What makes a weekend?

I woke from a dream of all these little kittens attacking me. Biting, clawing. They were all over me-- even in my mouth. So much for sleeping in on the weekend. Weekends have meant different things to  us over the years. We had other rituals. We spent many Friday nights with the Steeds who used to be our neighbors. When they moved, we continued to drive to see them or they drove to us--until the kids' schedules got too crazy. They were our wine friends. And Buckeye friends. If it was college football season, we would drive back to their house on Saturday for the Ohio State Football games.

When the kids were little we would have breakfast on Saturday mornings at the Pancake Farm in Ephrata with Mark's parents. The kids ordered chocolate chip pancakes in the shape of Mickey Mouse--until Jonah discovered waffles with a side order or sausage. That ritual died away when I started training for my one and only marathon which I ran with my sister-in-law in Chicago. Saturdays were our long training runs. We had church in Lancaster on Sundays which we hit about 2 or 3 Sundays a month, stopping for coffee and pastry along the way. While Gramps was still alive, we sometimes made the trek to Elizabethtown on a Sunday night to visit with him and my parents. It was a haul, so we didn't do it often. During the years we had HBO, we were faithful to watching Sopranos or Six Feet Under. Movie night could be any night of the weekend. Having kids, we didn't go out much. Mark got projects done on weekends. He likes to be busy tinkering. And naps. We like our naps. That is probably the one thing that hasn't changed since coming to Arden.

We have our patterns here, too, but each weekend can be different. We started this weekend off slow. Friday night was just us, our new sectional, Ben and Jerry's, and a Netflix movie. Then the attacking kittens. Whoa. They ushered me into Saturday in a most startling way. Mark and I had a full docket of projects lined up. He was painting. We had decided to paint a wall in our living room which is a bit traumatic since we are painting over paneling. Usually if you don't like a color, you can go back to the way it was. Meanwhile I set up a temporary sewing station in my daughter's bedroom (HA! We shall see if she reads my blog now.) I sewed two skirts for spring. Then it was on to the garden to help spread wood chips and prepare the soil. It was a planned event so many people were there helping.

While I was spreading wood chips with Dave, he was telling me about his dream which involved music and The Buddha. I contrasted that with my dream about the demon kitties. Dave is trying to get a dream interpretation group at the Buzz. He looked at me with curiosity when I told him about the kittens. Then he told me what an animal bite means in the shamanic tradition: It is your calling, trying to get your attention. Toby came over and added her spin. She specified spiritual calling. I thought about all my spring projects vying for my attention. It seemed to me that this is what the dream was about. Still, it was fascinating to discuss with others. I may have to consider this dream interpretation group when it is realized. Mark brought the trellis frame he built for climbing vegetables. I then had to string it, which is time consuming. But it kept me rooted to the spot, listening to the conversations around me. I heard bits and pieces. People coming together with ideas in the most synchronistic way. I couldn't help but think that vegetables are the least of this garden's bounty.

Plenty of fresh air and plenty of work. We had no time to nap, because we had to get to the Dinner Gild early. This week's menu was a 50's themed dinner. People showed up in costume. Mark and I considered pulling his letterman's sweater out of storage, but thought better of it. We didn't want to embarrass ourselves trying to put it on. The last time I had worn Mark's sweater was in high school, and I was swimming in the thing. The menu included chicken a la king, Chex mix, assorted stuffed celery and jello among other offerings.  Early rock-n-roll played over a more recent portable stereo. I heard rumor that the chef's table was going to host a little martini party for those who stuck around. Not me. I was off to see the local high school's production of Rent. Our daughter was the lead in the musical the year before, so it was great to go back and see the kids from that show progress and move into new roles. I was blown away.


Now Sunday is upon us. The hike is a given. We are more loyal to our Sunday hikes than perhaps any other activity in the history of our weekends. This time we are going to a nature preserve near Media, PA. It is part of a quest to hike all the local preserves and get the prize--a fleece vest. We may or may not stop at Pinocchio's for beer and pizza. Actually, this is probably a given, but we are going to pretend we can take or leave it.  I have a Michael's run in my future to buy picture frames for our newly painted wall. Have to strike before the coupon expires. We were invited to go to a concert in Philly, but we are opting instead for a quiet dinner and movie with friends. I can imagine we will finish the weekend the way we started it--tired from our exertions.

And herein lies the biggest question. The one we pose every weekend. Will we get our nap?