I’m just sitting here reflecting about how it is the 22nd Sunday in Ordinary Time. You know about Ordinary Time, right?

I know I’ve discussed it previously, but as a refresher: Catholic Christians have our own cool calendar of seasons, yo. In fact, I’m pretty sure lots of JC fans, Catholic or no, follow it.

It’s absolutely fabulous and, not to be a spoiler or anything, but it doesn’t just drop off cliff and plunge into the abyss like that kooky Mayan logbook that ended June 13, 2020.

You may recall that mid-June of this year was the point at which, according to the Mayans, the world was supposed to, you know, POOF! Hmm.

Then again, it HAS pandemic popped. But apocalyptically speaking, I guess that’s more of a pfft than an entire poof. Eh, maybe they were only off by a smidge? Either way.

Ordinary Time is essentially divvyed up into two basic periods: the one between when Christmas ends and Lent begins; and the one straddling the completion of the Easter Season and the onset of Advent.

Now don’t get me wrong, we’re still Massing it up every Sunday and Holy Day during Ordinary Time — but it’s pretty much holiday deficient.

It’s just, like, regular old, run-of-the-mill, average, keep on a prayin’ and believin’ stuff day after day right now.

And while I’m totally good with that philosophy in any and every kinda time, I can’t help but thinking, there’s not a whole lot that’s ordinary right now.

First, the average Homo sapiens has neither spent this much time inside the cave nor slaved over a hot stone making dino-soup every night since … well, paleo was the only diet option, you dig?

Then there’s the fact that the best way to show your neighbor you care is to hide from him / her? Necessary, but weird. Man, I miss faces.

The third rock hasn’t seen this many masked men and women running about the streets since before desperadoes and banditos were outlawed. Er, lawed. You get it.

Not to mention, Mother Nature has been a harpy old hag hurtling hexes on humankind all flipping year. As if COVID-19’s not enough of a curse, she’s whipping around hurricanes, wildfires, monsoons and earthquakes a plenty.

Good grief, I haven’t seen the old girl this ticked off at us since someone replaced her butter with Imperial margarine. Sheesh.

Another thing I’d be remiss not to mention about this bizarro era we’re sludging through: Kerry Kimerer and I have been married for one quarter of a century.

Yep, on Sept. 2, 2020, we’ll mark the 25th year since we said “I do,” promising to stick together through thick and thin and sick and sin.

And by golly, we have. (Insert AWWWWWWW here.)

Lots has changed since 9.2.95. Yanni’s music was all the rage; teal was a signature bridesmaid dress color; my arms and legs didn’t look like an all-tan colored Twister board. #AgeSpotsStink

My pop was still here; so was Kerry’s mom. But hey, Kyle Kimerer wasn’t yet, and he’s only like, my oxygen, so…

While we glide through this anything-but-ordinary Ordinary Time, I want to remind y’all that there are still reasons to be joyful and grateful — and love is the biggie, capisce?

Happy anniversary, Kimerer. I love you! And hang in there, all — extraordinary times are a comin’.

• Kimerer is a columnist / blogger who still listens to Yanni. Don’t judge. Contact her at www.patriciakimerer.com.