our letters are 400 words or less and we edit for A.P. style, which is the standard in most U.S.-based news publications, as well as for libel and good taste. We also ask that our writers provide sources or backup information for the more detailed letters, so we can fact-check the information.

Most of all, remember while letters can serve as a form of public debate, the purpose is to argue the issues, not personally attack an individual.

Shop local. Eat local. Support local. Read local. Write local. 

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Photo from Pixabay

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

I have a surprising amount of “found time” these days.

I still have numerous responsibilities and deadlines, but the time between activities, when I’m walking and talking with my wife, when I’m driving to the supermarket or when I’m preparing dinner, my mind is free of the pattern it had developed over the course of the last four years.

No, I wasn’t training for the Olympics and no, I wasn’t preparing a machine to land on the Red Planet. I was, like so many other people, living my life and reading the headlines.

More often than not, the 45th president of the United States consumed the news cycle. Periodically, I wrote about him, but, for the most part, despite reading and reacting to the things other people wrote, I recognized that few ideas or thoughts I had were original or even worth printing.

Yet, I found myself reading and reacting with friends and family, pondering whether he was setting new presidential precedents.

While my body hasn’t gone on any distant vacations, except for a relaxing ski weekend, my mind suddenly has more time. Indeed, even when there are headlines about Supreme Court decisions related to the former president, I glance at a few sentences and move on to other things.

So what am I doing with all this found time? In no particular order, here are a few ways I have reengaged my mind:

■ I’m reading more books. I have had Walter Isaacson’s biography of Ben Franklin next to my bed for a while. I’m now parsing through it more closely, enjoying the reality of an iconic American, learning about his love for travel and his well-known sense of self worth.

■ I’m thinking about Mars. At first, of course, I couldn’t help wondering how Marvin the Martian from the Bugs Bunny era might react to the Perseverance rover landing next to his home. On a more serious note, I enjoyed the absolutely giddy scene at the Jet Propulsion Laboratory, where scientists and engineers have been working tirelessly for years for this moment and where they saw and heard sights and sounds from Mars that bring us all closer to the planet’s surface.

■ I’m noticing the lighting around our neighborhood. As we approach spring, the colors of the light have changed, turning ordinary homes into glowing domiciles. If I were selling some of the houses around me, I would take pictures of them during the sunrise and sunset, showing prospective buyers these residences when they are glowing.

■ I’m becoming preoccupied with sports again. I am following the Brooklyn Nets more closely and, more directly, am excited for the days and weeks ahead when my son might play baseball. In his last year of high school, he has an opportunity to play for his school and himself, if the school and the league are able to get through an entire season during the pandemic.

■ I’m marveling, in a distant and impersonal way, at the turnabout in press coverage. CNN, The New York Times and The Washington Post have toned down their Washington criticism, while the New York Post and Fox News seem intent to point out all the flaws and dangers of the new administration. The teeter-totter has tilted in the other direction now, with the New York Post attacking White House Press Secretary Jen Psaki with some of the same concerns that the more liberal papers attacked the previous press secretary.

■ Lastly, I’m listening to everything around me better. The children playing down the street and the returning birds calling to each other in the trees have captured my attention.

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METRO photo

By Leah S. Dunaief

Leah Dunaief

It seemed like a good idea in the moment. The clock on the oven read 7:00 p.m., and I wanted to watch the PBS News Hour on Channel 13. But I was also hungry. So I reached into the fridge and took out one of the smoothies I make in advance to last me the week. 

This one was in an open top container that I had covered with plastic wrap. I threw the cover in the trash, plunked a straw into the purple drink, picked up a coaster to rest the drink on and headed up the stairs to the television in the bedroom.

After switching on the overhead light, I picked up the remote, put the coaster on the bedside table, settled myself into the adjacent overstuffed chair and reaching over, put the container of smoothie on the coaster. To my horror, the coaster skittered out from under the container, which tipped over and splattered its contents across the carpet, spotting the nearby bedspread, the wall behind me, even the lower slats of the blinds across the room. In an instant, 32 ounces of smoothie lay spread out before me.

“Holy cow!” I yelled. (That’s not what I really yelled, but this is a family newspaper.) The speed with which I had just ruined the bedroom stunned me. I jumped up, grabbed some towels from the nearby bathroom, and on my hands and knees, breathlessly tried to sop up what had not already soaked into the blue carpet.

Finally, I sat back to stop my panting and to survey the damage. It was awesome what some liquid in a cup could do to an otherwise orderly room. It occurred to me then that this wasn’t just ordinary liquid. This was probably the most nutritious contents this carpet could have sucked up. Let me tell you what I put into my smoothie. 

First I pour into the Vitamix a cup of soy milk, then one cup of pomegranate juice. Next I add one banana, then 2 tablespoons of unsweetened chocolate and 2 tablespoons of flax seed meal (not the seeds.) Then comes the good part: 8 ounces of baby bok choy, 8 ounces of baby kale, 2 cups of frozen cherries and 2 1/2 cups of frozen blueberries. The mixer makes all of this into a drink, and I will have one healthy carpet, albeit devilishly stained.

I am able to joke about this because, incredibly, the story has a happy ending. Just as I was sitting in the middle of the floor, about to cry, the phone rang. It was a dear friend, and when I told him what had just happened, he offered to come right over with his shop vacuum and some kind of magic reagent that he loaded into it. He was truly an angel, passing the suction wand over the spill again and again until the original color of the carpet reappeared. He then put some kind of absorbent powder over the main body of the spill, to be left there for a couple of days and then vacuumed up. When I did so, the damaged area was restored to its former pristine condition.

