Routine rhythm...and melody

Now that Mr. Miller has resumed classes, we've fallen into a routine in the burrow. The alarm sounds at 7:30. My husband heads for the shower. Fumbling with my glasses, I walk into the kitchen and start preparing his lunch, counting off the items as they drop in the brown bag: 2 sandwiches, 1 ziplock bag containing a salty snack, 1 bag of baby carrots, 1 apple. Then, I brew the coffee. Mr. Miller finishes his shower and dresses. I scramble two eggs, which I lay in a whole wheat tortilla and sprinkle with cheese and salsa. Breakfast burrito in a bag, coffee in the travel mug. All the food goes in the backpack, which Mr. Miller slings across his back. Then, his count by the door: wedding band, i-pod, wallet, cellphone, keys. Check. A quick kiss, and he's down the stairs. Closing the door, I prepare fruit and toast. Sitting down, I open the Word...

It's the same, every Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday. Yet the repetition is not monotonous perhaps because there is an elegance to our ease in executing a fairly complicated process. Consider if a film director were to shoot the same; coordinating the set and actors would take hours of preparation to achieve a smooth take.

The repetition is not objectionable for another reason: it permits us to play varied melodies to its steady rhythm. A few minutes of cuddling before answering the demand of the alarm clock; laughing over some spectacular bedhead; slipping cookies into the lunch bag; a great thought from the day before, recalled and shouted from or toward the bathroom; a compliment or extra embrace before leaving each other for the day. All these unplanned moments sound clearer, sweeter, deeper when contraposed against the predictable pattern of our mornings.