“Too Much Time?”

 

            Like many people, I started working at sixteen and never stopped. The two years as caregiver for Mom as she circled down into the late stage of Huntington’s disease translated into a grueling 24/7 schedule. I returned to work “part-time” as a substitute teacher with the idea that I had freedom to adjust my days as I pleased. Even pre-pandemic, school districts experienced a shortage of substitutes, and I became a sucker for a plea from a secretary to book weeks in advance. I broke my vow to “cut back” to only working two or three days a week as my calendar filled year-after-year.

            Then COVID-19 halted me in my tracks. The spring of 2020 suddenly loomed open and empty. At first, I reveled in the wonder of having enough Time for anything and everything. I finished neglected yard and garden projects. I reorganized every closet and drawer, and ventured into the garage and attics for a purge. I detailed the cars to a showroom shine. I binged on television and movies, and read blissfully.

            Hours? Days? Weeks? Months? Tracking time became unnecessary.

            Until lack of use drained the Mazda’s battery!

            I realized tracking time needed a new type of routine other than up at 5 AM, Monday thru Friday to work all day. Slowly, a weekly sequence evolved. Mondays I designated for ERRANDS DAY that included a grocery store run and take-outs to support local restaurants. To avoid draining the car batteries, Tuesdays turned into CAR DAYS. The RX8 zips down a stretch of highway at 70 mph to keep the engine purring. Wednesdays shifted to WASH DAYS. That means stripping all of the beds, tossing in the towels, and tackling our multitude of throws along with our usual clothing. The tradition of NO CHORE Thursday (started when caring for Mom) continued to this day. I assigned Fridays for COMPANY CLEANING: bathrooms disinfected, mirrors polished, furniture dusted, floors mopped. Saturday and Sunday opened up as free days, too.

            My system means my days don’t blur without some kind of “tick” to mark them. I don’t have to remember if I’ve driven the car from one week to the next, or if I’ve forgotten to wash Koi’s bedding. A glance at my phone yields the weekday, and my morning chores fall into place.

            Of course, it amazes me that I finally have too much time.

Copyright 2022 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

 

    

   

“The Silver Lining”

 
 
            My husband’s company informed him last week that his department will work remotely permanently. My resounding “Whoop!” shook the windows. We definitely celebrated this news.

            David worked for fourteen years from the home as a freelance illustrator. During those years, we loved that our son always came home to a parent in the house. When we decided to homeschool, my son and I designed his coursework, but David daily donned the role of teacher. Working from home meant we could back-burn our oldest car and keep it going for twenty years. It meant I came home to less housework and cooking because David could wash a load of clothes or run the vacuum when he took a break. During my breaks from teaching, we slowed the pace of our days—no alarm clocks all summer long! 

            The disadvantage for this type of work, of course, is that it’s a feast-or-famine financial forage. Income fluctuated dramatically from month to month and contract to contract. There are no benefits like medical coverage unless you pay out-of-pocket. No paid vacations. If David didn’t work, he didn’t earn. His parents would get upset when we couldn’t join the family on one of their various vacations. They didn’t understand that to go on a trip for a couple of weeks meant we’d have to have the money saved for both the cost of the vacation plus two weeks’ pay! Because he never knew when the next round of work would surface, we tried to live as much as possible within my Texas teacher’s low salary.
            With David’s current situation, we have the security of a regular salary and benefits coupled with the easier, slower pace that comes from working from home. David’s six-year-old car’s 75,000 odometer reading no longer worries me. The week before last, my mind ran through the scenario that we’d need to replace it long before my 2005 RX8 since David puts more than 1,400 miles a month on it. Now we’ll use it for errands all within ten miles from the house. I’m already only driving the Mazda weekly for a twenty minute spin to keep it running since I no longer need it for the part-time job I worked before COVID-19.

            We still start our mornings with an alarm clock, only it’s set at 7:15 instead of 5:15! David grabs a bowl of cereal and sets up his laptop for the day instead of rushing out the door for bumper-to-bumper traffic going across San Antonio. His department took walking breaks twice a day. Now that I can walk again, we’ll do the same breaks together. We lunch together, too.  David eats during one episode of House Hunters-International, and we admire the adventuresome spirit of the people highlighted.
            In all of the financial losses, illnesses and deaths caused by a pandemic, we’ve found our silver lining.

Copyright 2020 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

“Commercials”

 

 

            Usually, I don’t pay any attention to television commercials. Most of the time, I dash out of the room to use the restroom, or head into the kitchen to sneak a peek into the fridge. I may even take a thirty second snooze (that sometimes creeps into the show I’m watching). I’d have a hard time telling you about any of the products, or the music, or any special elements from the advertisement.

            However, I have to admit that I’m in love with the baby from the Nationwide commercial. The song, of course, taps into my own memories. I identify with the young driver hovering over his car (I think I’d run across a parking lot to save the RX 8 from a maverick shopping cart.) 

            So today, I applaud the team that developed this short and effective ad. For once, I remember the product, the company, the message, and—THE BABY!  

 

Copyright 2013 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman