4 posts tagged “quotidian”
David likes his coffee in the morning, and he gets up, eager and groggy, to start it afresh. The filtered water has been sitting in the jug overnight; he pours it into the reservoir behind the coffee-maker, gets the bag of grounds from the refrigerator, and puts five scoops of them into the filter, in the basket. Then he turns on the little red light. It's a machine he likes a lot, and when he broke the carafe, he disabled the anti-drip mechanism to accomodate the new carafe. he tries to make up little errands to do that will keep him occupied until the drip cycle is over, but most days he just can't wait. The countertop is often spattered by the time coffee is done.
It is quiet then, except for the sounds of the house and of his body. He is alone, and yet I am with him to see all this, for you see: I am David. He never fills the coffee cup more than halfway. He likes it hot. He sits down in front of the computer and deletes the uninteresting mail. He looks at the feeds and the boards, but he rarely offers anything up; he won't even answer emails at that hour. Coffee first.
He takes a break and uses the running water for three purposes. By then, he might be ready to write a little. Periodically he has gone down and refreshed his cup, until the coffee is all gone. And by then it is time to go out. David picks up the paper from the end of the driveway and throws it in the back of the car.
One of the hardest things to get used to about adulthood is the fact that its illusions are not fewer than those of childhood, but only more persistent. I can't shake this idea that there is something special about a birthday, even though the idea is proved false, year after year; and however guarded I am, however low my expectations, I am disappointed and saddened yet again.
I got presents, a few. It's the thought that counts, they say, an adage which is meant to excuse the giftgiver for laying a peculiar oddity at your feet and looking up hopefully for the grateful nod. My brothers each decided, independently, that what I required was the first season of Beverly Hills 90210 on DVD. I am nonplussed, but I laughed.
I got cake. I got two cards, one from the gang at work, one from my widowed aunt. Some more may trickle in; the mails aren't what they used to be.
I was remembered by email, by the diaspora of my past and by the unmet friends of the internet, and other virtual greetings. Some were from real people and some were from robots. Such is life in the future.
The day itself was mostly a good one. It just wasn't "special". I spent time with people whose company I enjoy, and did the things that give me mild pleasures, and avoided most of the things that give me mild displeasure. I went out in the morning and came in at night, and after I'd had enough of the giddy good times, I went to bed and slept.
Many happy returns.
I could tell you about my morning cup of coffee. I could tell you about Bible Study. I could tell you about my visit to the Shop Rite; about who I saw, piling up her leaves, driving home; about my morning; about my visit to the Methodist church bazaar and who I saw there; about my troubles with the furnace; about the wedding; about the little mess I had to clean up after; about my nap; about my bath; about my few moments sitting here writing and idly surfing the web.
My descriptions would not be novel or earth-shattering. No great insights, philosophical or psychological, social or political, temporal or eternal, would be found there. There would be very little to differentiate my experiences from those of many other mortals of similar background. I would evoke from no one any belly-laughs, gasps of horror, moans of sympathy, or tears of joy or sorrow. But....these things comprised my world today.
Coffee was welcome. Bible Study was diffuse. Shop Rite was busy. I saw Liz. The bazaar was diverting. I saw Fran; I saw Art; I saw Dave. The furnace was off, and that was the trouble. The wedding was pretty, and nice. The mess was persistent; it was little heart-shaped pellets of meal which the celebrants threw over the church steps. The nap was short. The bath was warm, and wet. These few moments have been recent, and now they are gone.
I was intending to make it to rummage yesterday after I went off work but before I had to come back for the wedding; we were short-staffed so i never made it, and instead I printed and organized signs. For rummage.
The pastor who officiated at the memorial service I can't talk about came by with a thank-you note and a little gift. The wedding was pretty, full candlelight, and Bob did a nice job with it, but the photographers were obnoxious and impossible to control. I got home about seven in the evening. Eleven hours at the church on a half-day.
