The BARE Den becomes the BEAR Den

Many years ago now the day arrived when it was time to dismantle my late husband's home office from which he conducted his consulting business. One of my offspring helped: we took apart a large L-shaped glass-top desk, sold it on Craig's list and offered up, free to anyone who'd like them, custom-built bookshelves and three tall file cabinets. In one afternoon the bulky furniture was carted away by people thrilled to have office furnishings. We then rearranged the remaining several shelves along the walls and essentially closed the door. 

The space ceased being Jay's office and became just a bare room, and the shut door was a way of not missing him so much. Within a few weeks I began to refer to the room as "the Bare Den," as a way of having a little fun with words. That's when it occurred to me: MY BEAR COLLECTION could live there! Multiple stuffed bears were currently stored in boxes in a closet. I wasn't quite ready to give them away, but I didn't want them cluttering our condominium, either.

One-by-one I set them out and now the BARE DEN stayed open and morphed into the BEAR DEN, which is what I still call it today, seven years after the take-down of Jay's office. Lately, I've been doing a series of daily physical therapy exercises for my knees and hips while lying on a yoga mat in the Bear Den. As I lie on the floor I can see the bears in their 'caves,' a storage shelf Jay built back in the day when we had hundreds of LP records. I have to admit, it's really fun looking at the bears as I do my repetitive and boring exercises. Please meet my stuffed cuties that I look at as I exercise on the floor. I'm liking their company.

While living alone recovering from a mild case of Covid-19 (omicron)

You've decided on a menu for lunch using the diminishing selection of food in the fridge. After all, you've been in isolation for five days . . . and without a housemate, a loving family member, or a lady-in-waiting to prepare something delicious, you make do with what you have. Grilled cheese--that sounds good, even if you won't be able to taste it. Nourishing comfort food--just what a patient recovering from her coronavirus might like. 

So you heat the skillet, slice the cheese, spread butter on the bread, and start the sandwich, while you wash an apple, set the table with a napkin and placemat, and pour a glass of water. Is it time to turn the sandwich? Probably. 

This is what happens when you cook without a sense of smell.