“Oh, gosh, I’m so sorry. I just, we were having such a nice time in the park, and I started to sketch, and I totally forgot,” I say

It’s just me and Nachi in the park, a crisp fall breeze blowing gently around us as I push him on the swing. His green eyes crinkle against the sun and I smile back at him, breathing in the peace of Indian Boundary Park.

I could stay here all day, the canopy of trees above me, the rustic wooden swing set against the backdrop of a startlingly blue sky. My fingers itch to get it all down on paper.

I settle Nachi in his stroller with a toddler snack cup, place my sketch pad on the picnic table in front of me, and start to draw.

The sharp edges of time blur and recede as I enter a state of flow. I’m shading in the wooden play structure when I hear a faint buzzing coming from the stroller. I look up and see that Nachi has fallen asleep, and my cell phone is vibrating away in the mesh basket of my UPPAbaby.

Shua Cell flashes across the screen. I swipe at it. “Hi! What’s up? I’m in the park with Nachi.”

“Tamar?” Shua’s voice is stiff. Some of his tension seeps through the phone lines into my palm, making me grip my cell phone tighter. “Tamar, did you forget we had the appointment with Broder for the new insurance policy?”

My stomach sinks.

“Oh, gosh, I’m so sorry. I just, we were having such a nice time in the park, and I started to sketch, and I totally forgot,” I say.

“This is why people have calendars.” I mouth his next words along with him because I already know what he’s going to say. “They look at them every day and check and see what appointments they have coming up.” He pauses. “This is the third time we’ve missed our time slot.”

He’s right, he really is. And I should have, would have, checked my calendar. If I knew where it was. Shua doesn’t need to know I can’t find that awful blue planner he bought for me last week.

“A gift,” he’d said. He’d smiled and handed it to me like it was a box of chocolates or a bouquet of roses. I’d forced a smile and opened the planner, looking at the boxes, each neatly stacked, one after the next. We’ve been married almost two years, but Shua doesn’t understand that I don’t want to squeeze my life into a little box. I wake up each day and greet the swirls of color, the magical waves of possibility coming my way. Why would I want to compress, smash, lock, and squeeze myself into the prison of a daily box, just so I can neatly check off my to-do tasks?

Now, though, damage control. I take a deep breath.

“I am so, so sorry, Shua. I’m going to set a calendar reminder on my phone for next time, okay? It won’t happen again.”

Shua sighs like he’s 80, not 26, and I feel like a small child being scolded. I grab on to Nachi’s stroller and head out of the park as Shua says, “Okay, I’ll call Broder and tell him we’ll have to reschedule again. Enjoy the rest of your time. And don’t forget Abba’s birthday tonight.”