Weekends

When I worked 9 to 5, weekends had special meaning. 

When I worked for Digital Credit Union, I often worked home on Fridays. It meant that between preparing reports without interruption I could do things like laundry. It made the weekend seem longer.

My boss once asked how he could prove I was really working. My secretary responded, "By me. She brings in tons of stuff for me to do on Monday."

Most of my working life, with one exception, I was either neutral or loved my work. I also loved my personal life and was able to balance the two more often than not.

Weekends were for chores, doing MY writing, reading, seeing friends, movies, dinner out, inviting people in, etc..

Then I retired. I started a newsletter for Canadian credit union leaders. 48 times a year I produced anywhere from 30-50 stories, mostly under 50 words although every now and then there would be a long report.

I never promised an exact delivery date, so I could  juggle my time and take time off during the week. That had advantages of doing errands without crowds.

I also could write my fiction anytime. Weekdays and weekends melded.

Marrying my aviation journalist husband, not much changed. Depending on his assignments, I could find him writing any hour of the day or night or weekends.

Weekends were for other people. 

Between now and Easter this will change. My husband is taking an intensive French course, 3 hours a day, five days a weekend. There are no weekend classes.

Thus, instead of deciding to do something impromptu at 10:30 Wednesday, for example, we are scheduling things in advance on Saturday or Sunday. 

Where sleeping in depending on our moods, weather and what we wanted to read, it is limited to the weekends. 

If nothing else, this temporary change of almost routine, for our lives are seldom routine, will make us appreciate even more, life before French class.