Early in the morning when I hover in the grogginess between sleep and wakefulness, I sometimes can't discern what day of the week it is. To push through this haze I need to focus more intensely than what seems possible. Eventually, reality surfaces and I remember details of what I did yesterday or what I must do today.
That's happening to me right now, but it's not regarding the day of the week. No, right now I'm confused about seasons. You see, it's still winter in Pennsylvania where I live, but our university is on spring break, and to celebrate, we're visiting my parents in Florida where it's perpetually summer. (Essentially, the only thing I'm certain about is that it's not fall.)
Mind you, this is a good type of confusion. I can handle the cognitive dissonance of sitting on a beach and toying with the idea that it's actually March when I get to see sights like this:
The other night my family, along with a group of unknown beach-goers, stood on the shore and watched this sunset. As the sun slipped beneath the horizon, spontaneous applause erupted from the crowd. My youngest daughter looked around and asked why we were clapping.
"Well, it's what you do after a good show," I said. "We just watched a beautiful one and we're acknowledging it."
She nodded and went back to dragging her towel and getting sand stuck to every exposed ounce of skin because that's what kids do. After all, kids really don't need to worry about what time it is, or what day it is, or even what season it is. They simply enjoy the beautiful show, just like I've been doing this week.