Annagrammatica--Portfolio: Swaddled in Saturday

RIDAY AFTERNOON

in early spring was

everything but Saturday, and finer in its

way— a long, warm wallowing in fresh

anticipation with activity suspended, all

except the effortless, habitual mobility

of youth. I lived in energetic fantasies

adapted from tradition, witches, faeries,

elves, and television— much like those

of every other girl who has the slightest

inclination toward adventure in her DNA.

How pliable the world and I were then,

how agile my imagination, deftly crafting

Saturday scenarios and shaping

ghastly situations on the least

substantial Friday whim.

In my fringed suede jacket — my long,

brown hair in braids that swished across

my back — I could be Jo March (if not too

picky), Annie Oakley, even Nancy Drew!

by simply wishing to. A lengthening

of stride on pleasant residential

sidewalks, in an instant turned to hard-

packed trails across Nebraska Territory,

had me guiding covered wagons westward,

though unhappily my little pony, Daisy, had

been left behind in Council Bluffs,

recuperating from... hmm... well... the

hiccups; such a mystifying case,

so strange.

The wind changed. Balmy just a tick ago,

the day turned oddly dark, and

cold, quick puffs of what remained of

winter merged into a gale. I loosed my

braided hair and let the wind do what it

would. I knew (the wind did not), no

matter how it tugged and turned, no

ordinary gust could separate my hair

and skin — a small but gratifying

evidence of strength, to tease the elements

that way and win. And with such cosmic

victories did Fridays end and Saturdays

begin.

There was a windswept wooded place, if

only ten feet wide or so, that circumscribed

the park. Good climbing trees were there,

and shrubs to hide in while you waited for

Doc Holliday and Wyatt Earp to ride in

from their day of keeping lawlessness

at bay. I must be pert and canny and

adjust my brim so it just barely skims

my eyes.

Oh, hush, girl, here they come. I bet I'm

blushing like a ripe tomato. Dang, but it

ain't even them.

Behold, It’s Robin and his

Men, and I, Maid Marian, again

defy the wind and pin my tousled

hair into a prim, aristocratic bun, with

tendrils tumbling ‘round my face. Too soon,

the wind abated and the sun peeked out.

I leaned against the Gallaghers’ red maple

tree and watched the play of shade and

shimmer in the variegated canopy and felt

the muffled thrum that was the rhythm of

a Saturday in spring, the quieting

of afternoon in placid neighborhoods.

I heard my mother mixing commerce with

a bit of gossip as the Alamito Dairy man

delivered butter, half-and-half, and cottage

cheese. He muttered something he had

gleaned from Mrs. Hahn about the Beasleys’

sheltie’s puppies being weaned, as I recall.

I listened to the uninflected tune of bees

around a clump of lilacs, heard a small child’s

bleating and her mama crooning consolation,

and a screen door with a wicked spring

obedient to physics snapping like a

shot, too raucous for the soporific

interlude.

Why should I not lie back and be attended

to, and temporarily surrender to the earth?

It's plenty sturdy for the job. And then I'll

let myself be swaddled by the sun, just

floating in the homely sounds and earthy

smells within my little glade— the scent of

sod just laid and lilies of the valley

emanating fragrance too audacious for

their dainty faces and discreet, half-hidden

habitat?

Well contented was I then to call an end

to my adventures for a time in favor of

fresh lemonade and oyster crackers,

slightly stale, and one book, maybe three,

to carry to the back yard and my secret nook

between the privet and the elm, whose trunk,

because of rain and time and children's

choreography, had worn away until it formed

a shallow cave, one made expressly for

my shoulder blades… which demonstrates

how very many ways there are to make a

century of memories in two hours (you must

borrow, though, from eighteen-sixty-eight

and nineteen-ten). And then politely tell God

"Thank you" for the loan, for all the minutes

you have left to use (alone and with a friend)

and for the many ways to savor them... and

positively, absolutely don't forget how soon

it will be Saturday again! ..... Amen