Our guest room closet has three built-in drawers where we stash empty picture frames, old safari hats, computer cables, whatever. Feeling a need for a bit of relaxation the other evening, I searched there for some old meditation tapes. (You remember tapes. They slide into a Walkman.)
I found the meditation tapes, but more important, I discovered my old “Jane Fonda Workout” tape. Years ago, my neighbors Val and Reggie and I had our own little Jane Fonda group. Twice a week, we went to Val’s basement and worked out. We bought leotards and tights to be authentic. We exercised until we “felt the burn”. We also did a lot of talking. Back then, we thought we had invented the exercise-age version of the coffee klatsch.
When Val moved away twenty-four years ago, Reggie and I didn’t have the heart to exercise without her, but I kept the tape, just in case. I couldn’t resist checking to see if it still worked. I slipped it into an old boom box. With the first notes of the theme music blasting, those exercises, those conversations, those leotards—it was like yesterday.