Archive: Weekendery

We had a lovely long weekend.

With Ted on my lap, JG and I drove up to New Jersey on Friday night to visit my in-laws. It has become a semi-official tradition now to spend a couple of days with them, dip our toes into their frigid pool water, and dare everyone else to go in, when we really intend to sit on lounge chairs and read magazines. We usually go out to eat for one night and grill back at the house for the other, and JG makes a shrimp appetizer by special request from his sister. This year, we enjoyed reasonably pleasant weather and spent most of our time outdoors. When clouds threatened and wind blew, JG and his siblings battled it out over Mario Kart, while I listened in on their banter. I upheld the natural order of the universe by losing at mini-golf and almost falling out of the hammock. Ted received lots of loving from JG’s entire family, and he was so tuckered out by the end of our stay that I held nothing but a limp pile of sleeping puppy during the ride home. When we were ten minutes away from our house, I saw a burst of light in the distance. Fireworks! Longwood Gardens was firing off their annual Memorial Day display, and we could see it for the remaining minutes of the drive. Cheesy to be sure, it was kind of magical, too.

Yesterday, we slept in until the luxurious hour of 8am, and then headed out to meet friends for the local parade. I love that Kennett Square is such a small town that the major traffic arteries close for three parades each year that are all exactly the same, and people flood the streets to look on. This custom fills me with so much small-town charm that I can’t even stand it. Plus, our friends snagged a coveted grassy corner for our viewing spot, and Ted enjoyed his first parade in shady style. Of course, our peaceful serenity of saluting veterans and clapping to military themes was shattered when groups of reenactment folks starting firing their muskets. I clapped my fingers over my ears so as to prevent myself from being startled, but Ted was shaking like a leaf from the blasts. Thankfully, vehicles from half a dozen fire companies in the surrounding 20-mile radius toned down the end of the parade, and he recovered nicely.

Afterward, we went grocery shopping, unpacked, and cleaned up the general debris of being away, but the rest of the day was ours. JG grilled burgers, hot dogs, and corn, so we had our own quiet cookout, and then sat outside with Ted. He was still fairly exhausted from the weekend, so he just rolled around on the grass and pounced at sticks while JG surfed the web and I worked on crosswords. There was a hint of charcoal and freshly-cut grass in the air, and a round feeling of contentment settled on my shoulders.

This morning is humid and rainy, as if to fully hammer home the point that the weekend is truly over. Sigh. It’s not that I minded coming in to work today, but the weekend was so nice. JG has hypothesized that, with three-day weekends, he could teach all year long. What about the rest of us, I ask? I propose that extended weekends are instated from here on out so we have a day each for fun, accomplishment, and recovery. There must be a congressman somewhere who would get on board …

It’s a funny thing about weekends. On the one hand, I want to be relaxed so that I feel rested for the next work week. On the other hand, I like to get things done so that I don’t feel like a lazy bum when it’s all over. There seems to be a long distance to travel between wanting things done and actually doing them. It’s just that, oh, I hate to fold laundry, but I love having clean clothes and the satisfaction therein. All too often, I wind up asking myself how I squandered 48 hours of time by simply considering my good intentions of doing this chore or that project.

Happily, this past weekend boasted no such regret. Behold! Seven accomplishments!

