Tag Archives: calendar

Monday Musings



I’ve noticed that my Sunday writings have migrated to Mondays over the last few weeks. Likewise, my Thursday writings have pretty much gone out the window. I don’t know why, whether it would be helpful to me to get back on track, or even if it’s possible right now.

From my confident commitments on the first of this year, I have declined into simply “as much as I can, when I can.” Not only in writing, but in just about every single course I had pledged to work on this year. And yet, I still feel pretty good about it because, eleven months in, I have not yet descended to the level of “Whatever…”

One of the rules in my house is that if I write a task in my calendar and then don’t do the job on that day, I can’t resubmit the item on the day that it gets done. For instance, if on Sunday I jot down a few lines as reminders (write; fold jeans; take compost to bin; clean sink) and then totally blow off the list to walk the dogs and then snuggle with them on the floor on the dog bed while watching¬†BirdMan,¬†the jobs still need to be done…on Monday. On Monday, when I do them, I can cross them off Sunday’s page, but then I have to do even more stuff to show that I also had a productive Monday. The moral of that story is this:

Only write down jobs as you complete them – never before.

My task manager is not my boss. The only things that should be written down ahead of time are appointments and specifics (like bank days or work obligations) that might otherwise slip my mind. Who needs a list of chores hanging over their head, without regard to the sun coming out, the dogs wanting attention, or a dozen other things that might get in the way of me following that path? Not me. My calendar is there to remind that every day is productive and full, in its own way. I just need to remember to use it that way.



I Think I Know…


october2014 013

My daughter, Kate, phoned last evening.

“I am OLD!” was her conversation starter.

Last week a customer and I were chatting.

“I think we’re just about the same age,” he said, “I’m sixty-four; how old are you?”

My mind went blank.

“I’m not sure…I’m either sixty-one or sixty-two.”

He gave me a quizzical look.

I know the year I was born. I could do the math!

“What year is this?” I asked.

Two thousand fourteen.

On some level I already knew that!

Which means I am sixty-two.

And (it dawned on me), if this is 2014, my daughter Kate will turn forty this year! Geez, I’d have sworn she was no more than thirty-seven!

Thus, when she started a conversation by saying “I am OLD!“, I naturally thought it was her birthday.

My mind raced and near-panic set in, as I scrambled to find the calendar…”WHAT MONTH IS THIS??? Could it already be December? Did I forget my daughter’s birthday???”

Kate went on to explain that she was standing in Starbuck’s. The coffee smelled great but she couldn’t get coffee because she has found, lately, that if she drinks coffee in the evening, it keeps her awake.

Never happened when she was younger.

“I know just how you feel,” I told her.