Every now and then I forget about the one constant that seems to continually direct my life. Then something happens to bring me up short, and I realize that Murphy’s Law is still alive and well.

To begin with, the powers-that-be went and changed Memorial Day on me.

Every now and then I forget about the one constant that seems to continually direct my life. Then something happens to bring me up short, and I realize that Murphy’s Law is still alive and well.


To begin with, the powers-that-be went and changed Memorial Day on me.


For some reason I had the mistaken notion that Memorial Day is always much later in the month, and I still had another week to get my act together.


I admit that I’m not the most organized person on the planet. I’m always playing catch-up, which is one of the reasons that all of the clocks in my house are set 15 minutes fast. I do this intentionally so that when I glance at one of them and see that I’m running late, I will know that I’m not really that late.


This way, most of the time I end up arriving somewhere five minutes late instead of the 20 minutes I’d be late if my clocks were all set correctly. Some of you reading this (mostly men) will not understand my method of reasoning, but there are a few out there, like me, who will understand it perfectly.  Scary, isn’t it?


Anyway, back to the Memorial Day Weekend saga.


Each year I have my own personal agenda that has to be completed before Memorial Day. One of these is buying and taking flowers to the cemetery, usually a week or so before the holiday. Another is buying plants and potting soil to fill all of the planters and flower boxes around the house and then decorating both porches with flags and patriotic displays. Last, but not least, I try to have all of my summer clothes ironed and hanging in the closet before the first big holiday of the summer comes around.


There’s a pretty good chance I probably would’ve accomplished all of these things on time if Memorial Day had just held off for one more week. I’m sure you’ve heard the one about the dog that would have caught the rabbit if he hadn’t stop to make a slight detour. Well, that also happens to be the story of my life.


What can I say?


When I finally realized that Memorial Day was a mere four days away, the stores were already completely sold out of silk flowers; I had not yet located the flags and decorations for the porches I had stored away last year; the flower boxes were still stacked in the storage barn; and the summer clothes were waiting to be ironed, in plastic totes in the basement.


By the time Friday rolled around, I had finally made my annual trip to the nursery and purchased most of the flowers I needed to fill the planters on the porches. I was lucky enough to find one store that still had some silk flowers left, for my trip to the cemetery. After searching through umpteen totes in the basement closet, I finally found the one with the patriotic stuff in it.


The summer clothes, however, would have to be ironed on a “need-to” basis. As yet, I still had not scrubbed the porch and porch furniture in preparation for a cookout on Sunday afternoon.


The cookout was planned as a combination celebration of Memorial Day and the birthdays of my oldest son, Brian, and his father, my ex-husband, whose birthdays fall on the same day. In the rush to play catch-up, I had completely forgotten them.


By Friday evening, after working like the proverbial dog all day long in 85 degree temperatures attempting to complete the tasks that should have already been done, I collapsed into my favorite chair in the living room, hot and tired and ready for a break.


It was about this time that I realized I was not really cooling down all that much. After about an hour of still feeling hot and sweaty, I checked the temperature of the thermostat on the wall. It was a warm 77 degrees, although it had been set on 74.


It was Memorial Day weekend and my central air had decided to also take a break. That blankety-blank Murphy’s Law was making a return engagement. I can’t for the life of me figure out why I should have been surprised. Actually, it had arrived right on schedule.


Do you have any idea what the odds are of getting a repairman to come out and take a look at anything on a holiday weekend?


Murphy’s Law — If anything can go wrong, it will. And the chances triple on a holiday weekend!


News-Tribune