*Does Anybody Really Know What Day It Is?

If you came for the pie, skip down to the mouth-watering picture at the bottom of this page for information about the Lemon Cream Pie at Bryce Valley Pines...if you came for another installment of Randomocity, read on...

Just like some old black and white movie character with his head wrapped in gauze, coming out of a brain-befuddled head injury, I wake up many days wondering, "What day is it?" Since I've retired, the days of the week have lost most of their significance. Sometimes that's good; sometimes that's bad.

When I was teaching, Monday was the hardest day back at work after the relaxation of the weekend. That day had the starkest contrast of work vs. rest for me. Tuesday was my day of early morning and after school recess, patrolling the school grounds during the only prep time elementary teachers have. Our class had library day with Mrs. Gleave on Tuesday afternoon, so I cherished Tuesdays as much as I dreaded them because while she taught the children, it freed me up to get things organized for class. Wednesday, hump day, seemed kind of special because we were halfway to the weekend. Thursday was a sweet day that seemed survivable, being one day before the weekend.  Friday was an early dismissal day. (It drove me crazy when people called it half day. When you shave off an hour and 48 minutes of a child's time at school, you're not exactly dividing his day in half.)

My weekend officially began at the 1:00 bell on Friday afternoon. Saturdays were for breakfast out, shopping, errands, and light housework. Yes, always light housework for me. I'm not sure when heavy housework occurs. It happens so rarely, it seems silly to assign it to any particular day. Sunday was always a day of rest, or perhaps SLOTH would be a better way to put it.  Our tradition is to watch the CBS Sunday Morning News, and then to take the day as it comes. Sunday night I would typically feel a bit mournful knowing my weekend was winding down, but come Monday morning, I would bound out of bed even earlier, knowing if I arrived at school before the students did, I'd accomplish so much more. And my week would repeat.

And now there's now. I can't even tell you how many times I've thought, "We're on vacation" this summer. We are on perpetual vacation. Nowhere to be; nowhere to go. Our schedule seems all squishy and floppy. There is no rhythm to our week. Every day seems like every other day, so it's hard to distinguish between them.

It's one thing to wake up in the morning and wonder aloud to yourself, "What day is it anyway?" But to have that same question occur repeatedly during your waking hours is more than slightly annoying. I had one of those WEEKENDS.  Today's Monday, right? Yeah, so this last weekend was one moment of banal wonderment after another for me.

Isn't it gorgeous?

Saturday I woke up thinking it was Sunday. ALL. DAY. LONG. We went to Cracker Barrel for a very late breakfast, which is something we do occasionally on Sundays, so that threw me off slightly.Afterwards, we stopped at Hobby Lobby to buy the most beautiful Christmas tree I've ever seen. Okay, the most beautiful one that I've seen that didn't make me gasp at the price, and feel like I'd have to take out a loan to afford it. The whole time we were there, I was amazed at two things: 1. Wow, I didn't realize Hobby Lobby was even open on Sundays.  2.  There are a LOT of people who shop here, considering it's Sunday and all.

In the back of my mind, I kept thinking I need to get out of town soon because I was planning to hike with a friend the next day in southern Utah.  When I finally headed down the interstate, I tried to find some relaxing music for my drive. "The Sounds of Sunday" program is always a favorite of mine, but it wasn't playing.  How odd. I thought perhaps I had the station wrong, so I started searching the radio programs. Oh, yeah, it's SATURDAY. Duh. I think I only looked for the program one more time during my three hour drive.

If I thought Saturday was bad, Sunday was a mini nightmare mentally. I woke up early, excited about hiking. Hiking makes me happy, as you know; so happy that I woke up at five, even though I'd been playing with a very silly app on Facebook called Bit Strips until midnight. Bit Strips allows you to cartoon-ize yourself and then place yourself in single pane comics. I guess I couldn't sleep because I was wound up with excitement about going to a slot canyon the next morning, and I was seriously entertained by Bit Strips. (Simple minds are EASILY entertained.)

