Saturday Morning

It's Saturday morning, the best morning of the whole week. I remember as a kid the joys of Saturday morning, hanging around in pajamas and watching Saturday Morning CBS Cartooniverse! I can still hear the jingle in my head. Some things just stay with you.

Saturday mornings were just the beginnings of a day with tremendous possibilities. We might go exploring the creek and gully at the end of our street. We might go fishing in Trout Lake or maybe even all the way down to Stanley Park. We might steal a buggy from Safeway and make a go-cart, careening down the hill towards the deadly traffic below. We might to all of these things, but first came Hercules, and Superman, and The Roadrunner, and Bugs Bunny.

Saturday mornings were breakfast cereal and laughter, brothers and friends, jumping on the bed, jumping down the stairs; we never walked anywhere if we could jump or run. After all, Saturday mornings had boundless energy. Come Monday we would slag and slough our way to school, and even Sunday had responsibilities like church, although not often for us, and going to our grandparents, something we loved to do. Saturday was the only day, our only day, and Saturday morning especially, where freedom reigned in our life.

I still love Saturday mornings even though I don't have cartoons on these days. I love that sense of freedom, the allure of things to do and places to go without restriction of time or work or responsibility. I love the innate possibilities that lie within this unbound time and space, the chance that something fun and interesting might be out there waiting for me.

Every day is like this in it's own way. Each morning is the beginning of something new, something unusual. Each morning has within it the promise of adventure, the promise of treasure. Saturday carries the best of it because I know that I can shape that adventure and grasp the treasure of this time without constraint or commandment. I can just do what I want on Saturday morning.

Now what is it that I want to do?