SO, WHAT DAY IS IT AGAIN?

I was born in a different era. Being 82 has allowed me to become a creature of wisdom, experience and some knowledge. Friday has become just another day for me. I thank Jesus every morning for another day, but don’t always mean it. Sometimes I wonder why He’s keeping me alive so long. When I was a child, the days of the week each had a special meaning. In fact, I recall a nursery rhyme my mom would say at bedtime.

Monday’s child is fair of face,
Tuesday’s child is full of grace.
Wednesday’s child is full of woe,
Thursday’s child has far to go.
Friday’s child is loving and giving,
Saturday’s child works hard for a living.
But the child that is born on Sabbath day,
Is bonny and blithe, good and gay.

It was also a time when the days of the week were embroidered on dish towels to remind us of the necessary tasks for each day. I’m not so sure about Tuesday. I used to iron everything, including handkerchiefs and dish towels. Now I have a used iron and ironing board in good condition if anyone wants it. Ironing is not an option at my house. Thursday is questionable as well

  • Wash on Monday
  • Iron on Tuesday
  • Mend on Wednesday
  • Churn on Thursday
  • Clean on Friday
  • Bake on Saturday
  • Rest on Sunday

I am old enough to remember underwear that was labeled with the days of the week. I’m not sure what would happen if you wore the wrong day. Who would know anyway? Mom always said to wear clean underwear in case of an accident, but I wondered what difference that would make. If you were in an accident, your underwear most likely would not remain clean.

Anyway, the only logical way for me to keep track of time now is to look at my phone, watch the news or keep a calendar handy at all times. If it weren’t for doctor’s appointments on certain days, I’d be lost to the ravages of time. Instead, I will try to stay on some kind of a schedule other than relying on underwear, dish towels or old nursery rhymes. Does it really matter what day it is? I guess when you grow old, the days are all pretty much the same, unless you want to live a full, satisfying life. So, bring on the appointments and make them the high point of your week.

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About atimetoshare.me

As I reach the end of my years, I find I have a lot of good information stored up in this old decrepit mind of mine. If I don't write it all down, it may vanish and no one will have the advantage of my thoughts. This is why this blog exists. I love the Lord, Jesus with all my heart and soul. I know I'm undeserving of all He's done for me, but I also know that His love is beyond my comprehension. I've always wanted to write. I never kept diaries, but tucked my thoughts in my head for future reference. I use them now in creating stories, plays, poetry and my blog. I continue to learn every day. I believe the compilation of our time spent with God will have huge affect on the way we live. I know I'm a sinner and I need a Savior. I have One through Jesus, Christ. My book, "Stages - a memoir," is about the seven stages of life from the perspective of a woman. It addresses all the things girls and women go through in life as they travel it with Jesus, and it is available on Amazon.com.
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8 Responses to SO, WHAT DAY IS IT AGAIN?

  1. Lifetime Chicago's avatar Lifetime Chicago says:

    I still have my handkerchiefs with the days of the week

    Liked by 1 person

  2. budnrip's avatar budnrip says:

    I thought it was Saturday

    Liked by 2 people

  3. blmaluso's avatar blmaluso says:

    I remember receiving a gift pack of pretty underwear with the days of the week…I loved them!
    As for the actual days of the week…they are flying by, aren’t they?

    Liked by 1 person

  4. My mother (God rest her soul) used to iron everything — clothes, tablecloths, bed sheets, pillow cases, dish towels, handkerchiefs, even my dad’s boxer shorts. I never saw the point in it myself. After I got married, my mother was horrified to learn that not only did I not iron my husband’s handkerchiefs, I did not even iron his shirts. I politely pointed out that all of his shirts were permanent press, but she just shook her head in dismay, wondering how she could have raised such an incompetent daughter.

    Liked by 1 person

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