Today is sunny and warm. It is 60°. It is the first weekend in a while that it isn’t raining. I have a couple of household chores I choose to ignore. The sloth in me is holding sway.
When I was a kid, Saturday was the best day of all. The morning was dedicated to sitting in front of the TV watching all the kid shows, munching cereal and slurping milk. The rest of the day was set aside for roaming. Sometimes I even biked to one of the towns around mine. I loved the railroad station one town over and would sit on a bench for a while hoping for a train. Supper on Saturday was always the same, but I never minded. I was and am a fan of hot dogs. The Saturday bath after supper was a ritual. I remember my sisters crying when my mother combed the snarls out of their newly shampooed hair. That too was a Saturday ritual. We got to stay up later. TV back then was filled with westerns like Sugarfoot, for which I can still sing the theme, The Roy Rogers Show with Happy Trails to You as the closing song which I can play on my uke, and my favorites like Maverick and Have Gun, Will Travel. I used to read in bed until my mother yelled up the stairs for me to turn off the light. Saturday was the perfect day.
When I lived in Ghana, Saturday was the day to go to town to pick up essentials in the market. I had my favorite egg man and my favorite vegetable lady from whom I bought onions and tomatoes. I used to roam the market hoping to find surprises like that watermelon, the only one I ever saw. From the kiosks lining the street, I’d buy canned goods like margarine and evaporated milk. From small girls carrying their goods on their heads I’d buy bread and bofrot aka puff puff which looked like donut holes only a little bigger and better tasting.
Saturday night was entertainment night at my school. There was tribal dancing and once in a while a movie. I remember Great Expectations and my students having no idea what was happening with the quick dialogue. My favorite was a cartoon about keeping flies off food. The movies and cartoons came from a USAID guy who occasionally dropped into town but whom I seldom saw.
I have an entirely empty dance card this weekend for which I am grateful. I’m going to loll.


