One of the weird manifestations of this sheltering-in-place business — I lose track of what day it is.  Years ago, when I retired, I thought that might be the case but, almost immediately, appointments and events and meetings began to clot up the calendar and the days never seemed to get confused.

Now, however, the story is different.  Yesterday, I went to  our little Oysterville Post Office to mail a package and missed my window of opportunity by fifteen minutes!  I had lost sight of it being Saturday, the day of the 10:15 a.m. closure.  With that still fresh in my mind, I am aware that  this is Sunday but I’m sure the days will all blend together once again before many more go by.

So, it occurs to me that maybe I should revert to the the implied advice in nursery song, “The Mulberry Bush” — you know: ‘This is the way we wash our clothes, wash our clothes…etc. all on a Monday morning.”  A little structure might help.  Tuesday, iron our clothes; Wednesday, mend our clothes; Thursday, sweep the floor; Friday, scrub the floor; Saturday, bake the bread; Sunday, get dressed up.

Well, right away that gives me at least two free days — forget mending and dressing up.  And why there are two days to attend to the floor is beyond me.  Maybe Thursday or Friday could be freed up, too.  And, ironing???  Not much need there…

Perhaps I need to modernize the rhyme — add some things about email and telephone and skyping  or zooming.  I’ll think about that… maybe tomorrow.  Whatever day that is.