• Attended the spring concert of our favorite a capella group from college.
  I wanted to be a part of the Deltones all through college, but they had so few openings for altos that I never auditioned. I love singing back-up and harmony, but I am only an adequate soloist, so I doubt I would have made it. Instead, I settled for being a groupie, and JG and I try to make it to their concerts every semester. Our friends’ son is a Deltone now, so it’s fun to see him in that venue. The highlight of the night was hearing the “clap-clap…clap” rhythm and opening chords of the Counting Crows’ “Accidentally in Love.” I gave a little yelp of joy and happily found the alto line in my head. Every time I hear that song, it makes me think of the summer when JG and I got engaged. I’m listening to their newest recording now, but I hope that new song gets onto the CD next year.
• Did two loads of laundry.
  Sorted, washed, dried, and folded. Reward, please!
• Made another batch of soft pretzels.
  JG made a special request, so I obliged and whipped up the dough, which was a real pain to roll out and twist up. Luckily for me, pretzels taste good no matter how mangled they end up in the oven. I tried to make a cinnamon-sugar version for me, but the sugar burned. I should have seen it coming, but I wasn’t thinking. Farewell, dream of a dessert pretzel.
• Got my palm henna-ed.
  My book club discussed Jhumpa Lahiri’s first short story collection, Interpreter of Maladies, which I had read last year. Our hostess made a delicious lemon tart, and one of the girls, Tammy, applied henna designs to our hands and feet as we talked. I felt both literary and multicultural by the end of the night, and that’s pretty good for a Saturday.
• Cleaned out the DVR.
  How else can I justify watching What Not to Wear, House, and Ace of Cakes in swift succession? I say that deleting items from the DVR counts as a chore.
• Rented, watched, enjoyed, and returned Enchanted.
  Hooray for Redbox rental kiosks! And Amy Adams!
• Made pasta sauce and an enormous three-cheese baked ziti with it.
  I’m not much of a cook, but I can make pasta sauce and casseroles with my eyes closed. I will be microwaving my lunch portion shortly, and I am so looking forward to it. The fall-like weather today is begging for some comfort food.

Next on the list: account for 48 mixed-up references for an article about cerebral palsy. Sigh.

#85

This weekend, I firmly cemented a few ideas that have been simmering in my brain.

Warm weather without humidity is the best thing ever.
On Friday, the weather gods blessed Kennett Square with 70-degree weather. At first, I looked askance at the forecast because even that level of heat can be too much for me. I loathe sweating, and my black hair speeds up the process of me wilting into a disheveled mess. Plus, I do not love wearing shorts, and April was far too early in my internal calendar to break those out. But as soon as I stepped outside— in my spring uniform of jeans, flip-flops, tank top, and cardigan — I breathed a sigh of relief. Oh, it was hot, yes, but there was not a drop of humidity in the air. Cue the angels singing! It was just warm enough to feel like spring, without any energy-sucking heaviness to take the fun out of it. JG and I spent the morning meandering through Longwood Gardens, taking advantage of our so-worth-it membership. It was lovely to waltz (not literally) past the ticket people, get our membership card scanned by the elderly volunteer, and then have the pleasure of quiet pathways, lovely flowers, and burgeoning ideas for our landscaping. No humidity and amazing views? Well!

I should not be a wedding planner.
When a former youth group girl, Diana, got engaged a year and a half ago, I reassured her that I would help out with the wedding in any way she needed me. Well, she took me up on it and asked me if I would be her day-of wedding coordinator, her “Franck,” as she put it. It was all very flattering, and I rolled up my spreadsheet sleeves to get my ducks in a row. Diana and I had monthly meetings so that I would be attuned to all the details, thus rendering me able to answer any questions from paranoid parents or quell bossy bridesmaids. I arrived at the rehearsal with no less than seven spreadsheets that listed everything from the florist’s cell phone number to my to-do list for Saturday morning, and Diana introduced me to the family and friends as “being in charge of you all.” Thankfully, the rehearsal went smoothly, and I felt relatively confident for Saturday to arrive.

That night, I tossed and turned in bed. Every so often, a new item popped into my head, and I turned on my reading light and grabbed the notebook on my nightstand to scribble down something like, “Bring fine-point permanent markers” or “Remind ushers that they need to dismiss people by row.” I probably got about four hours of sleep while JG slumbered peacefully next to me.

