Saturday

It should not feel different than any other day, and yet.

It's Saturday morning and somehow those very words sound like a long, leisurely stretch. They say slow morning, bathrobes and coffee and radio and the smell of bacon. They suggest options. choices--to do just what we want to do and not what we must.

You would think that as we are retired and can pick and choose what we do every day that Saturday would feel the same as Tuesday or even Thursday. We have no set schedule of where we must be or what we have to do on any day of the week. Perhaps it's just a leftover from years of work, of schedules and deadlines and commuting. But there is no getting around the fact that, whatever the reason, Saturday mornings feel different.

So this Saturday morning we're listening to public radio, drinking our coffee and having our eggs and bacon, looking out at the snow that covers everything on this April day. We're still in robes and slippers and talking lazily about what we might get into today--what to cook for dinner, whether we should tackle refrigerator repair yet again, and the dressing table I need to finish painting. There's eBay sales to be wrapped. laundry to be done, a poem to write.

But for right now, this is enough. This gentle, easy start to what will no doubt speed up into a full day of work on all of the above projects.

First, though, I need another cup of coffee.

Copyright Susanna Holstein. All rights reserved. No Republication or Redistribution Allowed without attribution to Susanna Holstein.