Sunday…(or, how weekends run at breakneck speed no matter what you do)

January 27, 2013 § 6 Comments

newyorkerCurrent issues of THE NEW YORKER are starting to breed like rabbits around the house. I haven’t had time to read them all, much less in order.  HM tracked into our house some insidious little ice melters from the courtyard of the building where his office is found, and they hurt bare feet and yet break into pieces like little apsirins. I’ve been chasing them with the vaccum. Everyone in his building complained; the superintendent doesn’t know who put them down in anticipation of an ice storm, but it was discovered they’re not ice melters – they are, in fact, for breaking down grease. Someone got confused.

Meanwhile, the weatherman can’t get the weather correct, which ultimately is ok, because he’s so darn dire with forecasting sleet and slips-n-slides and rain and frozen temps, all stirred into one big weather pot so that he doesn’t actually appear to be wrong…and who cares? we have ourselves and our cars as winterized as possible with layers of hoodies and coats and fingerless gloves and scarves and scrapers, sand-in-the-trunk and big fat all-weather tires, so …bring it on.

Friends and neighbors have been quiet in the gloom this weekend, with everyone badly needing some rest and some unscheduled time.  Christmas is boxed, bagged and stacked in the tool room, everything labeled and the house has lots it glitter but there’s a certain uncluttered thing going on that’s not so bad. Greenery does perk a person up quite a bit though, even if only sticking one’s head out the back patio doors and breathing in the cold humidity and discerning among the many winter greys which branches are holding birds and the squirrels, all waiting to hit the feeder as soon as the human stops sticking her head out there, into their business.

Ya gotta love it, all the comforts of Sunday, wherever you can find them, as you teeter on the precipice of Work Tomorrow. While America is glad to have a job, sometimes the schedule just makes you want to put the typical time compendium on tilt and run it your own way.   As the dowager Countess in Downton Abbey says, “What’s a weekend?” I am intrigued by how such a character, if real, would actually measure time.

Perhaps not at all.

And that sounds like a fine idea to me.

No make-up Fridays

September 8, 2011 § 19 Comments

On Friday mornings, I meet with my friend PZ for coffee at a local cafe. 
We get large coffees and finesse ’em nice with milk, sugar, cinnamon, shots of the various coffees in the huge carafes – whatever.

And we sit, outdoors whenever possible and in spite of the leaf blower guy who was so moved to have the parking lot spotless at 7:15 in the morning. Really?

We sit and we talk.
We don’t gab; we don’t gossip.
We talk.

And last week, when we had some serious stuff to share, we ended up laughing, out loud.
Right after we had shed some tears, the kind that require a tissue.
And THAT, my friends, is what made us laugh!!!!

OK, we don’t sit in public and cry like crazy suburban characters in a Franzen story.
But we do share stories and anecdotes about people we care about and love and how things are going, and often, the lives we see are so touching that we tear up.
Certain things, certain happenings and surely things related to our kids and dogs can have our eyes spilling quietly over.
We share a certain etiquette in the face of this  “welling up.” It’s ok to dab or swipe at teary eyes; neither of us comments on it to the other. It’s understood that it’s ok, that it, well, it happens.

So last week, there were discussions on the Kids, and how they’re doing and also discussion on the perserverance of human kind and then I mentioned that our ancient beagle Huck had died.
And that did it.
We went immediately from welling up to those silent splashy tears.
PZ also had recently lost a beloved dog.

And so it’s been decided in an offhand manner that perhaps no makeup should be worn on Friday mornings. 
Because Maybelline and Mary Kay can tell me ’til they’re blue in the face that their mascara is waterproof, like their foundation and blush, etc., but I can assure you – no, it is not.

Tomorrow’s Friday.
Coffee with PZ.
I will show up (eventually) at work and surely someone will remark that I look tired (yeah, it happens when I skip the maquillage.)
That’s ok.
I will have kicked off the day with a fearless BFF who is not afraid to cry or laugh. Out loud.

Big doings!

May 6, 2011 § 13 Comments

 The past two weeks have been a blur of activity, deadlines (freelance) and work (Work!) and crazy weather and squeezing in some reading here and there (VERY VALENTINE) and falling asleep trying to watch Jon Stewart and also up early for the Royal wedding last week before work  and…lo and behold, our daughter Nor is now engaged as well!

Would I have ever thought that planning a wedding could be so much fun? It’s magical.  The world has turned a different color, has taken on a new shine and everyone, absolutely everyone, loves love and rings and real weddings and ideas. Including Snarl – he is quietly proud of his sister! And he has graduation on the horizon so we get to escape to U town to celebrate and party for a weekend and cheer for him. 

And so on this Friday night following a major meeting at 4:45 today at work that has left me nearly giddy with fatigue here at the kitchen table as I wait for a pizza from Trader Joe’s to bake and be enough for HM and I for dinner (the lovebirds went out to eat!), I can only smile (and also thank Jeanie who just wrote to ask if all’s well since I haven’t blogged in a fortnight) and talk sweetly to the dogs who pad around hoping for a bit of crust or something warm from the oven and …  ah, don’t you just love the weekends?

(Nor’s ring as modeled by the family’s Frog Prince statue)

Where Am I?

You are currently browsing entries tagged with weekends at This Writing Life ....