I know a lot who read this blog are, like me, retired, so I think a question is relevant that came up in a small online group I belong to: how is the weekend any different. I mean, if you can set your own schedule all week long, what if anything sets Saturday or Sunday apart?
I particularly thought about
it today because it was a long, lazy day. The guests I expected tonight came
last night accidentally, so I had nothing to do to prepare. Sophie somehow
senses weekends—she still gets me up at 7:00 promptly for what we are calling
her first breakfast. Actually she tried for it at 6:30, but I gave her a piece
of cheese and told her to hang on for half an hour. She did. But then, after
she had eaten and gone outside briefly, she let me sleep until nine. This is a
boon because the shot-givers in the house don’t like to get up early on
Saturday, but Sophie has to have her shot within an hour of her second breakfast.
All worked out fine.
Jordan was in and out of the
cottage all morning, mostly raiding my fridge. She had five sleeping teenage
boys and a party mess in the house, but they cleaned it up promptly once they
were awake. She armed herself with leftover lunch meat, chip and dip makings,
and the like, but I don’t think they ever came back after the TCU game. This
evening when I wanted to fix my supper, I had to ask for several pans. But I
was glad for her occasional company. She and Christian apparently watched the
TCU game—I checked the score occasionally—and then tonight, with guests, the
Baylor game. They are a house of divided loyalties, as is Megan’s house in
Austin.
Meanwhile, I read emails,
checked on the daily news—there was a lot that upset me today, mostly about
ways Republicans were scheming to take away more freedoms and benefits. In Texas
somehow in connection with the anti-abortion law they are targeting highways.
Not sure how that works but soon if we’re not diligent it will be illegal to
drive a car with a pregnant woman in it. Some days I read the news from various
sources and don’t share much; other days I share every third thing I read.
Today was one of the latter.
I was almost through a novel
which had an interesting concept, though it too often wandered into introspection.
Anyway, I was determined to finish it today so I could write a brief report for
a writers' group that had expressed interest. The novel was inspired by the iconic
Dorothea Lange Depression photograph, “Migrant Mother,” as was my award-winning
short story, “Sue Ellen Learns to Dance,” and so I was comparing the handling
of the core material in the two pieces. Glad to get it done.
Saturdays are often cooking
days for me, and today was no exception. But I ran into a couple of roadblocks.
I always have packages of frozen petite peas on hand, so I put one out to thaw
for pea salad. Only after about an hour I discovered what I thought was peas
was lima beans. I think I must have bought them by mistake, because I don’t particularly
care for them. Fortunately, I had an almost full package of peas. Often if I’m
eating alone on a grocery delivery day, I order one serving of fresh fish, so
today I ordered a quarter lb. of Dover sole—and got a whole pound. After some
deliberation I cooked the whole thing, figuring leftovers will make lunch. It’s
such a delicate fish—in taste and texture—that every time I sauté it, I end
with fish hash. Tonight, I baked it, and it was delicious and held together better, though I still didn't get a perfect filet.
So here I am, on a Saturday
night, me and my computer. It’s been a good day, not a lot different from many
of my days, and yet I had the sense all day long that it was Saturday, a day
set apart. One thing jolted me tonight: at 5:30 I turned the TV on to see what
Channel 5 reported on the day’s news—and got a football game. Suddenly I
realized it’s that season again—football will pre-empt the news programs I look
forward to. That does not brighten my Saturdays, though I know at least half
the rest of the world is delighted.
What about you? Are Saturdays
different?
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