Saturday

I'm finding lately that my Saturday mornings are running away with me. I suddenly have so much compelling mental stimulation that I get into the terrible position of having to "just say no," to quote a recent First Lady. (Or should that be "just say no, thank you"?)

Anyway, I get up early to get the paper read. Then Steve gets going and the recent dynamic begins to play itself out. He starts painting, and I come to the computer to see what's going on. This morning there was a post on Zooey and Me that sent me following link after fascinating link--I sat at the computer for a good half-hour as the paint fumes started filling the house. Came up with two great videos that I just had to share with Kat.

I tear myself away and go to the grocery store to get that out of the way before the Saturday crowds descend. I listen to Weekend Morning Edition in the car and get all caught up in that. I come back home and want to keep listening, so find some way to do something useful in the kitchen while the rest of the show is broadcast. Then come Click and Clack. I strap my portable radio to my arm and go outside and weed the back garden. Good, that took the whole hour of the show, didn't have to miss a single laugh. The Homer Simpson quotes were hilarious: "I wish I could be called 'sir" without 'you're causing a scene' being added to it." I wonder once again how The Simpsons' writers manage to stay so fresh after nearly 20 years.

Then comes "Wait, Wait, Don't Tell Me." As if I didn't get enough news satire during the week from Jon Stewart, I'm addicted to this show. I sit down and eat some lunch while I listen (looking "busy" while Steve still paints). I'm done eating, but the show's still on. "Screw it," I think. I drop all pretense and just listen to the show.

I finally come back to the computer and think about writing something. By now it's noon. I see Nan has posted something. I go there. A wonderful piece about gradual, unnoticed change, rings a lot of bells, I want to write a comment. I scroll down and am reminded of the fantastic song she posted the other day, "How Will You Meet Your End?" by A.A. Bondy. I have no idea who Bondy is but I love that song. I listen twice, then buy it, then decide to post it myself. I search for my other song.

By now it's 1 pm. Steve needs rollers and a paint brush. I make a trip to Homo Depot (sic--our inside joke, now you're in on it, too!). This time in the car I get ensnared by "Studio 360" and their deconstruction of "cute." I tear myself away from it and come back here to the computer. Oh no! Another post from Zooey and Me! I reluctantly close that page (I'll go back!), and here I am. And I'm missing Spendid Table. All for you!

On weeds: When we first started our garden, as fertilizer we used the naturally composted, but otherwise untreated, manure from the horses my sister has out at her place. We loved the arrangement until it became clear that whatever the horses ate in their Fairfax County field would take up residence in our Arlington patch. Suddenly we had weeds we'd never seen before, and they return year after year. One of the most common early spring ones is this:
Any idea what it is? It's very tender and has purple bracts (not true flowers) and it's everywhere. I'd been calling in chickweed, but a google image search disabused me. Just curious.........

I've got to get back to my hyper Saturday. Bloglines just beeped. Another byway and then its detours await. And I've got to go see how Steve is doing and offer to be "busy."

As if!