A cloudy, humid Saturday morning.

It’s funny that, even though I’m retired, I still look forward to Saturday mornings. Years of working Monday through Friday can do that to you.

But whaf if you’re a nurse or a waiter or a postal worker? Many people never get Saturday off. And it’s like no big deal. They get a different day off — one where the rest of us are toiling away.

When the Boston Store was in business, I worked a lot of Saturdays. And Sundays. And holidays. It wasn’t too bad either, except I had to work Monday through Friday too.

Maybe the magic of Saturday started in my youth. Saturday morning cartoons. Going for morning bike rides. Making plans for Saturday nights with girlfriends. Doing things only kids can do on Saturday.

Of course, no memory is as glorious as the one you try to remember. Most Saturdays were probably spent fighting with siblings or doing chores or catching up on homework. Saturday nights often did not include a date,  and, if you were like me, there were no friends to hang around with, either. If you were too young, you probably wasted the evening with a babysitter or watching boring movies you didn’t understand and having to go to bed long before you were tired, just because. 

I choose to remember my youth ( what parts I CAN remember) as gauze wrapped sparking gems in time that always began on Saturday morning and ended when Bonanza was over Sunday evening. I can do that.

And, for the most part, I can finally spend Saturday mornings the way ~I~ want to. I can do that, too.

Where is the cartoon channel?