Drifting Days

Does anyone know what day it is? 

I haven’t known what day it us since I retired in September ’99 from my nine to five job. Actually, it was more like eight to four or seven til nine. The hours varied. Whatever it took to keep broadcasting - the show must go on, and all that, etc. on the air.

For instance, today is a mystery to me. I have no idea if it’s a Tuesday or Thursday despite having a calendar on my computer, my phone, and a black and white copy taped to the fridge.

The sun is up but without a regular weekly meeting or such to keep me on track it could be any day. Production meetings were on Monday in the morning - so easy to know until sunset. Then it got iffy.

When I was growing up it used to be that when our meals were served with baked beans, hot dogs and black bread, we knew it was Saturday. In Boston. I haven’t had canned black bread since I reached legal age.

Special days meant special food. Christmas Eve was oyster stew.

On St. Patrick’s day we ate New England boiled dinner… corned beef and cabbage (and carrots and potatoes). But this could be confusing. New England boiled dinner was eaten throughout the year so unless you had a calendar you couldn’t be certain what day it was.

The musical group Chicago had a great hit called Does anyone know what time it is? I think the song was written and became popular because the days meld together for so many people. One day just drifts into the next. 

Even “special” days don’t help when you’re retired. Birthdays sneak up or escape you altogether. I’m never sure of the Fourth of July, Mother’s Day, or Memorial Day, until I hear the fireworks.

And then life gets cruel.  I went to the store this morning and there was a big sign saying “Monday Pizza.” A man behind the counter was baking beautiful pepperoni pizza but…it’s Tuesday. I know it is. What’s a woman to do? I pretended it was Monday again and bought two slices.

Yes, it’s Groundhog Day all over again.