Life is short and summer is shorter, so this month it’s all about
the beach, nearly every week
ice cream, nearly every day
long field trips at lunch
breakfast on the patio, complete with feathers
grilled lime and garlic chicken wings
the farmers’ market
casual or fancy sandals?
white pants
becoming an expert in synchronized diving and women’s gymnastics
pretending the purple-blooming flowers are not weeds
skirts, summer dresses, frocks and tank tops
soft hum of the ceiling fan
Don’t you love Sunday mornings? I like waking up at 9:00 and having a lazy expanse of time stretch out before me. I like knowing that the newspaper in all its bulk is sitting by the front door, ready to be devoured. I like watching CBS Sunday Morning for its segments about art or politics and that interview with a random celebrity who I previously cared about not one whit. I like that Sunday usually means grocery shopping, maybe even at the farm, and that cooking a huge evening meal afterwards means there will be leftovers.
But then Saturday morning is pretty sweet too. Better even. I want to bound out of bed at dawn when it’s sunny and soak up every free minute. I like to hit the yard sales and roam through people’s yards and stuff (the season cannot start soon enough). I like knowing that there are still two full days of the weekend to enjoy. Time is filled with such possibility. And I like the prospect of a Saturday night dinner, movie, or get-together. Things happen on Saturday night.
Still, Friday afternoon is pretty great. I like 3:00 in the afternoon, when work is winding down and talk turns to weekend plans and the promise of the weekend is so close. A rush to finish last minute tasks slows into organizing your desk (in theory, anyway) and preparing to walk away to your other life.
What’s strange though is that when I was younger, Monday used to be my favorite day. Lucky too. Inconceivable, isn’t it? I still like the prospect of a fresh week (it helps to like your job) and feeling prepared to tackle the world. I’ve always liked the idea that things begin anew and there’s optimism about the week ahead. But going to any job Monday morning is tough.
Of course, in reality, the Sunday paper is daunting and it feels more like a slog than a companionable accompaniment to a pancake breakfast. Dinner is more often some hastily prepared meal than the result of a visit to the farm, so there will be no leftovers. And if the sun isn’t streaming in Saturday morning, it’s easy to sleep late and then have to sprint from place to place trying to get things done. And Friday afternoons of late have meant working until the last minute after everyone has fled and then racing to beat the T traffic.
So, upon reflection, I may have to go back to that foolish notion from my youth: Mondays? Not so bad.
Every year, I keep a list of books I’ve read, noting each one in a journal as I finish them. Yeah, it’s nerdy, but it’s also terribly satisfying. Looking back over the list is like reviewing a photo album of memories where I can pause on one or another to say, Ah, yes. I remember you well. I really liked you.
And, at the end of the year, I whittle the list down and star my top five, like it’s the Academy Award of books. They don’t win anything, except my affection and a mention in the Best Books I Read Last Year widget on the side of my blog. This year, however, was tough, maybe because I read fewer books than usual. Two books got the coveted star right away: Olive Kitteridge by Elizabeth Strout and Then We Came to the End by Joshua Ferris. The other three nods went to Netherland by Joseph O’Neill, The Bright Forever by Lee Martin, and one nonfiction selection: Sex, Sleep, Eat, Drink, Dream by Jennifer Ackerman.
The full ’09 list included 21 books (15 novels and 6 nonfiction titles noted in red):
What were your top picks last year?
Musings at a picnic 