Jill's Journal: Ever have a 'Monday' on a Tuesday?

Have you ever had a ‘Monday’ on a Tuesday?

I did. Last Tuesday.

And if I had the power to turn back the clock to 5 a.m. April 19, 2022, I sure would.

Tuesday mornings at the Journal office are ‘get it done day,’ meaning it’s when we finalize the pages to go to press. Working without a full-time reporter in the office has meant that layout and design of the paper each falls on my shoulders. As does writing stories, taking pictures, selling ads, paying the bills, cleaning the toilet. You get the picture.

When my alarm clock sounded at 5 a.m., I did what all good editors do on deadline day: I hit the snooze bar. Not once, but twice. That put me behind schedule a good 20 minutes, and as the morning ensued, I realized they were 20 minutes that I wished I’d had back.

As I stepped outside into the early morning, I took notice of the pretty pink sky that was peeking through the yet leafless trees and the fact that there was little to no breeze. “It feels like an early spring morning,” I whispered to myself.

Next, I clicked the garage door opener, unloaded the bags dangling from my shoulder and hopped into the driver’s seat, started the car and grabbed for the opener.

The opener, however, wasn’t in one of its two usual spots: the passenger’s seat or the middle cubby next to the box of golf balls that were stashed there way after my last round of golf last year. Then I went into full search mode: under the seats, in the backseat, my computer and lunch bags, even the coat I dangled over my arm on my walk to the car. I cleaned out every nook, cranny and crevice. I looked in my purse and my pockets. I even backed the car out of the garage to see, if by chance, it somehow found its way to the garage floor. 

Next, I retraced my steps back to the front door, then checked under the seats and once again looked in every nook and cranny in the vehicle.

No remote to be found.

Anywhere.

I gave up. After all, I was already running 20 minutes behind, which likely jumped up to 30-plus in the heat of the hunt.

Nonetheless, I slipped into the editor’s chair right about 6:30 and went right to work – kind of like Santa Claus on Christmas Eve. One by one, I took care of the final details on the bulk of the pages, typed up the morning police and sheriff reports, proofed Tom’s story on Monday evening’s city council meeting

Then came a bloody nose, likely prompted by the medication I’d been taking to “dry up” my sinuses.

Once the paper was “put to bed” – that’s newspaper lingo that essentially means, “Hallelujah! Another one is done!”

Wanting to give it “the old college try,” I scoured my vehicle once again, cleaned out the computer bag and my purse a second and a third time, and even retraced my steps at home. But yet, the opener was still MIA.

As I pulled into my garage about 8:30 that evening, I’m not sure what made me do it, but I pulled back the seat belt connection, and lo and behold, it was like a light shining in the darkness: there it was, the garage door opener I’d been on the hunt for all day.

Ever have a ‘Monday’ on a Tuesday? I did.

I did.