Fixed in My Ways

 

I’ve gotten more and more fixed in my ways as I’ve grown older—though I’ve always been pretty rigid in my routines. Part of that was my parents’ fault.

We were a very religious family. We lived very near—or even with—my maternal grandfather, who was an ordained Christian minister (Disciples of Christ), a seminary professor; my father, too, was ordained though after his time as a Chaplain in WW II and the Korean War, he morphed into education—teacher training.

We went to church every Sunday (often twice), Sunday school, Vacation Bible School. By the time I entered college, I was already thinking of following in their footsteps—but decided I’d rather read novels, plays, and poems than philosophy. (Same reason I didn’t go to law school: I’d rather read novels, etc. than law books—even though I’d been accepted at Case-Western Reserve.)

Because I was a teacher throughout my career, my routines were fairly well fixed. Having scores of students, I realized that if I didn’t get my work done regularly—the preparation, the grading, etc.—I was in TROUBLE. And so I did what I needed to do.

And now that I’m, so I hear, old—and not nearly so mobile as I was once (I don’t drive anymore—my vision and balance are too uncertain), I leave the driving to Joyce.

For the most part we eat the same things every week. For breakfast I have one of my homemade scones (followed by a couple hours of reading and a NAP); for lunch, 1 cup of low-fat vanilla yogurt with fresh blueberries and strawberries along with a piece of toasted sourdough bread I’ve made (followed by a couple hours of reading and a NAP); for supper, a cycle of meals: quiche or omelette, grilled salmon, tomato-cheese-soup and grilled cheese, poultry and potatoes, carry-out pizza (Zeppe’s!). And the like.

Joyce modifies her meals with a variety of salads and vegetables. I bore her at the dinner table—not with my dazzling conversation, of course, but with the menu.

After supper (we eat early) I’m up in bed about 5:45, where I read from various books about an hour, then stream a bit of a show that I know Joyce won’t really care for. When she comes to join me (about 7), we stream bits each night of “our” shows—usually British mystery shows and, lately, Schitt’s Creek (we are only in Season 1 and are slowly getting into it).

Lights off about 8. Joyce stays with me awhile, we talk in the dark, then she heads to the back room to read an hour or so (she can’t fall asleep as early or as easily as I can—well, I must do so because of my poor health and the various soporific medications I’m on.)

Sound excitin’?

Oh, we make scones once a week, sourdough bread once a week. That’s about my only activity, other than going (CAREFULLY) up and down the stairs. And helping out—when I can—with the food prep and clean-up.

Well, the only activity other than going to see doctors and visit hospitals.

Even when I was feeling well, I did pretty much the same things every day and time: walking early morning and afternoon to sit and read and talk with friends in the coffee shop, driving out to the health club about 2:30, out to a movie on Friday or Saturday or both. Restaurants with our son and his family and sometimes friends. Grocery shopping on Sunday morning.

And about that my grandfather would have a few questions ...