Sarah Rosemary at Sunny Side Up and I are hosting our own Reverb11, a series of prompts to look back on 2011 and manifest the new year. Please check our Reverb11 pages for details, and join in!
Prompt for December 14: Ordinary Time: Tell us about an ordinary week in your 2011 life; describe your routine. Do you hope that your day-to-day, week-to-week life remains much the same in the coming year, or are you trying to shake things up? How will you do that?
Like Sarah, I participated in “A Week in the Life” over the summer. But being morally opposed to scrapbooking (sorry!), I simply wrote about mine. You can read my “Week in the Life” here, and learn about Ali Edwards’ project here.
Sunday is never a day of rest. There are races, places, and faces; sometimes brunch, sometimes dinner. Winesday rarely stays on Winesday anymore. We love themes. If it is summer, there is punch — champagne punch; what-ever-was-in-the-drinks-cabinet-punch. If it is winter, there is red wine; maybe that swoonworthy veggie lasagne that JM makes.
(This is what a race might look like, in all of its foolish glory – Jingle Bell Jog, 2011)
(This is what brunch might look like – little treats to go with the party. I’m not going to post a picture of the punch, because it is embarrassing!)
Moanday. If we’ve raced or dined — which we usually have — Mondays are exquisitely awful. If I have to travel, I’m just waking up with a fuzzy head somewhere approaching Heathrow or Frankfurt; maybe another far-flung locale. Or maybe I’m local. Monday drags. Karen Carpenter sang about Rainy Days and Mondays and that song is in my head each week without fail.
Tuesdays are a Day of Rest — because that’s what my training plan says. I feel free on Tuesdays; like it’s greasy pizza day in the school cafeteria and I’m pulling a fast one on Mumsy because she doesn’t know it and she’s given me lunch money instead of packing me a boring brown bag. On Tuesdays, I have options. Yoga? Dinner with friends? Staying in with the dog? Working late? I’m not beholden to mileage.
(Roo; Tuesday in ordinary time. That’s a lie. It was the Fourth Tuesday of Advent.)
Winesday. The origin of Winesday is not interesting: Miss Mal, Kate and I were volunteering at Columbia Presbyterian Hospital, and our training was on Mondays and Wednesdays in the winter. After it was over, we didn’t relish the thought of not seeing each other. We decided to get together the next Wednesday, and a tradition was born. Though the group has undergone many transformations since that last week in January two years ago, we’ve met most weeks since.
(Princess of Winesday)
We tweet ludicrous non-sequiturs on Winesdays and at Winesday-related events:
“Those badgers need a good dusting”
“My boucle blazer makes me look not a day over 17”
“I felt bad because he didn’t know anyone in the city but he’d already irritated me.”
Thursday. For five years, I have had a standing date with my Therapist on Thursday nights. I dutifully traipse down to Union Square, and we meet in her quiet office with the space heater humming. In winter, the heater is on because the insulation in the office is bad and the floor-to-ceiling single-pane windows let in the chill. In summer, the heater tempers the airconditioning on at full tilt.
Friday, Friday, gotta get down on Friday…everybody’s looking forward to the weekend… (ugh)
Maybe I have weekend plans. Maybe I don’t. If I’ve travelled, I’m just getting into JFK; roadweary, wondering why I don’t feel the way I used to feel; tossing and turning in a rear-facing British Airways seat. If I haven’t travelled, maybe some friends will come over for drinks. If you didn’t know me, you might think I was agoraphobic, the way I always have people over and never go out.
Saturday’s the same: maybe plans; maybe not. Maybe a race; maybe not. Perhaps a quick trip to the office or cleaning house.
There are other constants in ordinary time:
There is a day or two of Blueprint each month — juice or a full cleanse. You may find that unpalatable. That’s simply a part of my life.
Daily, there are medications to swallow; injections to give. I make phone calls and take meetings; check my many mobile devices (constantly). I ping my friends all over the world at odd hours; keep track of time zones. I yell. I am yelled at. In an usual week, there is at least one meal at which I stare and think, I cannot do this I do not want to do this. I wonder if that will ever end.
I second guess myself. Occasionally, I lie. There is always something I covet madly, too. Not a week goes by where I do not obsess over something — a material good; something I did in the past; a thing I hope to do in the future. And then, poof, it’s gone like I never even thought of it.
This, apparently, is ordinary time. Extraordinary time, these days we are living.