By Appointment Only

At the beginning of each month, I make up a calendar for Joe so he will know the important things in his life, like when I am not cooking dinner, when I will not be home for the evening, when I will not be home for Kai to get off the bus after school. Now, these don't seem too difficult to me but inevitably, even though he has it on a color coded calendar which is lying on his table, he questions me almost daily. Our conversations are amazingly consistent.



"What are we having for dinner?"

"I won't be home; I have a meeting."

"Oh."



"Where are you going now?"

"I have a meeting."

"Where?"

My answers vary between two churches and the shop.

"Oh."



"On your way home, can you stop at Krogers?"

"No, I won't be right home tonight; I have Friday Night Free for All. You need to be there for Kai."

"Oh."



Because of these conversations, I am amazed he can keep track of his substitute teaching days and doctor's appointments. Actually, he has missed a few doctor's appointments, but never a teaching day. It's all me, of course. He has selective memory when it comes to me, as do most husbands; he only remembers what he wants.

Of course, I make the calendar for myself as well. I tend to scribble on it extra information and events as the month progresses, and it becomes even more important to me, helping me remember when quilts are due to be collected or when Lisa is coming to dinner or just that I need to stop at Kroger on the way home.

Joe folds his calendar twice and puts it on one of his two "tables." Joe's tables are not meant for me to clean, and when I do, he gets all huffy about where did I put all his stuff. One table is next to the couch in the living room and the other next to his bed. Both have basically the same stuff, which usually consists of outdated advertisements, the past month's Church newsletters, various pens, crossword puzzle books, newspapers folded to the crossword puzzle, library books (always mysteries and paperbacks because they aren't as heavy to hold up when reading in bed), and other mysterious pieces of folded paper that seem to have no purpose. The table in the bedroom also has a flashlight, a penknife, a phone, and other useless small objects left by the grandchildren. All of their McDonald's and Burger King prizes seem to end up there. Among this detritus is the folded calendar. No wonder when he asks me a question, I have stopped saying, "Did you look at the calendar?"