What happened to last week?
I can’t find last week.
It seems to have been here and gone before I knew it. It isn’t that I missed anything terrible dramatic – except, of course, the matter of paying a couple of bills and my grandson’s birthday
But it’s just the idea that today is the 15th of the month, and therefore, I am required, okay, not required perhaps, but expected, to publish a Blog today. And I look forward to doing that…but the 15th isn’t supposed to be here yet.
I am a stickler for being on time. Deadlines are sacred. It is only common courtesy that you meet a friend at two o’clock if two o’clock is the time you agreed upon. If the book report is due on Tuesday, it should be handed in on Tuesday.
If you have a doctor’s appointment, the DOCTOR should be on time. Or at least close to it. I had one doctor who was chronically so late that I made an agreement with his secretary. I would call about an hour before I was scheduled to show up. She would tell me how far behind he was and I would actually show up at whatever time she gave me. I finally decided that, no matter how good he was at what he did, I deserved more respect than that. His secretary and I are still friends.
I live by a couple of time rules. One of the first is that if you keep me waiting for more that 20 minutes and don’t think to call me to let me know about it, I only give you one shot.
My sister was one of the nicest people in the world – most of the time. But she had no concept of the importance of time. She was ALWAYS late. For EVERYTHING. It drove me nuts. So, one time I was meeting her I determined to be late
The thing you have to understand at the beginning is that being late for anything makes me physically ill. I really shred over it. But I was determined, I sat at home, reading a book that I couldn’t understand because my mind kept wandering to the idea of being late. But finally the clock and I agreed that I could safely head out now and meet her.
As planned, I was late. But she was later. She arrived about 10 minutes after me, happily strolling toward our meeting place and giving me a happy, loving smile. She had a fine dinner. I got sick.
I’m not sure where I got this dedication to being on time, but I blame it on show business. Show business is extremely unforgiving when it comes to time.
I agree with the old saw that “The Show Must Go On”, but I believe the line is too short. It should say, The show must go on – ON TIME.
I am ruthless in my condemnation when a Broadway Show – or my local NoHo theater shows for that matter – don’t start on time. That has always seemed to me to be the height – or the depth of something or other.
I think it was Norman Lear who once told me that if a script hadn’t made him laugh within the first 17 second, he didn’t bother reading the rest. I rather like to think that was an exaggeration, but that’s what I was told.
Early on in my California experience, I ran afoul of an unspoken, but almost universally observed, social law. One should NEVER, absolutely NEVER, show up at a party at 8:00 P.M. just because the invitation said that was when the party started.
When you do that you are ALWAYS the first to arrive, and the least welcome of guests. Frequently the host is still in his robe and can’t imagine why you are ringing the bell at that silly hour. One only does that once. Or maybe three times before one receives an anonymous note explaining why it’s a bed idea.
The fact is that I still act like people will arrive on time – which explains why, when I invite folks for dinner at eight and they come at nine, they are frequently served very, very, very overdone Lamb roast.
As you have probably figured out by now, this is a rather lengthy explanation as to why there is no Blog this month.