I like to stick to a schedule. I get up every morning at four-thirty, respond to emails, glance at the news feeds, and then write for a couple of hours. Later in the morning I exercise—sometimes it’s an hour on the elliptical and sometimes it’s a couple of hours of pickleball. The vexing result of applying discipline to my days is that I’ve gained a reputation for being rigid, which isn’t true. I can readjust. And, considering the routines of absolutely every other person I know, I’m not the only one who adheres to a daily agenda.
“You’re unbending because you’re German,” says David, who’s the most inflexible person I know. Every day he eats the same thing for breakfast, exercises in the same way, at the same time, and at the same place. From his everyday habits, he deviates never.
Most certainly, I’m fond of the schedule I’ve created for myself, and the fact that it’s fixing to be disrupted has me grumbling. Our cleaning lady, who usually comes on Saturday mornings, has asked to change her time to Friday afternoon because she’s catching a ride to her hometown in Mexico to spend Christmas with her family. I imagine giving in to my inclination: “No, Maria, you may not spend the holiday with your loved ones! You must stay here and clean my house! Stick to the plan!”
As I’m not a grinch, I can hardly deny her request. Nevertheless, the situation looms. For me, two until six on a Friday is a pain. On any other day I’d go to Bee Cave, a shopping hub half an hour away; but that would put my return drive during the heaviest traffic of the week. The seventy-one corridor gets packed, sometimes even completely clogged, as commuters, frantic to start their weekend, spill out of Austin and flood the surrounding highways and byways. Also to be taken into account is the road construction that never seems to end.
And Maria’s schedule isn’t the only irregularity that’s exasperating. I have a haircut today at three, and I prefer the appointment to be at one because it’s convenient to run errands afterward, which gets me home at three. Jennifer Hair’s December calendar filled up early, however, so three o’clock it must be. To my dismay, I’ll be starting out at the time I’d ordinarily be getting home, which pertains in that my little dog, Dilly, needs her afternoon treat at exactly three-fifteen; otherwise, in a frenzy, she trembles. Wildly panicked, she barks, jumps up and down, and turns in circles. Treat-treat-treat!
Here's an aside: My hair person’s name is Jennifer, as is mine. And, because it bothers me to call someone else by my name, I differentiate by calling her Jennifer Hair. This might sound egotistical, possibly a little insane, but it’s not like I was raised as a Cindy or a Susan. Throughout my life I have been the only Jennifer. It’s understandable that, considering this background, I would struggle to hang on to my individuality.
Sorry for the digression; and back to the admittedly minor inconveniences that are on my mind as I put in time on the elliptical.
My phone, placed nearby, interrupts my musings with a ting! I leap nimbly from the machine and read the message. It’s from Maria, who wants to come on Thursday morning at nine-thirty rather than Friday at two. How bizarrely coincidental. I was dreading the arrangement, and now it’s changed for the better. Merrily, I text her my approval of this latest variation, and return to the elliptical.
A minute later, another ting, another text; this one from Jennifer Hair. She’s had a cancellation at one and, knowing my predilections, wants to know if I’d like the slot. Yes please!
Another unexpected and happy concurrence, causing me thusly to ponder: In the course of a lifetime, how often does a situation change from what one doesn’t want to what one does want? And how often does this happen twice in such quick succession? The answer: so seldomly that it’s only a notch above never.
And though I concede that the two instances of serendipity are not life-altering, they do make me wonder if these delightful vicissitudes are the karmic result of an action I took or didn’t take. Or is it possible that I’ve inadvertently developed a gift for planting my desires into other people’s minds? And if so, how do I prolong this ability, and how far afield do my powers reach? Considering this newfound skill, the focal question becomes what do I want and whose mind must I control to get it?
Here I am, giving Clem her bottle. As you can see, Dilly is a very needy dog.
During hunting season the most sought-after bucks hide in our backyard.
Merry Christmas!
