Wednesday, December 4, 2002

why, you ask (didn't you?) is this here?
Because it was once for sale on ebay and because I'm using it as an illustration in a birthday letter to my sister.

"Time is very dangerous without a rigid routine. If you do the same thing every day at the same time for the same length of time, you'll save yourself from many a sink. Routine is a condition of survival."

Flannery O'Connor

It's raining and it's hard to get out of bed. The phone rings, though, and FFP is at the gym, so I get up and answer it. Coffee, a little newspaper. The usual drill. I have thought about today and thought that it would be a 'day off.' I don't have any appointments, I think, for a certain time. No lunch date. No evening event. I can do whatever, whenever. But as soon as I'm fully conscious I realize that I'll be jumping about as ever. I need to work out, of course. FFP assigns me to do the run to the cleaners for pickup and delivery. I have to get Dad's mail before it's completely soggy. I have to go to the thrift store to get a bunch of stuff out of my car. And...everything is ready to do our holiday letters, but I have to write personal notes, stamp, stick on labels, seal. So, yeah, no appointments, but busy all the same. And, my sister's birthday is Friday and I really should make her a card or something.

It's always something, you say? Indeed.

Most people have Saturday like that. They are off and yet have lots of errands. I have every day like that. FFP, for the record, has declared that I'm retired but not he. And it does seem that he is busy with clients every day.

I go to the gym. My favorite bicycle is busy but one I like about as well is available and I use it for thirty minutes. Then I do my lower body exercises except for the squats. I have to wait around for a circuit training class to get off three of the machines and then there is a pent up demand.

I go straight to Dad's. Well, not straight. I don't get on Mopac but go through the neighborhoods. The mail I rescue is just one of those junk mail ad bundles. I listen to a message on his answering machine...someone wants to refinance his mortgage. Only...he doesn't have one.

To make the trip worthwhile, I go through a few more of my mom's things.

I need some new sweatpants. (I'm shivering in shorts because my ragged, decades-old ones are dirty.) FFP has said he'd like some new ones, too. With pockets. I go to Academy and shop around for a bit. I buy one pair of sweatpants. If FFP likes them, I'll come back. Otherwise, they will be fine for me. I find a little strobe light for dog walking and pick up a can of tennis balls, too, for when it dries up and I can get up a game.

Then I head off to the thrift store and leave all the things I've collected for them. This is less painful if done slowly.

I pick up the cleaning and head home.

I spend some time making a birthday letter for my sister. It won't get there by her birthday, but soon after.

I make some cheese twist rolls and FFP is hungry so we have sauteéd squash, lemon caper veal and these bread things for dinner at five o'clock. We are definitely becoming old retired people.

I spend some time on the holiday mailing, watch some tube, read a bit and file away another day of retirement.

I am finding a rhythm and I excuse myself for not attacking more 'big' things by pleading that there were all kinds of small tasks that beckoned. I'm having trouble now choosing between doing things like writing and creating and cleaning out closets. A friend of mine retired last year. He lives in a one bedroom apartment. He said he was going to clean out his closet in retirement but I talked to him the other day and he hasn't done it yet. My office is still a pig sty. But. I have good intentions. And I follow my dad's rule: accomplish one thing every day. Sometimes my one thing is just so, so insignificant.

JUST TYPING
Rainy.
Cold.
All day in shorts and a sweatshirt.
Where does the time go?
In the retirement bucket.