Mundanity?
Vacation is almost over, and I’ll soon be returning to work. I can always tell when I’ve been home for too long, because weird and mundane things take on greater importance than they should.
Yesterday, for example, I was preparing a delicious meal of liver-and-onions for the crockpot (a favorite of mine, as I’m sure it is for everyone). I poured olive oil into the pot and chopped the onion, but when I took the package of liver from the fridge there was an unseen hole in the package. I turned around and flung puddles of bright red blood across the floor. My kitchen looked like a murder scene. It’s probably a good thing that I live in a remote area because if a nosy neighbor had happened to stop in for a visit, it would have earned me a one-way ticket to the Nancy Grace Show.
I cleaned everything up, and then realized that I’d missed an opportunity for a great Facebook photo: me on the floor, puddles of blood all around me, the butcher knife at my side, and a cleverly-worded caption about kitchen disasters.
Today was slightly more exciting, in a mundane sort of way. I awoke at 5:00 AM and ran downstairs and immediately started a pot of black tea, fearing that a lack of caffeine would dampen my enthusiasm. I almost forgot to put the carafe under the brew basket, as I have done a couple of times before and the coffee overflows from the basket and spreads across the counter. And there again, both times, I forgot to take a photograph before cleaning up the mess.
After combing my hair and shaving and making a pot of strong coffee for my travel mug, I drove to the YMCA (it‘s a 20-mile drive, so coffee was required instead of tea). I was there a good long while, doing my regular routine and walking three miles on the indoor track, sort of killing time until McDonald’s started serving their lunch menu at 11:00 o'clock.
After leaving the YMCA I stopped in at the nearby Salvation Army store, taking care to park my ‘98 Mercedes ML 320 far away from the front door so I wouldn’t be judged a pretentious snob by the other shoppers. With my nose in the neutral position, I wandered aimlessly throughout the store until I was delighted to find a Mr. Coffee carafe for 79 cents. A few years ago I broke my carafe at home while cleaning it, and I was forced to buy an entire new coffeemaker. Apparently at Walmart they don’t sell the carafes separately. Now I’m good-to-go if I have another carafe disaster.
After my Double Quarter Pounder with fries and a Coke at McDonalds, I headed over to Walmart to buy groceries, taking care once again to park my ’98 Mercedes ML 320 in an inconspicuous parking stall. I have to admit that I was swaggering a bit as I strolled down the aisles, still pumped-up and macho from my workout, but my ego was deflated when I returned to the parking lot: right next to my ‘98 Mercedes ML 320 sat a gigantic, shiny-black Cadillac Escalade with chrome wheels and those cool skinny tires. Somehow, the gleam from the Escalade accentuated the gravel dust and the rust spots on my little car. I felt humbled.
At times I dream about retirement, but then I have a couple of days like this when I realize, if I retire, I may be overwhelmed by mundanity.
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