Long Weekend. Version 2.0

I gave myself a second long weekend. I’ve decided that I like 3-day workweeks, and now I need to find a company that will indulge my brilliant work ethic.

I’m tired. I find that weekends often require some sort of recovery, which defeats any relaxation purpose of time off work. But I don’t mind. It’s a good tired.

Friday

Friday was an 18-hour day. My mom and I arrived in St. Thomas quite early, spent a few minutes with the family doctor (yes, I think I need to find a Toronto-based one. It’s getting ridiculous, this distance thing), and then visited a couple of my mom’s friends. I really like her friends. I believe I once told her I like her friends better than mine. Not a completely untrue statement. These women are so down to earth and transparent; I could trust my life with them. One of the women we visited had recently been gifted with a baby grand piano, giving me the opportunity to unleash a little musical creativity while she and my mom chatted on the deck. I still can’t wrap my brain around being given a piano by a husband who thinks you might enjoy playing it once in a while. Maybe because I’d be quite happy with considerably less right now (and no, I will not list romantic gestures on a blog. It makes the job too easy for potential suitors who blogstalk before they initiate). Not that I’d reject my dream instrument….

Our day continued with a quick jaunt into Aylmer, which no longer feels like home. It’s an odd feeling, driving through, seeing familiar places and older versions of familiar faces but knowing you don’t belong there anymore. My mom did the Curves thing, while I did the read-a-magazine thing. I’ll probably end up in a Curves one day, swapping recipes, keeping abreast (I hate that word) of local happenings and toning up to a poppy Newsboys remix. But not yet. I think I have to be a suburban mom or something first.

We ended up in Stratford. My dream town. I would almost consider quitting my job just to pump gas there. That’s how much I love it. After window shopping and dinner at a local favorite, Tango, we ate ice cream cones as the sun set, and then changed into slightly more formal attire in a Tim Horton’s bathroom. I’m not sure how many restaurant restrooms I’ve changed in in my life, but there have been quite a few. Superman had a phone booth, I have a stall.

We saw The Merchant of Venice at the Festival Theatre. I need not tell you that I have a crush on Shakespeare. The show was pretty great, Graham Greene was quite impressive (he’s the Academy Award-winning actor from Dances with Wolves, for those of you who only watch movies), and the costumes still don’t make sense to me. The eras and styles and textures were all so confused, it was like watching a schizophrenic textile theme unfold beneath the play’s already multiple themes and plot lines. But I loved it. Because I love theatre. And because I not-so-secretly wish I was on that stage, spewing off iambic pentameter into the darkened theatre.

Saturday

Saturday was a low-key day with a walk to the grocery store, a little baking and salad-dressing making, reading on the front porch, and planning for today. My mom and I went for a long walk in the evening. Every time I go for a walk on a beautiful summer evening, I am only reassured that I don’t really want a license. I just want my legs to keep working.

Sunday

I didn’t go to church. Don’t tell anyone :). We packed up mid-morning and headed to my aunt and uncle’s place to celebrate my grandma’s 79^th birthday. As my own birthday is approaching (no hint of any kind intended), a few gifts for me were passed around, including a gift bag with an earwig in it. Such are the joys of country living, I suppose. My coworkers think I have an idyllic 1950s-sitcom-esque family, and I can’t completely disagree. I mean, we do go on hayrides at Thanksgiving, celebrate birthdays multiple times a year, sing Christmas carols and play party games at Christmas, and talk on top of each other enthusiastically and passionately, clearly enjoying each other’s company. We’re the poster family for anti-dysfunction.

I chatted with my 12-year-old cousin for a while today. She wants to be a novelist. Her wide-eyed and innocent enthusiasm for her future quite inspired me. And made me slightly nostalgic for the days when I felt the same. Now I’m trying to prevent the “pre-nostalgia” (Douglas Coupland is responsible for the term) that comes with knowing that I may one day be nostalgic for the endless possibilities that the life I’m currently leading still holds.

I also spent a considerable amount of time with my cousin who’s a married mom of two in Calgary. Coincidentally, she was at the exact same church service as I was like weekend (at MBC), but we completely missed each other. Her children are precious. And while I won’t quite admit to an “itching womb” (as one coworker would call it), a baby smiling at you is a pretty powerful thing. As is a child’s grip on your necklace.

So now I’m tired and slightly dreading my 6 a.m. wake-up call tomorrow, but still refreshed from spending time with family and inspired by both Shakespeare and a little girl’s dream to be a writer.