Routine, Interrupted

Another sure sign of aging is hitting me squarely in the face.  I am not minding it so much as I do find great comfort in the monotony.  The routines in my life give me reassurance that my day will be a good one and that all the “i’s” have been dotted and the “t’s” crossed.

If we are honest with ourselves (and with this we should be) we all have our little repetitive habits.  Starting with just getting up and out of bed.  There are the “hit the snooze” folks; the pop up out of bed before the light of day; the hoppers out of bed at the first buzz of the alarm; and the proverbial “lie there until I get dragged out” bed layer-onners.  This is just the launch of your day, what happens next is the first official step in your morning ritual and the daily routine that will move you from point “A” to point “B”.  Is your initial stop the bathroom? Is it the closet for your slippers and robe? Is it letting the dogs out? You have probably never analyzed the procedures; probably don’t even know you are doing them until…something is not in place for your next probable action to occur.

Take for example, after you have risen, visited the porcelain god, gotten your slippers and robe on and while taking the dogs out for their first break you usually pick up the freshly delivered morning paper on your driveway.  The comforting colorful plastic bag is nowhere to be seen.  You instantly think that crazy delivery person must have tossed it behind something.  You search, you agonize, you realize that your paper has not yet arrived.  You sulk back into the house without the prize, hesitating to recall what are you are supposed to do in the course of events and while noshing on your bagel (toasted, with light cream cheese – all part of my morning custom and up to now perfectly synched).  I am not a happy camper; my morning has the potential of not measuring up to one of the finer ones.  I must continue to move on so as to not disorder my other routines, but it just doesn’t feel right.  In my heart I know that reading the paper, if it comes, later in the day does not gratify my senses in quite the same manner as it does first thing in the morning.

I prod through the rest of the morning patterns: making lunch (pull the drink from the fridge, grab the dessert, go get bread and accoutrements to make sandwich; find little plastic bag with zip top; add chips; toss in napkin)…voila! Done! On to the next thing!

Hitting the bathroom offers another complex category of order that I find enchanting.  Turn water on for a minute to heat to exact temperature; lay towel out at perfect point of execution; disrobe (hanging robe on hook) and enter shower; go through modus operandi of washing, rinse, rewash; exit; towel off systematically; and prepare for clothing and other essential activities such as hair styling, teeth brushing (unless you opt for doing this before your shower); shoe putting on (do you do this upstairs or wait until you go downstairs and are about to leave?); the list goes on and on and yes, there is your unwritten law on how each and every thing will get accomplished so that the dance of your day may flow poetically.

Take a gander at how your day unfolds and even the minutest details really do fall into a happy little routine.  Even when running errands, there is a plan of attack.  Hitting Starbucks? You can bet that you end up with the same drink you get every time (hot chocolate with five extra squirts, whip cream? Of course!).  But just to be wild and to counter the aging process, I think I will deviate a step or two from the norm and see how my coping mechanism is working (it hasn’t worked well in a while, so it is good to test occasionally). 

Hope your day goes as planned, and I wish upon you no unexpected phone calls.

Cynthia A. McClelland, curious observer of the obvious with interpretations of the oddities of daily life.  Mother, wife and lover of the furry, resides in the north Lake Tahoe area.

Cynthia A. McClelland © 2003-