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Saturday, August 20, 2016


When I was growing up, Saturdays were cleaning/yard day. We all had to clean our rooms. During the Spring/Summers/Fall we had to help do yardwork. About once a month we had to help clean out the garage. I mean clean it. Spotless. Take everything out. Sweep it and wash it down/out with the hose. Put everything back. The garage. Seriously?

If you’d gotten in trouble during the week, Saturday was also “punishment” day. We were rarely “grounded” in terms of being forced to stay home. My mother contended that that solution only punished HER. Therefore, our consequences were pretty much cleaning. Scrubbing. Etc. Mother's “punishment” typically meant you had to do chores like polish her silverware or serving dishes. (She had a lot, by the way.) Or wash/wipe down all the baseboards in the entire house. (We lived in a 3000-ish square foot home. Two stories. Lots o’ baseboards. Sigh.) Here was the thing: Someone was going to do both of these jobs. Eventually. In trouble or not. But my mother’s idea? Pretty effective. The worst punishment of all was having to polish silver or wash baseboards when you’d JUST DONE THEM a week or two before. Horrors. (Needless to say, we had the shiniest silver in four states.)

Once I graduated from high school and left home—for either a job or college (I actually tried three colleges over two years before I found my perfect fit!)—Saturdays were often sleep-in days. I remember there were times I didn’t get out of bed until after lunch! Now? If I did that? I’d feel like The Biggest Slug On This Earth. I despise being in bed for more than eight hours—even when I’m sick. Lounging in bed rarely occurs in this senior-citizen life of mine.

After marriage, Saturdays turned back into cleaning/errands/laundry days. Unless I was working. I was a legal assistant for many years—once I graduated from college. I worked most Saturdays—until noon or 1:00 p.m.—for over six years. Then I’d have to go home and clean our casa. Do laundry. Errands. It was my life.

Post birth of TLC, I became a stay-at-home Mom. Yet, somehow, even then, for many years, Saturdays were still cleaning days. Yard days. (Don’t get me wrong: My Sweet Hubby—MSH—was our yard/landscape man. Occasionally I helped rake grass or leaves or water pots, etc.—especially our flower pots. Overall, I was typically The Inside Supervisor Gal.)

For most of his seventy-two years, MSH has been an Early Worm Riser. His four sons and TLC always dreaded Saturday mornings at our casa. MSH apparently believes that if he’s up—everyone needs to be! I’d plead with him—on the kids’ behalf—especially when they were teenagers—to let them sleep until 7:00 a.m.! A really GOOD Saturday was one when they were allowed to sleep until 9:00 or 10:00. (I’m proud to say that all five of our children are hard-working, responsible adults/parents/peeps. Despite their HARSH upbringing! Ha.)

When you’re retired, it seems like Fridays and Saturdays would really be virtually the same as any other day of the week. Surprisingly, there is often cleaning to be done on Saturdays. Yardwork. Errands. Old habits are hard to break.

I’m currently delaying my need to GET TO WORK. MSH’s younger sister will be staying with us tomorrow night. She lives in Austin. Her oldest grandchild—a BEAUTIFUL young lady who is quite the artist—is going to be a freshman at our State University in town. She checks into her dorm tomorrow. This is the same University MSH, TLC and I all graduated from. The three of us believe she’s going to adore it. Fingers crossed!

I’ve got to get crack-a-lackin’ on Tricia’s room (aka Little Leighton’s room). I have mucho toys that need a temporary home for a few days.

We hope each of you—wherever in this World you are—has a Super Saturday and Wonderful Weekend! Take some time to kick back and rest. Recharge. Have FUN! (Don't clean. Unless you truly must. It'll only get dirty again.)

smooches and hugs,


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