Hump Day

There is a television commercial that focuses on a camel wandering around a cubical farm asking the employees what day it is.  It is a Wednesday and the camel enjoys telling everyone it is “Hump Day!” As is the case with many commercials, beyond calling attention to the middle of the week, I’ve no recollection of what is being marketed.

If Wednesday is “Hump Day” what does that say about Thursday? Personally I agree with the Douglas Adams character, Arthur Dent who claimed he “Never got the hang of Thursdays.”

For many years my schedule was centered around the demands of my ministry family. Being married to a minister our week looked a little different than others. Weekly activities started on Tuesday. (Monday’s were our day “off”) Wednesday was Bible Study night or quizzing at church. Friday and Saturday normally meant choir rehearsal, and other preparations for Sunday’s service. And of course Sunday was a full day of activities relating to the church. Thus leaving Thursday as the odd duck day. I rarely lost track of what day of the week it was because of what was happening that day. There was a sense of security in all the busyness.

That is not the case with many individuals who no longer have demands made for their time. It was not uncommon for my late father-in-law to use his phone to determine the day of the week—and no he never owned a Smart Phone or any beyond the rotary dial type. He would call his doctor’s office and ask if he had an appointment that day. After being assured he did not he would casually ask, “Oh, okay so what day is today?”

Never would I have imagined I would find myself in this category a full 30 years earlier than he. Yet, I will often confirm the day of the week by checking my cel phone. The majority of individuals living in my building have no schedule beyond the activities of the apartment building. My lack of busyness is only temporary, as I hope to recover from an injury and move on, not so for many here.

Many sit in the lobby waiting for the mail to arrive. I hear snatches of conversations about the day of the week. It seems Meals on Wheels delivers 3 days a week. The community van arrives once a week to take residence shopping at the local grocery. Once a month there is a potluck luncheon—always the 3^rd Tuesday. Monthly trips to the local Food Pantry sees activity as residence busily swap out the foods they don’t want. Those items no one wants are placed on a table in the lobby and mysteriously disappear. (I suspect they are like the unwanted 5 pound fruit cake that gets passed family to family every Christmas.)

Another resident and I—both new to the building, have tried our hand at the business of busyness. We have introduced a few opportunities to aid in relieving the boredom of everyday existence. Amazingly we have discovered a sense of contentedness among many in being miserable. Rather oxymoronic but very true. At least misery loves company, and for those who rarely receive any it is enough.

The other favorite pastime is gossiping. The folks here have raised it to an art form. My mother reared me by the “Thumper Philosophy” based on the Disney character who said, “If you can’t say something nice…don’t say anything.” I suspect if that were enforced here there are those individuals who would have nothing to say at all. I had to chuckle when one resident in retelling a tale admitted to “already sharing more than she knew!”

Communication is necessary for the human spirit to thrive. Incidentally according to many health agencies Wednesday is the day most common to suicide. Regardless of the day of the week people need people. I challenge you my fellow travelers to make it a practice to go the extra mile and make an effort to communicate with someone new. It may be that extra bit of attention to get past “hump” day for one more week. Live loving the journey.

Where did my day go?

It has become totally out of character for me to remain in pajamas long into the day. Part of my therapy—if one were to actually call it that, is to dress with expectation. Adding color to my day begins as I dress each morning—regardless of the plans of the day. Most every day for the past 5 months has seen me not only dressed but in makeup and matching jewelry before my morning coffee.

Which is why it was unsettling for me to still be dressed in pajamas at 3pm. I had not slept well the night before. I fitfully slept off and on until 6am and finally rested for a few hours. When I woke it was with a headache and in need of caffeine. Thus fortified I began the task of reducing the mountain of accumulated craft supplies.

At some point it was determined I had way too many sewing bobbins for just one machine. Dragging out the portable machine—to determine which type was useful, I discovered the housing for the bobbin had slipped out of place. Try as I might I could not get the pieces to fit back in place.

