Blank Calendar

In the corner of the kitchen, on a bulletin board on the wall just above the ledge with assorted keys, paperclips, old key rings, and a clear box of pushpins, is the calendar. It’s the kind your college sends you with artistic photos of campus above the open blocks of each month. They politely put essential dates such as Parents Weekend, Final Exam Week, Board meetings, and the close of the Annual Fund Drive in those empty blocks, attempting to keep you connected with your alma mater. I just like the photos. And even in a world filled with digital clocks and calendars on every device we own, the wall calendar still holds its own.

Push-pinned along-side the calendar are doctor appointment reminder cards, tickets from the cleaners, invitations, a photo of the grandkids, one pin with a small key dangling that no one really knows what it is for, a set of tickets for an upcoming show and a couple of reminder notes (pick up milk at Hillside, order Easter flowers for Mom and the password for the WIFI.) Written in the blocks are travel dates for my husband, upcoming "chicken dinners" to attend, birthdays, and so many more of the usual hustle and bustle that is our life.

But not this month. When the page was turned showing a Quad with cherry blossoms in full bloom and students heading to classes, the calendar boxes were utterly blank -  except for the birthdays of our oldest granddaughter, who turns 5 at the end of the month and my mother-in-law who turns 92 two days earlier. The rest is empty. No Easter breakfast with the bunny. No doctor’s appointments. No alumni gatherings, no dinner outings with friends, no weekends away. Nothing. Even the doctor’s appointments were gone. (And as this continues my hair taking on a life of its own, curling over my ears!) It was startling. It was sad. It was ominous.

Our lives are so scheduled that when we would occasionally have a weekend with “nothing to do," we embraced it! Our routines of dropping off and picking up shirts at the cleaner were tied to checking the UPS mailbox, hitting the grocery store, and stopping in to check on Mom. Tuesdays and Thursdays meant getting up early to work out at the gym with the trainer, followed by GMa bus service to drop the kids off at school. Meetings and classes were mixed with lunches with friends and perhaps a movie night. There was a pattern to life, a rhythm, a sense of moving forward, and anticipation for what was coming next. Sure, there were times when we’d begin to wonder which fundraising dinner we were at on a given night, but, I swear to you I will never again complain about having to go to one more damn dinner or putting on my smiley face at alumni gatherings. I long for the last-minute calls to pick up the kids, take one to dance class, or another to gymnastics. I miss our Friday nights sitting at the bar at Ruth’s Chris joking with the bartenders and having pancakes and waffles the next morning at Chuck’s with the whole family.

It is as if we are living in Bill’s Murray’s “Groundhog Day” world. One day melds with another. Is it Monday or Thursday? At least I know it’s April, the calendar on the wall says so. Classes are on Tuesdays and Thursdays, so that helps. Weekends are just another set of days – but the Sunday New York Times resets the week for me.

A new rhythm is emerging. One less hurried, more patient. Doing the best that you can is just fine. Losing it sometimes is just fine too. Grabbing on to a new pattern isn’t easy, but when there’s no choice…you figure it out.

Eating at home is a new norm. Who knew we had all that stuff in the freezer and cookbooks we haven’t perused in years? Going for walks at a tiny local park where we can listen to the creek running alongside the path, that’s new. Doing Zoom workouts with a trainer is interesting. Facetime story-time with the Grands, wonderful. Slowing down is opening new doors, letting us breathe and surprising us. All that organizing, cleaning, and to-do list projects – are getting done!

Still. I can see fatigue and worry on my students’ faces when we hold class over Zoom. They are hanging in there, but for the seniors, a calendar devoid of graduation dates, job interviews, parties with friends and family has taken a part of their youth away. They are still showing up, still completing projects and assignments. Yet, sooner or later, they will probably get to "what does this really matter?" And I can't argue with them. I hear concern and fear in the texts from cousins updating us on their parents who have tested positive – one at home and one in the hospital on a ventilator. We’re all learning to pray again. One day at a time.

Without distractions and demands, we can take deep breaths and rediscover who we are. Maybe look with a critical but caring eye on how we got to this place. And where are we going? In many ways, I’ve been using this time as practice for retirement, supposedly a time with no schedule and fewer responsibilities. It's not far away. I’m learning how to handle nothing.  Of course, when that day does come, we hope to be able to do all the things on the retirement list (old habits die hard.) But a quiet day with nothing to do won’t be quite so intimidating!

Right now, the calendar keeps track of deliveries from Amazon and Instacart. That 1,000-piece puzzle is due any day now. The skeins of wool will be here soon. So that’s two things to keep us busy, fill our days. (I’m making afghans for the grandkids.)  And every Monday I’ll write something new. That is the new schedule of my life.

A calendar can’t tell the future. We fill it with anticipation, hope, and celebration. Our annual family trip to Cape May in July is still there. Birthdays and anniversaries will still go on. School will end and summer vacation will begin – even if it’s in our own backyard. Afterall, it is up to us to make each day count – whether there is something on the calendar or not.