I don’t think I’ve ever gone a day where I didn’t make my bed. I’m sure it was something that originated with my mom, who made us all of us kids do it (and she did it, too), and maybe the habit of doing it developed because of that. But regardless of its origin, it’s something I have always done pretty much every day of my life because I must. I absolutely must. I could no more let my bed remain unmade than I could spend a day in pajamas.

During a quarantine (a semi quarantine, as this is), it seems especially necessary. It lends a certain normalcy and structure to the day. That normalcy and structure lets you know all has not gone to the wolves. You get up, make the bed, get on with your routines — whatever they are. It’s about order, self-respect, respect for a future that awaits, hope for a return to some semblance of a normal life. Perhaps it’s about preparing for something that’s better when all is said and done.

Be ready for what comes.. today, and in a future tomorrow.  Alert, observant, on top of it, ready.

Just make your bed.