Routines

A friend of mine told me when she was growing up, she always knew what day of the week it was because of what her mother fixed for breakfast. Different days of the week meant specific things. This kind of thing didn’t happen only in my friend’s family. My dad, at his own choice, had the same thing for breakfast every single day, as far as I recall. Two soft boiled eggs and toast. On Sundays he added a couple of strips of bacon. I guess Sundays were the days when the entire routine was broken because on that day, our family had a big dinner at noontime and just popcorn for supper while we watched The Ed Sullivan Show. I remember a lot of people my parents knew in the 1950’s observed a “cocktail hour”, and though it lasted considerably longer than an hour, it never started until five o’clock. You could have as much alcohol as you wanted and it didn’t count, as long as you didn’t start drinking before five. Someone told me her boyfriend didn’t have an issue with alcohol because although he drank a lot very night, he didn’t start until five. Another person said something similar but added that after five “He was always still a gentleman,” whatever that means. Routines are funny things.  I remember when a neighbor of ours stopped me several years ago while I was out walking. As if I would know the answer, he asked, “Why ain’t me and Joanne happy? We own a house and have enough money. Our health is good. We got a boat. And actually that’s the problem. We never have time to take it out.” It was a warm sunny day and there were several lakes in the area. “How about today?” I asked. “Why not take that boat out today?” He looked at me like I’d been dropped on my head recently. “We can’t,” he said. “Today’s Thursday. Thursday’s the day we give the dog a bath.”

Photo courtesy SatyaPrem on Pixabay.com