Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday

Monday. Deluge.

Oh dear oh dear. Oh day of days. It’s another Monday, isn’t it. It’s raining, it’s pouring, the old man is snoring. It’s a deluge out there. Rain falling down and great streaks, slanted lines and fierce, icy droplets. Just below freezing temperature – only just. Cup of lukewarm water with the herbal chamomile tea bag, and a bowl of alphabet soup in between the old tea and the crossword puzzle booklet. I’m on page 19 of the crossword booklet, slow moving with that one. It’s not even like I’m that bad at crosswords. It’s just terribly slow moving. But it’s not a race. Not a competition. There’s a lit candle somewhere in the apartment to add to the overall ambience of Hygge. It might be a slight problem that I cannot quickly locate where the burning candle is located. Don’t wanna start any fires in here. Not that I’ve started any fires before. Crisp apple cinnamon coming from somewhere in the apartment. Added to the overall ambience with a deluge going on outside. Oh yes, cozy.

Not for everyone outside, though. Some are recently caught in the thick of it and some of them, in the thick of it, are without an umbrella. Sad days for that lot. I saw one odd fellow not too long ago who was only wearing a yellow rubber raincoat, a pair of yellow rubber galoshes, and a wide brimmed yellow hat. That was it. No trousers or underwear even. Oh my Lord. Oh my days. And at one point, he stopped and leaned over to pick up a shiny little coin that he had discovered on the wet pavement. I don’t have to describe to you the ugly hairy sight that I was forced to witness with my own two eyes. Oh, Lord. Oh, Mercy.

There are a mighty few wackadoos out there. I doubt that I’m one of them. No, I really don’t think I’m one of them. I choose to wear pants even when I’m inside at home.

I don’t want any of the alphabet soup. It’s almost as lukewarm as the tea. And for that matter I don’t want the tea either, whatever half content is left in the mug. I want a new cuppa.

I lower the inclined leather lounge chair and remove the blanket from my lap. The veil upon the throne. I gather the bowl and the mug and take them with me into the kitchen. Feet in their velvety, pillow slippers, shuffling, shuffling, shuffling along. New water in the kettle, kettle on the stove top. Setting on high. Bowl of alphabet soup. Dumped down one drain in the kitchen sink. I want no more cross words today, as God is my witness. I’ll have to find something else to while away the remainder of this rainy day.

Tuesday. Haiku.

On this day it is not so rainy. As a matter of fact it is mainly just overcast. Drip drops of rain here and there but nothing like what it was yesterday. No deluge today.

It’s just overcast, so does this warrant a walk? I don’t have a dog to walk, or any other pet to walk for that matter, so there is less incentive to go out on my Johnny lonesome. Even though exercise and fresh air have proven to be beneficial for the mental and emotional and physical health. And yet it’s just so damn cozy inside.

I’ve located the apple cinnamon candle. It’s on the windowsill in the kitchen. Well actually, let me rephrase that with past tense – it was on the windowsill in the kitchen. It has since been moved to one of the windowsills in the sitting room where I’m currently sitting. Stronger aroma. More vigilance on the states of the burning wick.

Do I go out? Oh my days. This is the ultimate question on this particular Tuesday, isn’t it? It’s not even like I need to pick up any food from the grocery store, pick up any random things from the corner store. If I went outside today, it would surely be for stretching the legs and getting some fresh air.

Do I want that on my conscience though? Do I want it to be said of me that I was brave enough and dumb enough to go outside for a walk for the sole purpose of just going for a walk? What kind of message does that send? What sort of precedent would that be sending?

I decide to stay in. To help with my mental emotional and physical health. I’ll attend all of that hogwash tomorrow.

I finish my crossword in the booklet. It was fairly easy and straightforward. As far as crosswords go. Even though on other days I attempt two or even three crossword pages, on this Tuesday I sit contentedly with one. Yes, that is fine. Yes, that is fine.

I decide to start writing poetry. Whatever poetry I can devise and improvise, that is. It makes it easier considering that these days poetry can really be whatever the hell you want it to be. The rules are off. It could be a picture of an iguana, and in some select circles, critics and fellow poets would nod solemnly and say yes, that is indeed poetry. I would be toast in the olden days when everything had to rhyme and be in iambic pentameter, but for now I think I’ll be just fine.

I start with something somewhat conventional and cheesy, though. I start with a haiku.

I can’t type. I have to hand write.

On the first page of my empty lined notebook, I scrawl the following: “Missile coming fast, obscene woman tracking me, lift this cruel burden.”

I sat with it for a while in my recliner chair, looking down at the first page and letting the words wash over me. They don’t leave a big impact, but that’s all right. I had written them in the first place, and that’s all that mattered.

Wednesday. Call from mom.

It’s a bright sunny day. Of course it is today. What else would I expect in this part of the world. In this town. Never the same. Rain one day, overcast the next day, sunny weather the next. It’s just the way it goes.

I like that. It doesn’t stay the same for too long. But it does make things difficult. It does make things unpredictable. Fairly unpredictable. Do I dare to venture outside today, once my daily crossword and my daily haiku are through? For now, it’s not just for my mental and emotional and physical health. It’s also for my skin, for the birds out in the trees singing their songs, for the other friends and mild acquaintances out in the fields singing their own songs, and tossing their own balls.

What was I to do then? What was a poor Johnny lonesome boy to do? The cup of tea wasn’t getting any warmer, the ham sandwich and chips had been consumed, and the crossword and haiku were done. And the sun was shining ever so brightly outside.

The sun trumps all. A walk it would be. A walk would I be prepared for, a walk with no endeavor, no dog needed for this endeavor. It would all happen today. The stars have aligned, the sun was up, and it was so inherently beautiful and of course I would go outside to meet it.

Galoshes on, coat on, lights turned off, sunglasses secured in the right pocket of my coat. Ready to go. Keys in my trousers pocket, the ring of keys with everything I could possibly need together along the middle ring.

Opening the front door prepared to step outside. And then a buzzing and a ringing from the trouser pocket on my left hand side.

Telemarketer? Or someone else?

I extract the phone from my trouser pocket and answer it. It’s mom.

Hi, it’s mummy she says. It’s clear she’s using the speakerphone and doing something else at the moment, washing the vegetables for supper or something drawl like that.

Mummy? I’m going for a walk. Can I call you back later?

You can’t walk and talk, dear boy? Loads and loads of people can do that.

I’m sure loads and loads of people can do that, but I don’t want to do that, mummy. I want to go for a proper walk and enjoy the bright and shiny sun on my Johnny lonesome. Even just for a little bit.

She scoffs as she washes the peppers and the carrots in the sink. Well, this sounds like a whole new you. What an earth has gotten into you?

The sun, that’s who, I respond and I don’t hang up the phone immediately, even though I’d like to, and that would be fully within my power. I let her hear my answer, really hear it, and then take a deep breath and really consider how I’d like to leave her gracefully and yet deliberately on this random and wonderful sunny Wednesday in the respective area. Mummy. Thank you for calling. But really, I will have to call you back. Sunny fortune is calling.

And I hang up the phone on her and place the mobile phone in my pocket. I silence the phone. I close the front door, lock it with my centralized key, and make my way down the stairwell. Two steps at a time.

I open the front door of the apartment complex to meet the sun. And oh, how glorious it all is. Oh, my days.

The sun here now! It wasn’t always here. Tomorrow might be a deluge and then again it might not. What matters is being present today. This day where my feet are currently standing.

On this day, oh my days, it is bright and sunny.