The Mayhem of the Mundane

As you get older, you get more invisible. Your life fades into the background noise of your children, followed by their children, and suddenly before you know it, you become a faint beat that occurs once per stanza in a four minute song.

I’m only 60 years old, which I know isn’t nearly as old as I think it is, but it isn’t exactly young either. I’m widowed. I live alone. My days roll by relatively unchanged, like your favorite comfort Disney movie, not particularly exceptional nor excruciating, but always with the same opening and closing credits.

Bored of my regular routine, I set out to do something. Something different. Unexpected and consequential. I began my morning as I always did, but when I went to pour my black coffee from the kettle, I paused before swiveling back around the direction I came from and found myself at my back door. I slid on my “going out” sandals, unhooked the key from the hook, and closed the front door behind me, taking care to lock up, you never know in small towns like mine.

I set out down the chalk-drawn sidewalk and slowly made my way up Elizabeth’s front porch. Elizabeth’s porch was the most pristine on the entire block. Somehow it’s white color had managed to remain bright throughout years of rainy springs and there hadn’t been a box planter unattended to since the day she moved in. Pretty pink, purple, and yellow flowers were in a soft bloom, fresh droplets of thrist quenching water, still sat upon their petals. Elizabeth must have just water them. I braced myself for the loud bang that followed when I clanged her door with the gold door handle. I jumped at the sound, as I imagine she had too, as she wasn’t expecting me.

“Meg? Did you and I have plans this mornin?” Elizabeth smiled as she removed her tulip-printed garden gloves.

I found myself entering Elizabeth’s home and removing my sandals before answering her question, “God did. For us to be alive and to live every last moment to the full of it.”

Elizabeth’s eyes widened in confusion at first, but as the silenece bore on, she understood, “I suppose life is too short for plans.”

“And to live it the same way each day.”