Saturdays

I’m ambivalent towards my Saturdays now.

I march to the beat of a Monday to Friday, Weekends off drum – so Saturday is allegedly my break from the parade. Saturday is the day I don’t technically have to go to work (although I can be found there more often than I care to admit) ... on Saturday’s I get to do something else; something I really want to do like.... mow the lawn, or go shopping, or wash the car, or clean the house, or whatever other administrative detail that needs my special skills and attention.

Yes, I know there are people who love doing all of those things, in fact even I like ironing (really I do), but no matter how much “grin and bear it”, “whistle while you work”, “live the moment”, rationalization I attempt. I can’t get past the thought that all these weighty responsibilities, these lists of things that must be done; serve only to suck up my ever dwindling allotment of time on this blue planet.  I’m not saying that life is one big chore, or a seemingly endless series of administrative routines, separated by brief moments of distraction (golf, drinks with friends, vacations, dirty weekends, church) I’m just saying . . .  my Saturday’s really aren’t what they use to be ... the Saturday’s of my youth that were, and remain in my mind ... magical.... when I really got to do what I wanted (without trading off something else, or making a pact with the devil, ignoring what was expected of me, etc) like going fishing with my buddy Steve and his little brother Danny, the three of us swimming in the river in our underwear chasing turtles, smoking an old cigar butt we found and getting caught up in a tree surrounded by cows.

Now those were Saturdays.