There was a time (not so many years ago) when the week was a seamless set of hours composed of work, chores, family, downtime, set according to an improvised pattern, so that if there was work to be done, week-end or not, I'd do it. And if the sun was especially glorious and it was Friday morning (I rarely teach then), I'd go outside and plant a flower or two.
But over the years I have come to love the idea that the weekend, with rare exceptions, belongs to me. (And conversely, that the weekday prioritizes my job). Professional people shouldn't think in those terms. After all, in many ways work follows me home. Emails -- they are such a constant! Papers to read, classes to prepare -- that too. Still, even though I do in fact often work on weekends, I'm in charge! If Ed says -- let's play tennis! -- I can put things down.
This weekend was different: it was one that has to be handed over almost entirely to work (a Law School conference) and I miss terribly being in control of my time. The not rushing in the morning. The setting of an agenda for the day. Someone else set it. I merely go along.
So, after breakfast...
...I'm back downtown -- with a huge pack of tissues for the sniffles that have settled in (and always settle in when I do not watch out for myself).
On the upside, let me give you a farmette report:
Yes! Beautiful and bright -- and this is just the beginning!
We walk the land and note projects that will fill our weekends in the months ahead.
Then, too, the farmette appears to have become the superhighway for deer who move from one wooded area to the next.
I will shake my fist at them when they devour our baby orchard, but for now, they are elegant and stately and watching their passage is always extremely beautiful.
Late in the day, Ed and I play our first of the year tennis game. There are never any notable photos that come out of this warm season ritual of ours. But there's a lot of movement and laughter and suddenly the day seems my own again.
It's raining a bit now and I have work tomorrow as well, but it doesn't really matter. It's outdoor weather. I get my hands dirty moving some soil from broken pots. It feels good to be thinking about these things again. I'd forgotten how much I love spring.