For reasons that have remained unclear and largely unexamined, I have, since childhood, taken an odd delight in noticing when it’s 11:11. Identical pairs of slender neon digits lined across the display of the clock radio or dashboard, the unassuming numbers never fail (twice each day!) to remain noteworthy. Maybe it’s an aesthetic appreciation for the element of line. Perhaps I’ve come to associate the hour with lunch, or repose. I suppose there’s even the specter of psychological disorder, which would be especially concerning, as I’ve recently learned that the affectation is apparently genetic. Seems my daughter sends a text message to her best friend twice daily to alert him of the time of day, but since he actually appreciates this service, I figure the habit is less weird than it initially appears.
Clocks aside, today finds me doubly enamored with the number eleven. Tomorrow morning, I begin eleven days of spring break, and, in celebration, I’ve created a list of eleven things I want to do. The plan is to tackle one each day (although there’ll be some overlap) and post the progress here.
In no particular order, here’s what we’re dealing with:
1) Finish sewing the New York print Capri pants I started last winter, and promptly abandoned once I realized they’re supposed to have a zipper.
2) Make amends for the mosaic-wedding gift mirror I managed to ruin during the final grouting last fall (a full 16 months after said wedding) by designing and beginning a replacement.
3) Use all the stuff I bought that time I emptied the scrapbooking shelves during that sale at Target to begin the scrapbook of last summer’s cross country trip.
4) Complete an assignment for a pair of articles about the Antiques Roadshow
5) Recreate my favorite dinner for my family
6) Fly a kite on the beach
7) Attempt a real date with my husband
8) Plant flowers in my window boxes
9) Stay up late watching movies
10) Start a new photo blog
11) Take the kids on a random adventure
Perhaps by now you're a little overwhelmed. You might even think you misunderstood, that I’m taking off the entire Spring season, that I must have said eleven weeks, not days. No need to scroll back for clarification—as usual, my expectations exceed reality. I figure at the very least, it'll make for interesting reading. Stay tuned.