On a Day Like Today

This day began for me as all days do.

I woke up.

I wondered, "What day is this?"

I reviewed the events of yesterday in my mind, ascertained what day of the week they occurred on, and mentally placed the name of this new day next in the succession learned in kindergarten.

I got out of bed, made a leisurely trip to the bathroom, weighed myself -- down half a pound from yesterday -- Yes! Fist pump in the air -- made coffee, and then said "Good morning, Honey" to my... honey... as he joined me on the deck (which we now call the lanai because I've decorated it to reflect our last...so long ago... trip to Hawaii).

Frank opened the newspaper and I began the crossword puzzle. We sipped our coffee as though we had all day to enjoy it, which we actually did because I had planned it that way, scheduling today as an opportunity to recuperate from our little granddaughters' visit yesterday and our son's family BBQ the day before.

I say did have all day because that was when I asked, casually, "Did you remember to check the court's web site last night about jury duty?"

You've possibly guessed the rest, but let me fill in some details. As Frank headed for the computer I glanced at the clock. 7:45 gave Frank exactly 15 minutes to shower, shave, get dressed, comb his hair, brush his teeth, grab his cell phone, find his keys, remember where he put the jury duty paperwork, and make the 20-minute drive to the courthouse. Uh huh...

Now if we have figured out anything over the past 34+ years together, we've figured out how to function smoothly as a team, even in high pressure situations such as this one. So he got dressed and brushed his teeth, and I found his keys, handed him his cell phone and a protein bar, and as he closed the kitchen door behind him I mentally, fervently, sent a telepathic message reminding him to press the button that opens the garage door before backing out. That worked.

So I settled in for a day all to myself, and I made a list of things to do -- since I/we had planned to do nothing. Calm and in control, I then took my coffee to my desk and began to work on the revision of Brain Imagery papers that are a work-related project. At the first tap of my fingers my monitor screen went black. Afraid that the monster might be getting ready to swallow me whole, I cautiously left the room on tippy toe, renewing my vow to myself that someday I'll learn something about computers others than how to type on the keyboard and push the "print" button.

I decided to do some hand sewing, took my coffee with me, and settled onto the couch in front of the TV. After a mere five-minute search I found the remote control device which Frank usually hides from me as a preventative measure because I've threatened so many times to throw it mightily through the TV screen since it makes about as much sense to me as the control panel of a space shuttle. I bravely pushed a button, waited patiently as the screen began to come alive, and enjoyed a brief surge of exuberance as I recognized the face of one of my favorite pundits.

That was when I noticed his mouth wasn't moving, it was making no sounds, and his eyes were at half mast. Actually one eye was at 3/4 mast but out of respect for the gentlemen I wasn't going to mock him by pointing this out to you, until I realized I haven't mentioned his name so the secret remains safe.

Since watching TV was going to be secondary to my hand sewing anyway, I determined that this minor disruption did not constitute grounds for launching the remote control toward the frozen face in front of me. I gingerly placed the device on the table, deciding to ignore the picture of the pundit in his present state of peculiarity. In the interest of full disclosure I was afraid to push another button in an attempt to make the screen go black like the monitor on my desk. I could easily do my hand sewing in silence, a little like eating breakfast at the ashram (yoga retreat) where speaking is not allowed during the first meal of the day.

But wait! Breakfast! I sometimes forget to eat unless Frank reminds me it's time so, feeling a little smug over the realization that I can take care of myself, thank you very much, I hied me to the kitchen (as Shakespeare might have put it if he were having a bad day). Cinnamon toast? Bagel with cream cheese? Bacon and eggs? Cereal with fruit? Nothing sounded good. I grabbed a protein bar. If my honey and I couldn't have breakfast together, at least we could both eat the same thing.

Back to my hand sewing I went, but couldn't find the needle and thread I had joined together previously. Went back to the kitchen to see if I had taken it with me, couldn't find it but did notice grubby fingerprints on the toaster that would have been the delight of any forensics team. Grabbed the 409 and did away with the annoying evidence, noticing then a jar of peanut butter that had been left on the counter. Put it in the fridge, rearranging things to make room for it. This reminded me that we are almost out of eggs.

"I'd better make a shopping list," I said to myself, smiling, because we all know a smile actually changes the tone of your voice and I want to be receptive to myself. Picked up my "palm pilot" -- which is actually a cute little paper tablet with a hard cover on it that shows a silhouette of a horse (a gift from my daughter) - and found there my to do list.

Noticed an errand that needed running so jumped in my little Ranger and got 'er done, after which when I pulled back into my driveway and tried to use the handy little push button contraption Frank has attached to my key chain to lock the truck door electronically, but the door wouldn't lock. (At this point, why would I expect it to?) What did happen when I opened the truck door was that something inside began ding-ding-dinging at me, and I noticed my tail lights flashing. I pushed a different button that turned them off but I still can't lock the doors till Frank can sort this out for me later.

I'm thinking now about just soaking in a nice tub of warm water until he gets home, after first disconnecting everything in the bathroom that could possibly, under any circumstances, engage electricity in any form. On days like this, one can never be too safe.

As for the missing needle, since I'm always running around the house barefooted I'm sure I'll find in one day soon.

At least it has no batteries and isn't plugged in.