Enlisting the help of my daughter—shades of the Lucky Duck incident flashing through my mind, there are now 2 individuals, in pajamas trying to fix the machine. Two hours later and no closer to an answer I admitted defeat. (I believe my exact words were something like, “Just throw the whole damn thing in the trash!”) Instead I decided to simply put the machine back in its case to be looked at later. THAT is when I noticed another piece of the machine…okay, now I had to give it one more try. It was not long before I had the machine in running order. (Of course I had to be sure it still worked—grabbing a pair of grand daughters pants I quickly mended them.)

It is now lunch time, my bedroom is littered with craft supplies and I am still not dressed. Filling boxes with fabric and supplies to be donated to a friend’s passion in crafting I realize it is 3 o’clock and decide it is time to get dressed.

Showering and dressing in the brightest shirt I could find has my spirit a bit brighter as well. Delivering items to a daughter and gathering hugs from my grandchildren fortified me to part with the remaining supplies. Returning home I realize 1. I forgot the extra bobbins and will have to make another trip tomorrow, 2. I still have way too much stuff and 3. it is now past dinner time.

As I type this blog entry I am being serenaded by my grandson—IF you can call his ‘top of the lungs’ rendition of “Who Do You Think You Are?” a serenade. I am back in my pajamas wondering where this day went. No words of wisdom, lesson learned or lofty ideals. If you can extrapolate anything from my seemingly wasted day you are a better reader than I am writer. Let’s hope I managed to sleep before dawn and that tomorrow will be more productive. G’nite friends.

GeorgiAbama Time

Anyone who gets to know me will quickly learn that I am both directionally dysfunctional and locationally challenged—I get lost—a lot—in Wal-mart! I never know where I am directionally and terms like north, south, east, and west are meaningless.

Imagine my confusion while visiting friends in Phenix City, Alabama, a town nestled on the Chattahoochee River. The Chattahoochee River runs between Alabama and Georgia. One side of the river is in Alabama and one side is in Georgia. There is also a time zone change between the two states—Alabama is officially in the Central Time region while Georgia is in Eastern Time. To compound matters, was the practice dating back to the days of mining, where those living in Phenix City and working in Columbus, Georgia have observed the time zone of Georgia. The schools in Phenix City—Elementary and Middle, observe Alabama time, while the High School observes Georgia time. When making any kind of appointment from doctor’s office to hairdresser one must first establish which time zone is being observed. To fail to do this could result in an extra hour of wait time or a missed appointment by arriving an hour late.

My hosts preferred to have no clocks in many rooms. That being said—it is safe to say I never knew what time it was! (I decided that for the duration of my visit I was running on “GeorgeAbama Time.”) It was quite liberating to not watch a clock. I discovered an interesting phenomena…I never felt hungry—my tendency to follow “habit hunger” was revealed and I only ate when I was actually hungry. My sleep schedule changed, as did my need for pain medicine—I required less of each.

Not having a clock to watch was as refreshing an experience to my body as the quiet surrounding, comfortable bed and liberating frankness of my host family was rehabilitating to my spirit.

The Psalmist knew the value of resting beside the “still waters.” The need to stop striving and stressing and just relax in the moment. I am learning to value it as well.

Knowing my sabbatical in Alabama was nearing an end and my time as a pampered houseguest drawing to a close, I paused in reflection of my stay. I’ve learned a lot.

I have learned that Southern Hospitality is more than a phrase—it’s a mindset. I learned to appreciate beauty and simplicity listening to the river sounds and the night noises while relaxing in the moon light with a chilled beverage on a warm evening. I also learned that it takes only a moment to make a friendship that can last a lifetime.

It is my desire to take a bit of this Southern Hospitality and relaxed attitude back home with me…memories of my experience and lessons learned while on my journey in “GeorgAbama” Time. Hoping in my own way to leave a small part of me here—as I will cherish the friendships shared. Regardless of whichever time zone I may find myself in days, weeks and years to come I know I have a home away from home in the hearts of the people I have met here.