When I look at the carpet now, I think how wonderful it would be if we could just vacuum up whatever unfortunate circumstances had ever befallen us. Imagine having a giant vacuum that could suck away the misery of COVID-19, returning our lives to what we had always thought of as being normal. It could also remove any hurts or regrets, any shadows of past events or unhappy relationships that we might be carrying throughout our lives. 

Yes, it is true that we learn from our mistakes and our experiences. But we don’t need all of them to become better people. We certainly didn’t need a novel coronavirus, even if it did teach us that we could order groceries delivered and work from home. We could borrow from Shakespeare’s Lady Macbeth, and using our magic vacuum say, “Out, damned spot!” 

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Rosa Parks

Black History Month, which initially started as a weeklong commemoration in the early 20th century, has been a way to remember and celebrate important people and events in African American history officially for more than 50 years. After a tumultuous 2020, with several alleged police brutality cases against people of color across our nation, it’s more important than ever to recognize the contributions of Black Americans.

We’re not just talking about Martin Luther King Jr., Rosa Parks or former President Barack Obama (D), but also those who the spotlight hasn’t shone on enough or not at all. There are veterans who served in our armed forces, even when their fellow countrymen didn’t accept them as equals. There are entertainers who once were applauded when they were on stage but weren’t able to eat dinner at the same restaurant as those who were delighted by their performances. There are those who made great strides in science and aeronautics, who are barely mentioned in our history books.

The month is a reminder to reach out to our neighbors, co-workers, acquaintances and former classmates and listen to their stories. People just like us who work hard every day to provide a good life for themselves and their loved ones, and who dream of a better tomorrow. Yet, every day many Black Americans face obstacle after obstacle because they find — before they utter a word or make a move — they are being judged by the color of their skin.

Many of us can’t even comprehend being judged based on our bloodline. We heard the stories of our parents, grandparents or other ancestors who were once called derogatory names or turned away from jobs, some not even applying due to signs such as NINA (no Irish need apply) hung on workplace doors. But today, many of us couldn’t imagine this happening to us.

However, it’s happening every day, in our country, in our towns, even in our schools to those who are Black.

This past summer, journalism-style guidebooks used by papers across the country decided when describing Americans of African ancestry to no longer use “black” but “Black.” The call was made because lowercase is a color but uppercase signifies a culture. Capitalizing Black celebrates people who share history and culture just like Germans, Italians, Asians, Native Americans, Latinos and more.

Let’s not let this month pass without learning about our fellow Americans’ cultures and about them as human beings. Months dedicated to certain cultures provide the opportunity to learn more about the history of people outside of our inner circle and everyday lives. It gives us a chance to broaden our horizons and understand that we are all in this thing called life together, only if we realize just how similar and equal we are.

We are inviting readers to share their reflections about this year’s Black History Month in perspective articles. Submissions should be approximately 500 words, and we welcome photos to accompany the piece. Send articles and photos to Rita J. Egan at [email protected].

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Photo from Pixabay

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

If you can do it, I highly recommend getting away from your life, even if it’s just for a day or a weekend.

Despite the ongoing threat from COVID-19, we took a weekend ski trip. We called the small inn where we hoped to stay and asked if they required masks of their guests.

“When you get here, you’ll see that there’s almost no common space,” the innkeeper said. “You’ll be in a small hallway.”

That was music to our ears and, as it turned out, exactly as he described. We only saw two other guests that weekend and that was in the parking lot.

Upon check in, we called the family that ran the inn, who directed us, unseen and contactless, to our room, where an old fashioned key, not a key card, awaited us on the kitchen table.

After we emptied the luggage from our car, we raced up a foggy mountain filled with hairpin turns to the ski slope after 9 p.m. to pick up our equipment. I had read that the ski slope recommended getting the gear the night before to save time the next morning. With only two other customers at the rental center that night, we maneuvered through the process quickly.

Something about getting away from the sameness of the last year was incredibly liberating. We woke up later than usual, had a light breakfast and headed to the slopes. Assured that the three parking lots were full, my wife suggested driving to the closest lot, where a friendly parking attendant suggested we could take our chances and circle the lot. Sure enough, my wife spotted someone pulling out of a spot just as we arrived.

The only remaining obstacle between us and blazing a trail down the mountain was a lift ticket.

Clearly, we weren’t the only ones pining for an outdoor sport, as an enormous line awaited. My wife discovered that the line was for rentals and that the ticket line had only two other people.

Grateful for the time we saved procuring equipment the night before, we put on our skis and shuffled towards one of the closest lift lines.

Sitting on a lift for the first time, dangling above skiers and snow boarders who did everything from carving their way down the mountain to sliding on their backside as their skis popped off, we shed the sameness of home life, home responsibilities and home entertainment.

The first time down the mountain, we reminded ourselves to keep our weight forward. My feet and legs, which have spent far too much time tucked underneath me in a chair at home, appreciated the chance to set the pace and direction.

My ears delighted at the shushing sound and my eyes drank in the magnificence of mountains gently piercing through a blanket of clouds that changed from white and grey to orange and pink during the approaching sunset.

We had a few challenging moments. Numerous skiers went maskless until reminded by a lift attended, while some people seemed genuinely disappointed when I didn’t agree to share a lift with them. When I explained to one of them that I was being, “COVID-safe,” she said she was already vaccinated. I told her I hadn’t and was being careful.

A few errant snowboards passed perilously close to my legs before colliding into a tree, while lift lines were sometimes too crowded for comfort.

Still, the ability to get away from a life that, as my daughter describes, “remains on pause even as it moves forward,” provided a refreshing and memorable change to our routines.
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