Weekend Routines

The weekend has many little routines and traditions at our place. Some of them aren’t really routines and ‘tradition’ is perhaps not quite the word for something you do sometimes, but there you go. A weekend feels wasted somehow unless certain processes occur or events are carried out. (Maybe sometimes it feels like more effort was required, but it would have been good enough to simply contemplate a weekend activity – but that’s a bit pissweak: as though contemplating a cup of coffee, or more specifically, contemplating drinking a cup of coffee were ever in the same league as actually drinking a cup of coffee, especially when you really feel like you need a boost or a jolt.)

The only real, solid constant in our weekend is buying the Sydney Morning Herald Saturday edition. The manner in which this purchase has been made has changed over time – a visit to the butcher, and few things from the grocery store, bread rolls from the bakery, and pick up a paper on the way home, has become walk up the street with the sole purpose of buying a newspaper, sometimes with the dogs, sometimes not, often me alone on this little mission, which is fine as I’m the chief newspaper reader; and part of the reason why a shift has occurred in the way this purchase is made is that we don’t live in the same place where you could buy a lottery ticket, second-hand Barcelona jersey, bottle of red wine, bottle of milk, rack of lamb, sausage roll, newspaper, and post a letter all on the way home.

Other features come and go in intensity. Or they drift off the agenda and then force their way back later on with a dash of vim. Gardening and planning and mowing and clipping all occur sometimes. There have been some shows we watch almost exclusively on the weekend, like Escape To The Country, which was something to do for an hour on a Saturday for quite some time. I like to read and to sleep on the weekends, but those things have never been absolute must dos, and they are only really about me, as is smoking a cigar or pipe, or drinking a glass or two of absinthe. I’d like to play more board games, despite the fact that I’m really embarrassingly bad at them. Not even shopping is a regular, as you don’t need a major grocery gathering effort every weekend, but we do do it a lot[1].

Recently a routine has raised its head and started doing neck dancing exercises, like a snake being ‘charmed’ in a cartoon. The head of the snake is now out of the wicker container and it writhes and jerks and wriggles in a very much alive fashion. And that snake is Saturday morning cleaning of the house. It’s not exactly fun, but this is a good time to do something in this line, and I’m not what you’d call good at it[2], but I’m eager to get involved, and most importantly it feels wrong if we don’t do it or we let it slide a bit. It feels good[3].

Apparently Peter Corris and partner and grand kids do the SMH cross word, competitively, with other family members, texting clues as they are solved, and so it becomes a family competition, like playing long-distance Chess. That doesn’t sound like something that would suit me – my approach to a crossword is to quickly read through all the clues, answer whatever’s obvious, and walk away. Crossword tactics are a tad boring … but of course they become more interesting when you are closing in on saving the whole thing. And Laetitia and I have begun again to have a go at the crossword, individually and together, in a few goes throughout the weekend, in the hope of getting the whole thing out by the end of Sunday (or occasionally on Saturday night). Saturday night, once we have gone to bed, has become a most fertile time for us[4].

This is a good practice and I hope it becomes a tradition again.


[1] And we shop quite frequently too – boom! Boom!

[2] Cleaning. Sorry for this becoming a bit like an almost dirty joke.

[3] There I go again.

[4] Yep. Sorry.

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Published in: on June 8, 2011 at 8:18 pm  Leave a Comment  

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