Again, maybe it’s because I’m retired and have no place to go Monday through Friday mornings, but every day feels like Saturday. This morning, I removed the full garbage bag from the barrel and put it inside the front driveway gate until Tuesday, the next scheduled collection date. Then I drowned what maggots had gathered on the lid and in the barrel. They are now drying in the sun. As an afterthought (I have many thoughts after I do something these days), I thought that next time I’ll use the Pine Sol I recommended to Margarita for our tile floors.
While in the driveway, now separated at its top by chicken wire to keep Duke out, I surveyed my sad little garden struggling to find nourishment in the fill dirt and stones that constitutes its home. That’s when it hit me. This is Saturday work. But it’s Friday.
If this were not a rented house I would be quite busy modernizing it and that would definitely make every day Saturday. Of course, I’d have to find the cash to do all the things that need doing. That would mean I’d need to get a job. And if there were a job available for me, I’d be unhappy because then I’d have to wait until Saturday to do the chores that need doing. Being me, I’d feel pressed at how little I could get done without my weekdays free. It’s a hard life. Thank God!