In my not so distant past life, Saturday mornings was a time of reflection and relaxation. This would last a few minutes up to an hour or more, after which, I would read through the stack of printed pages I’d written that week checking for any errors before Monday submissions, real or imagined. If I was satisfied with the weeks work I hung up my writer’s hat until Monday morning. But, if I was not satisfied, I would begin to correct, revise, etc. until around noon. By then, my thoughts were, ‘If it ain’t right by now it ain’t goin’ a be right ever’ so I’d 86 it and start again, but only if I had a self-mandated deadline. When working with a real deadline this isn’t a luxury. Usually that wasn’t the case as I was usually working on poetry or a cookbook project. Seldom does a deadline grab me by the throat and choke me to death. I’m lucky that way, I guess.
These days Saturdays are different. It’s television, coffee and conversation. Ms. Ruth (I call her Mom) and I talk up a storm. I swear we can solve universal health care during our little Saturday coffee time. Oh, yes, the television is on PBS and we glance at the shows — TRAVEL, SEWING, COOKING, TEXAS! — and even stop talking when something interesting comes on but usually we are talking, talking, talking over several cups of coffee.
We continue on like this until one of us begins to yawn. Granny said a yawn was the bodies way of relaxing but Papa said it was the bodies way of getting some needed oxygen and given that Ms. Ruth and I literally talk the air right out of our lungs I suppose Papa may be right. At any rate, the yawn is our signal to stop talking and get to the business of dressing ourselves for the day’s chores.
Yes, Saturdays have changed but I think I like it as it is today. A lot less writing but a lot more personal living is going on in my neck of the woods with Mr. Royce. I kind of like it this way.