Bitstrips app

So here it was, SUNDAY morning finally, and I had woken up plenty early.  I futzed and puttered, as I am wont to do, until I glanced up at the clock high up on the wall over the sliding glass doors.  HOLY COW!  How did it get to be so late?  Keep in mind, Daylight Savings Time had magically occurred in the wee hours of the morning, and I truly had woken up at five, the time confirmed by my cell phone and computer.

The night before I had reset the microwave and stove clocks because I can reach them. I had not bothered with the family room clock that requires a ladder; I knew my handyman son would oblige me when he comes Monday, so that one I left alone. And forgot about. And could not for the life of me remember that it was not showing the correct time. Every time I glanced up at it, I hurried a little faster, wondering how I had possibly wasted so much time. I wouldn't have nearly enough time to putter on my computer before we left.

I hurriedly made a pot of coffee, wisely choosing to only have half as much coffee today; I tend to drink it by the pot. Unfortunately, my good intentions only went as far as the coffee grinds. In my haste, I still added just as much water as I usually do to  Mr. Coffee maker. That makes for a very mild cup of coffee, let me tell you.

About the third time that I looked up at the wall clock, I discarded any notion I had of blogging, left my coffee mug cooling on the counter, and tore into the bathroom to throw myself together. WE ARE LEAVING IN 15 MINUTES!  Which isn't a problem if you're me; I have my makeup down to a five minute routine (that explains some things, doesn't it?), and I can dry, and straighten my hair in about 7 minutes. I'd have three minutes to inhale my breakfast in front of the computer, which isn't a problem either. I'm a retired teacher. I'm used to consuming an entire lunch in 12 minutes.

Several times during that crazy couple of hours, Chicago's song from the seventies, "Does Anybody Really Know What Time It Is?" played through my head. Once I started humming it, the song never really quit for me. It resurfaced throughout the day, whenever I experienced confusion about the day or the time, which was frequently.

So during my "leisurely" breakfast, I happened to look at the time on my computer, conveniently set to Daylight Savings Time by the fairies who make all the magic happen inside my hard drive. Whew. I had an HOUR to kill before I had to meet my friend.  I could slow down and relax with my laptop. Before I opened up my Blogger page, I checked in with Facebook, and there was a message from my hiking partner. She hadn't slept all night. She was excited to go hiking.  We could leave whenever I was ready.  Panic mode set in once again; I guzzled the last of my now cold coffee, grabbed my camera and jacket, and flew down the stairs.

Off we went for the most amazing day of hiking in a slot canyon, but that's a story for another day. Suffice it to say that the two of us had to keep reminding ourselves it wasn't  Saturday.  We were shocked to find a little convenience store open at seven after we'd left home, which is rare in small rural Utah towns, especially on Sundays.  We were disappointed to see that the Clark's restaurant in Tropic was closed. "Oh, yeah, it IS Sunday." And we were delighted to see that Bryce Valley Pines Restaurant WAS open on Sunday. Hardly any cars were there; oh, yeah, it's Sunday; most folks are at church right now.

I just have to tell you, if you're ever anywhere near Bryce Canyon, no matter what day of the week, you really need to stop by Bryce Valley Pines for a piece of pie, if nothing else. I do not consume pie, ever, because there's just something distasteful to me about eating anything with LARD in it, but we ordered a slice of lemon cream pie to share between the two of us.  When the waitress, who treated us like her own grandchildren, brought the pie and two forks to our table, our eyes went wide in amazement.  It was the largest slice I'd ever seen, and after the first taste of the filling, I was in heaven. It was so tart, so creamy, so yummy.  The lemony filling was sitting on top of a fluffy cream cheese concoction layer, and below the thickest layer of real whipped cream. Crust or no crust, that pie was amazing. Try it; you won't regret it, no matter what day of the week it is. Or isn't, as the case may be.