When I was younger the weekend experience began Friday evening about 5:00 PM. The light and hours expanded and I relaxed without even trying. Friday evening eased into Saturday morning at a slow leisurely pace. I did laundry, shopped, visited with friends and laughed with my kids for what seemed like hours. There was no sense of time passing; no urgency – nothing but time, sweet time.
Saturday afternoon slipped into evening. More time with the kids, food with friends, laughter and loving into the dark sweetness of Saturday night. Sunday morning was luxurious – a pot of rich coffee enjoyed with the local paper and the New York times. It wasn’t until late Sunday afternoon that time picked up its pace, shortening the hours into homework worries and school clothes folded and ready and back to the Monday routine.
Now, in between jobs, one would think that time would always be expanded and generous, gifting laughter and the luxury of long hours to finish all the projects put off when work pressed me on all sides with no respite. It does not.
Time these days moves forward at a most alarming pace. Even on my beloved weekends, I feel the hours rushing by, speeding towards Monday.