Recently, I reached into the freezer to get a container of cheese and bumped a package of ground pork. The pork fell to the floor and knocked off the plastic piece at the bottom of the freezer. I tried bending over (not recommended) to snap it back in place.
Finally, I decided to sit on the floor so I could see what I was doing. After I put the piece back, I looked around and realized that I had nothing to hold onto to get back up. After a few failed attempts, I scooted down the hallway to the bedroom where I thought Harold was still sleeping. Fortunately, he was awake and gave me a hand so that I could get back to my feet.
“I heard something, but didn’t know you fell,” he said. I had to admit that I hadn’t fallen, but was foolish enough to sit on the floor without a plan to get back on my feet.
Sitting on the floor was ironic, since I’m a “fly by the seat of my pants” type of person. Harold, on the other hand, is such a planner that by the time he plans how we are going to do something, I’m worn out and don’t want to participate.
I know that he thinks I don’t do anything since I don’t talk about what I’m going to do, or have finished. I can write to-do lists all day long, but 99 percent of what I plan to do is inside my head waiting for the signal to activate.
I cherish the days I can sleep late because they are rare. Invariably, on a day I can sleep in, I wake up at five a.m. Last Monday morning, I slept until eight. The bad thing about sleeping late is that it takes longer for me to walk normally. Anyway, around 9:30, we decided to fix biscuits and gravy for breakfast. Of course, just as we started Harold’s phone rang. I didn’t get to it in time and mine started ringing. It was the alarm company saying we had an overhead door alarm going off at the shop by the rental house.
The alarm company offered to send the sheriff’s department, but I told them I’d go check it. We have had several false alarms—no real ones. Imagine my surprise when I saw the overhead door was standing wide open. Even better, imagine the thieves’ surprise when they activated the alarm siren. They had thrown gravel making a rapid get-away. I stood in the heat, hot, sweaty, and hungry, while I waited for help to arrive, to lower the door and place a temporary lock.
Fast forward to yesterday when the overhead door company arrived to fix the door. At least I’d had breakfast, but almost had heatstroke while I gathered up old items to throw in the dumpster. This is one time I planned ahead—we need help and a cool fall day to clear the junk out of the shop.
Jim was a planner too in some ways and seat-of-the pants in others. He loved to plan a trip since travel was one of his favorite activities. Whether it was a trip to Colorado or “out West” to visit family, he was all about stocking the van with all the equipment necessary.
When he was in the early stages of dementia, we still traveled to Colorado, but we made hotel reservations instead of camping. On the day we were leaving, I told Jim to go pack his duffle bag. He was gone just a few minutes and carried his bag into the kitchen. I was suspicious of the speed, so I opened the duffle. Jim had emptied out his underwear drawer and had completely filled the bag with underwear and socks.
Although Jim loved to plan trips, he was famous for his impromptu jam sessions at our house. Most of the time, I had little or no notice. I’ll admit they were usually fun and back in those days, I didn’t have other outside activities taking up my time.
To plan or not to plan, that is the question. I guess the answer depends on the type of person you are. I do make plans—that’s why my calendar is covered with important appointments, and the dry erase board is covered with reminders.
I’ll admit that it doesn’t bother me too much to scratch the plans and instead go with the impromptu jam session. Life is too short to have an inflexible schedule.
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