My fingers grabbed on to Saturday morning like it was a life raft.
I've climbed aboard. I smell toast cooking and hear eggs frying, Joe is listening to something on the radio and laughing. Outside the rain is pelting down with real force, the dropplets slapping the earth with force, almost anger. No one is moving outside, though across the way a car is idling in the driveway and the yellow interior light shines inbetween the gloom of mist.
I rest in Saturday morning like it is a hammock slung between yesterday and tomorrow.
We've planned the weekend, nothing much, went to see a movie after summer school yesterday. I fell asleep in the theatre and woke with Joe watching me, not the movie. We talked menus on the way home and laid out a plan for tomorrow, big day tomorrow. Went to sleep that night knowing that the week was over.
I embrace Saturday morning like it was lost youth.
My weeks alternate with good days and bad days, highs and lows, painful moments, moments of clarity - but I'm called to be present pretty much all the time. This week I did intakes of people waiting for what they needed now. I had meetings that caused me upset. I got phone calls that brought me joy. I taught Summer School which is an annual treat. A week with varied responsibilities and various demands. Typical week.
But this is Saturday morning and I'm hungry for breakfast.