Force of Habits

Her:  Would you like fizzy water with your lunch?

Him: Of course! It IS Tuesday, isn't it?

The Mr and I chuckled. 

This wee bit of mirth was a scene in "Last Tango in Halifax," a British series we're watching on PBS. It's about Celia and Alan, two octogenarians living in northern England, who fall in love later in life, and get married. A "dramedy," as it is called, meaning it has both dramatic and comedic elements. 

They say that comedy comes from truth, only exaggerated. This exchange was no exaggeration. Our days really are THAT routine. I mean, really: Retirement + COVID-19 = Humdrum!

But, when you get giddy with excitement about "Eggy Thursday," you know your life has become a bit predictable.

Breakfast most days is same old, same old: oatmeal, whole wheat toast. But Eggy Thursday is a celebration! That's when the Mr makes an omelet. He started it back in March when the stay-at-home edict came down. Now it's:

The Mr: Would you like eggs this morning?

Me: Of course! It IS Thursday, isn't t?

Routine has given us some structure. Without work to marshall our schedule, or even the opportunity to go out much due to the pandemic, we have fallen into a day-to-day pattern. Mornings are for walks, errands, chores, shopping. Then lunch. (We never miss lunch. It's a highlight of the day.) Early afternoons are for outings, or quiet time for reading, scrolling Facebook, hobbies. We take a break from this hectic pace in the afternoon to make a pot of tea, and watch an hour of TV. Nap time at 4. Wine O'clock is 6. Dinner, which is at 7, is followed by some "me time," and then we sit down at 9 to see what's on Netflix. We'll watch (or snooze off) until the end of our broadcast day at 11. 

Normally we are a little more spontaneous than this, but rhythm has helped shape order out of chaos. It has given us a modicum of calm and control. With every day being more or less the same, things are getting slightly monotonous. Except Eggy Thursdays jazz things up a bit. 

We also get excited about Cheese Scone Saturdays, which means a cheddary baked treat retrieved by the Mr from our local coffee shop, along with a half-caf for me. And we relish happy hour on Single Malt Sundays. Heavens, we might even crack open a can of smoked oysters and a cracker to go with our cocktails! That says party to me!

These little celebratory events have become occasions — sparks of joy. We had thought of adding something out of the ordinary to Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday and Friday, but that would mean that Eggy Thursday wouldn't be special anymore. So we resisted. 

Think we're going COVID-Crazy? 

Maybe. We go to bed on Wednesday nights saying, "You know what tomorrow is, don't you?" Either we are going quite bonkers, or Eggy Thursdays are keeping us sane.

Besides, W.W.C.A.A.D? *

* What would Celia and Alan do? 

 

Two Bumps. On a Log.

"You're sitting there like a bump on a log!" my mother would say to me. It was never a compliment. 

It meant one of the following:

"Go outside and play, and get some roses in those cheeks!" (This takes on special meaning when you live in a winter climate where minus 20 is considered balmy.) 

"Quit watching that TV and go do something useful!" 

"I don't want to hear that you're bored! There's no such thing as being bored!" 

Or, her best shot, "If you don't have anything to do, I'll give you something!" 

Is it any wonder that I grew up believing that doing nothing was somehow really bad? Ours was not a particularly religious family, so I never got the "Idle hands are the devil's workshop!" bugaboo, but that was pretty much the idea. 

Having been warned off this Bump on a Log Syndrome at a young age, I've never been one to "just sit." I've spent 67 years keeping busy. Spinning one activity into another. On the go. Feeling guilty if I had too much time on my hands. Nervous about inertia.

Then the pandemic hit. Adding to general anxiety that one of us or a loved one might catch the virus, and worry about what the heck happens to a world on lockdown, I panicked about what I would do with days on end, cooped up at home with nothing to do. Didn't we all? 

Six and a half months later, and I have to say that my inner "log lump" has re-awakened! 

How did I come to this Eureka moment, you ask? In a word: Retirement! If you're doing it right, retirement is perfect training for a pandemic shut down. The Mr and I consider ourselves the lucky ones because we have almost no where to go and nothing to do. "Lackadaisical" has taken on whole new meaning.

Any time I'm lounging in the backyard thinking, "I really ought to get up and do something," I can blame the pandemic ….or, should I say thank the pandemic? "It's okay. No need to get up. Zilch is the order of the day!" 

I am quite content with a To Do list as empty as last night's wine glass.

"Anything on today?" the Mr might ask.

"Well, today I have to file my nails. And I might fold those towels that are in the drier."

"Whoa! Pace yourself! Save something for tomorrow!" 

Not that we are completely in Neutral. We do get out. We have a trusted bubble of dear ones that we see. We shop for groceries. 

But as an introvert with a social anxiety disorder, I soon discovered that "Stay Home!" was the perfect directive for me. Not go out? OKAY!  It took some time but I eventually got around to relaxing. As the weeks wore on, I began to agree with articles I was reading about accepting the new normal. Life in the slow lane. Being still. Watching birds. Absorbing the gentle transitions of seasons. It was a revelation to be idle for once.

Our favourite thing to do is go to a beach. The best spots are sparsely populated (aka socially distanced) with lovely long views out to sea and across to the mountains. We find logs suitable for a nice long sit. Our beaches are littered with logs of all sizes. I figure they are either escapees from log booms, washed up by the tides. Or maybe parks departments have dotted them along to protect the shores. In any case, they provide enjoyable perches for contemplating the universe. The Mr will say, "We have folding chairs in the car. Would you like me to get them?"

"No, thanks," I say. I want to be like a bump on a log. Perfectly happy doing nothing.