I have a cup of coffee, and I am listening to jazz (Alice Coltrane today,) because it is 2 o’clock. That’s what I always do this time of day; jazz and coffee. Somehow this makes me feel more present in the day.

The loose, open-ended routine of stopping the day, at least a little bit, to remind myself I am in it, began when I was an overwhelmed young mother with my first new born. I looked forward to the afternoon jazz show on public radio every day. It helped me touch base, and for the day not to just slip away. It started at 2:06PM. It still does, actually.

My best friend, Andrea, lived on the other side of our duplex, and she liked to make a pot of coffee about 2, because she tended to get sleepy that time of day. So we had the afternoon solace of a cup of coffee, afternoon jazz, and an attempt at a moment of peace together each day, with our babies.

Later 2 o’clock jazz and coffee was a stopping place of peace and re-gathering before I picked the kids up from school. There were various incarnations of the same 2 o’clock routine as my life evolved.

Even through all the tragedy and trauma of these last few difficult years, I have continued to put on some jazz and make a cup of coffee around 2PM, if possible. The duration of time I spend on this, and what else I will do at that time, varies, but generally, I will do at least those two things, and make conscious contact with the day.

What does this do? It gives me a little island in the day to reclaim my peace and priorities.

On a busy, hectic day, it reminds me that I need to slow down.

On one of those difficult, timeless days when my ADD seems worse, or I have that PTSD inertia -anxiety I get, it helps me get a foot on the ground and start over.

For me time can be vague, and the day gets away from me. The simple act of turning on the music and putting on some coffee at that same time of day I always do, is a rung on the ladder back to earth.

As Dorothy Day said, “My strength returns to me with my cup of coffee and a reading of the Psalms.”



When I am at work caring for Mac, I still make coffee and put on some jazz at 2 in the afternoon. He has developed a taste for jazz now, and if I put on any other type of music that time of day, he looks confused. “Hey, what are you doing?”

The rhythm of the day means a lot to Mac. I think it is how he understands his place in time and in the world in general.

I can learn from his way of keeping track of his life so that it means something to him. Without the predictable and repeated routines of each part of the day, life would feel like an unsure, confusing continuum to him. He feels safe when he understands, at least in a general way, where he is in his day.

We are the same way, though most of us have more physical senses and more personal choices available to us than Mac does.

Routines and traditions help us to be fully in the present moment, and, if they are appreciated, can help us live more deeply, more consciously, and therefore, more prayerfully.

Maybe that’s why God made time for us to live in, even though He doesn’t need it. He doesn’t have any problem being present everywhere at once, but we do. We need time to truly experience life and meaning.

We have to mark time to keep ourselves in the only part of time we can really live in; the present moment.

The present moment is where we are most able to encounter God, because that is where we ourselves really are. God is within us, so we need to be “home,” to be present to our Guest.

During the day, we can get caught up in the past, in the future, and other distractions, worries, and concerns. Our minds are a constant river of thoughts and feelings.

Sometimes the day is a frantic blur. Sometimes it is like a dream we can’t quite remember.

When we occupy time fully by being present in the day, there we will find meaning; we will find God.


I have been thinking about that.

I am not much of a routine person. I tend to prefer a cadenza of a day, leaving plenty of room for inspiration, for people who show up, for the Holy Spirit to blow through, for random acts of goofiness, impulsive kindness, or happy, dreamy uselessness.

However, I understand that touch points in the day can be sacred. They give me a way to put the day back on track, put first things first, and remember what I’m trying to do with my life.

Besides making sure I get certain things done each day that have to be done, routines can be boxes to put presence in.

They can be conscious bridges into the next part of the day, helping me live intentionally for the next few hours.



I am trying to aim for small and attainable things to do here and there like modest ornaments for the day I am crafting.

One of these little routines is to turn off any music or stop whatever noise or activity or device is on at noon and pray the Angelus prayer.

I try to get certain things done at work  by then so that I can sit down beside Mac and pray the Angelus at the traditional time of noon, or as close as I can get.


Mac likes this, too. He knows when all is tidied up and quiet, and he is made comfortable, that I will come sit and pray with him for a while. Sometimes he likes me to scratch his head while I pray the Angelus, and mid day prayer from the Liturgy of the Hours.

Mac and I hang out

Another thing I have been trying to do: When I get home from work, before I do anything else, is to make time for a mindful sweeping up before I let myself settle down or get obsessed with anything. It’s an easy thing to do, but it makes a big difference in how the rest of the evening goes.

The temptation, when I get home from work, is to  flop down and start reading or messing around on the Internet, or get caught up in listening to the news.

When I succumb to that temptation, it seems I only get more and more tired and unmotivated, and that time is wasted. There goes the evening, before I know it; myself and the world, none the better.

I am more likely to do other good things if I make the transition into the evening by doing a simple, silent routine like sweeping, paying attention to what I am doing, often accompanied by inwardly saying the names of Jesus and Mary prayerfully as I sweep.

Jesus. Maria. Jesus. Maria. Jesus. Maria.

Sometimes I even think there is another pair of playful, encouraging feet dancing with mine as I move across the floor with the broom; sneaky, sandaled, dusty feet behind my bare ones, and a silent voice that playfully says, “1,2,3, 1,2,3,” as if we were waltzing together while I sweep.

It makes me chuckle.

Maybe I’m on the right track.

painting by Bob Chapman



*If you would like to try praying the Liturgy of the Hours, you can try it for free on Universalis

For more on finding meaning and mindfulness in house work, you might like my post The holiness of house work