“Go ahead,” God said, “make a plan, I need a good laugh.”

Why do I still pretend that writing something in a daytimer will somehow mean that it will come to pass?

As I mentioned on my post yesterday, I was wrestling with the demons of Post-Trip-Pileage (commonly referred to as PTP). Suddenly, in the midst of wading through the piles of laundry, my husband called from our apartment in Vancouver to suggest that the next day (that being today) would be a great day, and in fact, the only day, to visit my father in Abbotsford.

It would seem he had the clarity of vision to actually look at my calendar and what I had planned for the week. I tend not to look too far in advance and end up rather surprised by the things I’ve agreed to attend…including the fact that I had RSVP’d to a wine bar opening for Tuesday night and it might be a good idea to get over to Vancouver in order to attend. Well, who knew?

The ferry was leaving in 45 minutes. It takes 20-25 minutes to drive to the terminal, I needed a little time to find a parking spot park, and of course, the latest issue with the truck’s non-cooperative passenger window meant throwing in a roll of plastic and duct tape to rig something up to cover the gap in case it rained…just the regular stuff that everybody has to do when going to the ferry.

Then I realized that I would need an outfit for tonight’s swirly gig at the Fairmont Pacific Rim’s Giovane wine bar opening and then there were the clothes to pack for Thursday night’s stay at the Metropolitan Hotel so I could do a review on that, and suddenly stuff was flying into the wheelie bag, the bedding was in a twist on the bed and I was gone in a cloud of plastic and duct tape.

And so? Yesterday’s dilemma was put off. I didn’t really stay or go…I just temporarily put it all off. And I honestly can’t recall ever leaving the house with that much laundry strewn about. Truly, it felt rather decadent, though I could clearly hear my mother’s heavenly voice and she was not nearly as amused as I was.

It was lovely to sleep in a place that wasn’t cluttered with mayhem, though I sense the chickens back home are increasingly miffed with our constant to-ing and fro-ing and subsequent egg pile-up in their little nesting boxes.

And so today I visited my dad in Menno Home. For various reasons, there was a gap between visits and I ended up having three vials of blood drawn from my arm for the Mennonite heritage blood study that I had volunteered for a couple of weeks ago. Turns out the lab is near Dad’s home and it just seemed to be a fit. As my dad has always said, “Why not?”

Besides, I’ve certainly done my share of rebelling against the Mennonite thing long enough, perhaps it was time to give something back to my dark-garmented tribe. Who knows what they might find in a study like this? (I mean, besides a bias toward depression, near-sightedness, anxiety, Tourettes and webbed toes).

All this to say, that originally my Tuesday was supposed to be a morning of yoga, hours of writing, emails, a little more laundry and perhaps some reading on a deck chair…instead I spent several hours driving, sitting at the doctor’s office, the medical lab and the Menno home and now I’ll be getting ready for a wine bar opening…a rather surreal finish to such a pragmatically stodgy day.

I refuse to look at tomorrow’s calendar. Because seriously? What difference would it make? It will just be what it is.

Go with the flow, Joe. Ride with the tide, Clyde. Hop on the bus, Gus.

Don’t make a plan…Colleen.