Skip to main content

A Weird Thing


A weird thing happened today. I was driving the puppy to the park because we like to take walks there, and I passed a sign, one of those big yellow ones on black legs with moveable letters. It was directing people to a Christmas shop that will open Saturday December 10 for some special sale or something.

I was turning a corner and needed to watch traffic, but the words "Saturday, Dec. 10" caught my eye, and I said to myself, "But Saturday is the 11th." It is, isn't it, I thought to myself. The orchestra will be performing our Christmas concert on Saturday, and I have been focused on it for weeks. I started by putting together the newsletter plugging it, and then going to a show at Kent Stage to help promote it, and then I moved onto planning our involvement in the parade and then onto a cookie thing for after the concert—I'm going to taste test some Christmas cookies at a new bakery tomorrow!—and then onto practicing my part for the concert and then rehearsing, too.

So, you see, it's a big day, and nearly everything I've done or thought about doing for the last several weeks has led to it. I've had it in my head for what feels like forever, and I've known the date on the calendar. Suddenly, seeing it on the big yellow sign set me back because it's the 11th, right?

I kept driving to the park, wondering if I'd screwed up. What if I put the 11th on the newsletter, and maybe the error was missed in proofreading? What if I have been wrong all along, thinking it's the friggin' 11th when it's really the 10th? But I'm at the park, and I'm walking the dog and can't do a thing about it! I can't even check the newsletter to see if I'm panicking for nothing!

Finally, back at home in my warm house, I get the puppy settled in, and I sit down at my mactop and check my work. Yes, Saturday is the 10th, and apparently I've known that all along. My work is accurate, and I have nothing to worry about. Nothing, that is, except this business of suddenly changing the date in my head for no apparent reason. Nothing, that is, except doubting myself almost to a minor frenzy.

All is well, though. The big yellow sign is correct. My newsletter is correct. The big date I've been working toward is right where it should be. Weird, eh?

Here is the newsletter, by the way. We'll be sending out an issue about a week ahead of every concert on the schedule.

Comments

dive said…
I wonder how many people will turn up for that sale on the wrong day.

Popular posts from this blog

Happy Birthday...

to me! Update: Since you have asked, I only got one actual packaged gift, a beautiful hand-made bracelet from a friend, but both girls were home for the weekend, and we had dinner at the lake and a relaxing weekend. Thanks to all of you for your lovely wishes!

My Sitemeter is All Bloated and Not Quite Itself

I'm tempted to let it sit on the couch with its feet curled up under a blanket, a hot cup of coffee in hand, a block of cherry almond bark Chocolove within reach, and An Affair to Remember spinning in the DVD player. I'm one of those obsessive bloggers, the kind who checks her sitemeter as often as possible throughout the day, the kind who gauges the quality of her writing by the number of readers who regularly stop by. I've become less interested in the overall number of hits and more interested in the number of repeat hits. The return visitors are the ones I long for. When my sitemeter reads forty at the end of the day, and the majority of those hits are webpals who have conversed, I'm happy. Forty may seem low to many of you, but I've only been at this since August. To me, forty is a jackpot. A few days ago, I sat down at my laptop and discovered a number somewhere in the eighties. Eighties! Yippee! Yeeha ! Hoo-rah ! I've been discovered by the webworld , o...

Ish People

Tell an Ish person to show up around 9 a.m., and you'll see them somewhere around 9 a.m. Tell them to show up at 9ish, and you'll see them anywhere from 9:05 to 9:20. You have given them license to dilly dally, and who wouldn't take advantage of that? The other night at the big shindig dinner party, one of the drummers said the rehearsal the next morning would begin at 9ish. "I am an ish person," he says. Immediately the clanker goes off in my head--oh, good, I thought. I can deliver my daughter a little late. No Ish person is early, so if you say 9ish, that does not mean give or take 5, 10, 15 minutes. It's exclusively a taking phrase. Take an extra 10 minutes to drink your cup of coffee. We won't mind. We're Ish people. Sunday's rehearsal started at 2:00. Because it was conducted by the same people who conducted the Saturday rehearsal, my understanding was 2-ISH. My daughter is worse than I am about taking liberties with Ish time frames, so she d...