A calendar for every room

by Vicki Williams

I have always been a calendar freak. I love calendars. I have them everywhere — in my purse, on my desk at work, on my desk at home, hanging in the kitchen, upstairs in my bedroom.

It used to be one of my great pleasures toward the end of the year to choose the perfect calendar for each of these locations. Maybe one featuring birdhouses for the kitchen or one with inspiring quotes or funny cartoons for my purse, beautiful horses for the bedroom.

It got so people knew of my penchant for calendars, and I’d often get them as gifts. Receiving a calendar is special because selecting one for someone is a very personal effort. You don’t just grab the first one you see. You have to put some serious thought into providing one that will be a pleasure for that particular person to look at every day of every month of the year. You may have to be familiar with your recipient’s sense of humor or what sport the person is a fan of or whether he or she likes Corvettes versus Mustangs or prefers Harley-Davidsons to either of those, if the person is a cat lover or dog lover, yearns for snow-topped mountains or palm trees on beaches.

I’ve always enjoyed calendars given out by businesses. Reynolds Oil’s annual offering features antique cars. The Chamber of Commerce puts out a “Scenes of Wabash” calendar every year. You can usually count on some merchant to send out a calendar featuring the delightful pictures of Normal Rockwell.

Charities have almost made having to buy calendars unnecessary. Mom and I give dibs and dabs of donations to various charities, usually ones having to do with kids, soldiers or animals. As a result, the reminder calendars come flowing in during the last half of the year. The ASPCA sends one with precious pictures of puppies and kittens. The Defenders of Wildlife calendar features wolves this year. The Paralyzed Veterans offer military scenes — Arlington Cemetery, the Vietnam Veterans Memorial, The Tomb of the Unknown Soldier.

In spite of all these freebies, I did pay for two calendars this year. In my newly minted incarnation as a NASCAR fan-atic, I have a 2010 Jimmie Johnson calendar in my purse and another, larger one on my desk. The J.J. appointment calendar serves a dual purpose. It reminds me of where and when and with whom I have an appointment and also acts as a conversation starter.

I begin the year faithfully making entries on my various calendars. In January, the one on my desk is covered with writing. It highlights birthdays and planned events. It contains notations about weather and a running tally of the Colts season. In February, I’ll begin adding the results of NASCAR races. As spring comes, I record the first red-winged blackbird to arrive, the first flower to bloom. There will be remembrances of places I traveled and sights I saw.

By May or June, there’s more white showing on the pages. I’m losing my dedication for adding new information. I look back to see when Brenda and I went to see LeAnn in Iowa and realize I failed to write it down. I no longer keep Jimmie’s point total on the calendar. I can always go to nascar.com if I want to know.

A wren builds a nest in the gourd in the evergreen by the porch, but you wouldn’t know it from my calendar ... or that a coyote trotted across my yard heading for the cemetery ... or who won any given election.

By December, the calendar is almost bare except for what was pre-printed. I’m to pick the kids up at the Indianapolis airport, but I have to e-mail them for the information. John told me on the phone but I forgot to write it down.

This is my usual modus operandi. I’m a great beginner, the woman with the grand plan, but I sometimes falter over the tedious long haul.

The most difficult problem with calendars is deciding what to do with them when the year is over. All those gorgeous pictures. It seems wrong to just pitch them. And the way they are a mini-diary of my life (at least from January till June), I will surely need to look back at them when I retire to write my memoirs, won’t I?

Right now, decades of calendars (the most recent) are in boxes under my bed. The more ancient ones are in boxes in the basement (if mice haven’t eaten them by now).

I’m reaching the age when I need to start considering getting rid of stuff so the kids don’t eventually have to do it for me. I can imagine my son, the unsentimental type, having to sort through boxes, saying, “What the heck did Mom keep all these *@#%&*@ old calendars for?”

If I was a thoughtful and considerate mother, I’d probably do it for him. And maybe I will … someday.

• Vicki Williams is a columnist for the Pharos-Tribune. She can be reached through the newspaper at ptnews@pharostribune.com.

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