Is there anything so wonderful as Saturday morning?
Oh, I suppose, when you’re young, maybe Friday evening. Or Thursday night among the college set. Throngs of intoxicated and almost in love 20-year olds. But for midlifers, and larks of all ages, nothing beats Saturday morning. (Did you know the opposite of a night owl is a lark? Yes. It is.)
I have found the Saturday principle to apply whether I was in jobs I hated or jobs I loved, retired, or home with small children. Saturday morning feels like a dollop of whipped cream. Raised, that pretty curved peak, sweet. Impermanent and foolish even, but promising no more than it can give. Nobody’s tricking you Saturday morning.
I find myself, already somewhat annoyingly cheerful, giddy. Saturday! We can eat breakfast slowly! We can read all the blogs! We can walk through San Francisco, past drifts of sidewalk street seller flowers! We can miss the green light and wait at the corner. Patience is ours.
We can eat chocolate doughnuts, or dim sum, or hot dogs with sauerkraut and mustard.
We can talk lazily with our loved ones, about stuff that doesn’t matter one whit. You know those useless and terribly important conversations? We can indulge our selves, our children, our partners.
And, since Monday comes again, we can do all of this without falling off the track, beaten or otherwise. Such a good system.
My second cup of tea is done. I wish you all at least one small moment of protected indulgence, and time to enjoy the privilege of choice. Have a good weekend.