Friday, May 8, 2009
Welcoming the Weekend
I can measure my life with Friday nights.
When I was a kid, Friday nights were board games, rented movies in the den, the glee of the school-free weekend to come. Then slumber parties of solemn secrets and giddy gossip, nervous phone calls to acned boys.
Early twenties were spaghetti straps and crowded bars, strings of useless boys to disappoint me. There were phone calls at five to see who was doing what, and sunrises that came always too early. There were Friday nights alone, sometimes voluntary, sometimes not; wavering between basking in the hard-sought silence, and pining for someone to break it.
I've had Fridays where the weekend loomed long before me, and others that passed by in a blur of laughs and love. I remember, not so long ago, coming home from work on a Friday night, walking into my apartment, and standing in the center of my living room, my keys still in hand, purse still on shoulder, while I realized in full how lonely I was. I remember the lonely Fridays more, which I hope is because there were fewer of them.
Despite some truly lousy exceptions, Friday nights are my favorite time of the week: it's the only time I can feel a shift happening, a change, as the work week meets the weekend and you feel suddenly transformed. You can feel it in the air, on the streets, in the car next to you, like a city-wide sigh of relief and excitement. All other changes we seem to wake up to, but not Friday night. Friday night we get to feel it all, for good and for bad. Relief, hope, and all the things in between.
Nowadays, my Friday nights are pajamas and take-out with my husband. Five 14-hour days packed with work, dinners, friends, errands, appointments, deadlines and demands come to a close and deliver us to our cozy couch and each other, with TiVo and Pad Thai there to welcome us to our weekend.
These days, I rarely go out on Fridays. And by choice. Friday night is when I get to feel home, feel love, comfort, and the security of my thirties, my husband, my life. No distractions, no obligations. Just food straight out of cartons and The Office. It's bliss. Friday Night Bliss.
So I hope this Friday night is a good one for you, wherever you are, and whatever that means to you. If it's not, order up some Pad Thai, and cozy up to your couch, and I promise good Fridays are coming your way.
And if you'd like, check out this profile of me, courtesy of one of my favorite writers and food bloggers, Simmer Till Done. Marilyn's words (and jaw-dropping desserts) will make any Friday night better, I guarantee.
Hey, and don't forget to call your mother on Sunday. I'll be brunching with mine, and will tell you all about it next week. But for now, there's a delivery guy heading my way, unaware that he's bringing me my weekend.
(I took the photo at the top on a Friday night in Paris. I don't know those two people snuggled up on the Seine, but I know what their Friday night looked like.)
Posted by Sara Reddy