On Saturday, only a fraction of my anxiety came to fruition. The wedding went well, more or less (I hear it was beautiful, anyway), with the exception of three panicked moments:

• The unity candle had disappeared sometime between the rehearsal and morning of the wedding, and the sound guy managed to find some kind of replacement. At twenty minutes before the ceremony, I didn’t even care what it was, as long as it would light and stay that way. We still have not figured out what came of the original candle.
• A grandmother did not arrive until five minutes after the ceremony was supposed to start. Members of the bridal party and extended family created a running loop of “Is Grandma Ginny here yet?” as I stood there, helplessly, with her corsage in hand. When she finally arrived, she was crying from sheer mortification that her ride had been so ridiculously late, so I had to talk her down from the ledge as I shuffled her into place next to her escort.
• One of the groomsmen disappeared right before the reception, so his accompanying bridesmaid was left without an escort for the introduction of the bridal party. I have yet to get the full story on that one because I launched right into solution mode at the time.

While I am so glad that I was able to help Diana and take care of logistics for her, I am fully convinced that I could not handle this level of stress on a weekly basis. I ran around the site in flip-flops for a good hour that morning, learned how to pin corsages, and cued the processional before I could catch a breath. Once I got to my table at the reception, I was so disappointed to find that they had run out of mini-quiche! Bah! I will be happy to be a regular guest who will wear her dressy shoes, buy a slow cooker off of the registry, and eat her bacon-wrapped scallop, thank you very much.

I am hopeless at playing Guitar Hero.
Last week, JG ordered and received Guitar Hero for Wii, and he has been building his rock godliness with surprising dedication, all the while giving me not-so-subtle nudges to try it out for myself. I was not enthusiastic. See, I am awful at Dance Dance Revolution (or, “Stomp Stomp Revolution,” as I call it), and I am eternally bitter because I can actually dance in real life. Why doesn’t any of that transfer over to this Mario-themed game? Argh. I had this sinking feeling that my remedial guitar-playing skills would come to the same end with Guitar Hero.

Against my better judgment, I strapped on the guitar last night. We were having people over for the specific purpose of playing the game, and I thought my inaugural attempt would be less painful with a smaller audience. I worked through the basic guitar lessons, and I could already feel my body tensing and my scalp sweating. With much trepidation, I selected “Hit Me with Your Best Shot” on Easy, but I almost immediately started missing notes with my trembling fingers. I threw my hands up.

“That’s it! I’m not doing this.”

I took the guitar off with shaking hands and handed it to JG, who had a disappointed look on his face. He just wanted me to have fun, but he could tell how excruciating the experience was for me. Oh, well. Every rock star needs a fan, so I figure that I can fill that position … while I work on crosswords.

It has been a good weekend. Saturday was full of cleaning and airing out of rooms, partly because it had been a while, but mostly because we had deposited Ted at the groomer’s for a “day at the spa.” We took advantage of his absence by mopping the floor and washing his couch blanket, finally. In the evening, JG steamed up some mussels and baked up three potatoes’ worth of fries, and we wolfed it all down in twelve minutes flat. Cleaning works up quite the appetite, I guess.

We curled up on the couch with Ted to watch a recommended rental, Dan in Real Life, and I was startled to find myself all weepy at the end. It’s not that the movie is sad; I just can not hold it together with books or movies that involve premature, just-not-right deaths of spouses. At first, I tried to be strong and sniff the tears away, but it was to no avail. Even though Dan in Real Life made me cry, the bonus features made me laugh, and the soundtrack is on my wish list now. JG and I are also considering introducing a crossword puzzle war of the sexes at the beach this year. That’s a lot of bang for our rental buck, I think.

Spring is seeping into our neighborhood, and JG spent the afternoon today preparing for the warmer weather, including putting away snow shovels and wheeling out the grill. Soon, it’ll be time to fertilize our fledgling grassy lawn. Ted and I took a leisurely walk before dinner, and we stopped every so often to check out the new growth around us. It wasn’t quite warm enough for flip-flops, but I wore them anyway, feeling rebellious. JG made beef stroganoff for dinner, and we ate it at the coffee table as we watched Kansas advance into the Final Four.

It’s Sunday night, now. Just a couple of hours remain before we head down to bed. JG is playing Super Smash Brothers and I am typing away while we wait to turn on Extreme Makeover: Home Edition because this episode is supposed to take place in Delaware, and we heard that the football team helped out with the house. I feel satisfied with the amount of tasks we accomplished and unusually rested.

Bring it on, Monday.