Another Monday came and went unsung. I meant to visit the Edge yesterday. I do want to blog on Mondays like I promised I would. But I kept thinking it was Saturday. That’s what happens when you marry a man who becomes a pastor and whose Monday becomes his Saturday. If you’re home with him, you forget what day it really is.
(Technically, Monday is his Sunday. It’s supposed to be his day of Rest. But I don’t know any technical pastors. Do you?)
I should be thrilled. I am home on Mondays. It should be like getting two Saturdays. The problem is Monday is a Writing Day for me. And I am supposed to be writing, not playing Saturday with my pastor-husband.
This is one of those things no one told me about at Pastor’s Wives’ School. How to handle upside down Monday. Maybe that info was included in the lecture on how to always have a clean bathroom and unwrinkled skirts and a cake in the cake-keeper. I missed that one.
I am amazed at how topsy turvey life can be when you’re busy trying to lead a normal life. There’s always something to undermine the status quo, to shake things up, to mess with Normal.
Last week during one of my morning rendezvous with Sunrise Earth on the Discovery Channel, I was taken to an abandoned village in the clouds on a Peruvian mountaintop. The sun was beginning to turn the ancient stone a creamy yellow and wisps of clouds were evaporating as the heat of the oncoming day warmed them. Everywhere there were echoes of long ago lives; steps, paths, doorways,window ledges — silent and stony evidences of past human touch. And then, in the middle of this quiet monument to a lost culture, there came a parade of llamas. They lumbered about the village ruins as if they were the original architects. They didn’t exactly belong in the picture, but they were there anyway, and had probably been there for years. Experts at tiptoeing manmade steps, no doubt.
I was wide-eyed at first, at these woolly intruders, but after ten minutes of watching them negotiate the village layout like seasoned stage crew, I got used to them.
I’m thinking Normal isn’t usually the absence of the unusual, but more likely the acceptance of whatever defines your world at the moment.
Which is how I can excuse my mistaking Mondays for Saturdays.
Sorry about that.