Saturday Mornings

Saturday mornings used to be that time when daydreaming was allowed, when there were no such things as deadlines.  

I’d wait weeks for that first day when the thermometer in our kitchen reached 70 degrees.  The agreement with my mother held that when the temperature reached 70, I could go outside in my favorite short-sleeved red tee shirt without having to wear a jacket. The first such day that Spring was a Saturday morning. I confirmed the agreement with mom, ran outside into our front yard, and arrived at “Saturday.” Being outside with nothing to do and without a jacket - was cause for celebration. Outside - in my favorite red tee shirt – no jacket – no rules. Wow. I sat on the curb, planted my seven year-old feet in the street, smartly clad in Keds sneakers, (available only in basic black or white in those days), and began to explore the tiny two foot world of gutter before me. There was gravel made up of very fine translucent stones mixed with sand. Some of the stones were so “neat” I had to put a few in the pockets of my dungarees, the ones without the plaid flannel lining. (Those denim pants that people refer to as “jeans” today.) There was a small ant colony working through the gravel, carrying grains of sand and other bits of things to somewhere important. So much work leading up to this moment in their colony’s life. I picked up a small stick and moved some of the gravel into small mountains creating new worlds for the ants and me. I wondered about the moment much more than I worried about tomorrow. I reflected on the nature of sand, ants, sun, Spring, and tee-shirts. It was a perfect Saturday morning.

This Saturday morning I find myself at the home of my brother-in-law and his family in New Jersey. It’s the end of our one-week vacation and we have spent most of the time battling record cold temperatures in order to get our son, Daniel to his acting auditions at New York University’s Tisch School for the Arts and The Julliard School. It’s one of those rare Saturday mornings when there is a window of time with not much to do, and so we make it a time to squeeze on the couch with our son and listen to his dreams. He passed his auditions at both schools and now it’s a matter of waiting for the admissions offices to render their decisions. He is flying high having made it through the most rigorous audition of his life at Julliard and been accepted as one of the few who will be considered for enrollment. It now hinges on test scores and other intangibles. So much work leading up to this moment in his life. It’s a strange moment of quiet – of high hopes – of dreaming – of blue sky – of remarkable possibilities – of having permission to rest in a simple peace. It is now. It is good enough. It is a gift. It’s another perfect Saturday morning.