Why I Love Saturday Mornings

When I was a kid, cartoons made Saturday mornings great. We sat around in our pajamas and ate our cereal in front of the TV. There was never time any other day of the week.

Now that I’m grown and also retired, I still love Saturday mornings.  I don’t have to Zumba, I don’t have to be anywhere. I can lounge around and write blog posts while I wait for my kids to gather at my house, and then we do lunch. It’s a mom thing. They always want to go to a restaurant where they can order things with jalapenos, pepperoncinis and other spicy toppings. I don’t do spice well.

So, imagine my surprise when I glanced at my calendar this morning and saw that it was free compost day. The garbage company is giving up to 50 gallons of compost per household. I signed up for it weeks ago. My time is 10:15!

I’m still good. The car is loaded with my ten five-gallon buckets, which are a pain in the butt to pull apart (thanks a lot, Kellly).  I have my shovel, too, but I really hope I won’t have to do the shoveling. My body hurts.  I had way too much fun dancing last night at the Sun Kings (Beatles) concert with half of the town of Alamo.

It’s so much fun to see people that you haven’t seen for almost two years. Sadly, this may be a short-lived thing. One of my friends knows a San Diego couple who were double-vaccinated and still caught the Delta variant of Covid. The man is in the hospital.

We’re not done with the pandemic yet, folks. Our dancing nights are temporary. A masked mandate is coming soon to a town near you.  Governor Gavin Newsom is surely reluctant to declare it again with his recall election coming up in September.

Without getting too political, let me say that Newsom is following the science. Yes, it hurt endless numbers of businesses to shut down, but it also saved countless lives.

I have friends and relatives who don’t believe there is a pandemic. I have a girlfriend whose 32-year-old son won’t get vaccinated. My worker woman’s son won’t either. My son stepped up and did it in March. It might help to mention that both of his sisters are scientists, along with his brother-in-law.

As my sore shoulders remind me that we really danced our a***s off last night, I am also thankful that the window of summer fun has opened up to us. Of the hundreds of people there last night, I saw exactly two of them wearing masks. It was a party, the likes of which I haven’t seen for twenty+ months.

My friend, Alexander, suave guy that he is, grabbed a woman passing by. After he swung her around a few times, I overheard her say, “This is the most fun I’ve ever had on my way to the bathroom.”

My other friend, Tom, danced with any and all women who approached him, which was a lot.

Women danced with Mike, the guy with the walker. He stood up a few times to sing along and move his arms.  Hiking friends came over for hugs, old faces from years of dancing together waved, and ski-club people gave lots of hugs.  Even parents of my now-grown-kids’ friends said hello.

As we all belted out the words to Hey Jude at the end of the show, people stood in little groups, arms linked, swaying to the music, a sweet ending to a fabulous evening.

As I was leaving, a guy yelled out, “You are quite a dancer!”

“Thanks,” I said.

Had he meant it as a compliment? He didn’t say I was quite a good dancer, just quite a dancer.

I’m going to go with compliment. Life is too short to give it a second thought.

Off to get my free buckets of compost!

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