The Free Day

I assume I am probably in the minority here, but I really feel that of the 3-day weekend most US Residents are enjoying at the moment, today is the bonus day.  I’m sure there’s a contingent of people rolling their eyes and wondering exactly when I fell off the turnip truck and lost whatever sense the good Lord originally saw fit to give me, but I’m sticking by the assertion. 

Tomorrow will feel Saturday, because in my mind there will still be another day of freedom before returning to our respective grindstones. Monday will seem like Sunday, because family gathering always feel like Sunday, no matter what day of the week they fall on.  And we’ll all spend that precious off-day on Monday with one eye on our merriment and the other suspiciously waiting for it end, and with it our playtime.

So, today, right now, is bonus time, and I’d like to spend it profitably.  Since it’s Memorial Day weekend, that means the pool is Now. Officially. Open.  I don’t know about you, but in my mind, the first and last days of pool season are obligatory.  Sure, it was 65 degrees out when the club actually opened this morning, and since the pool is only warmed by ambient heat from the air and sun (which, in case you haven’t noticed, has been largely absent these past few weeks), I suppose it’s not unfair to say that the water temperature was a few degrees below what I would consider ideal.

Actually, I think I saw a handful of arctic penguins roll down the water slide and clap their precious little flippers together while I stood in 3 inches of water and wondered how long it takes hypothermia to set in.

Of course, while I was loitering about in the vain hope that my feet would acclimate while considering the probability that certain key extremities might draw back up into my body cavity when I got in deeper, three of my four children were already fully immersed in the water and having The Best Time Ever.  Seriously, does their blood work better than mine or something?  Cause whatever they’ve got, I want it.

Oh, that’s right, it’s called youth, and I’m pretty sure my insurance company isn’t covering a prescription for that.

Upon returning home, I figured I should invest some time in another ubiquitous summer activity: watering the lawn.  Yes, I’m still trying to grow grass.  Honestly, we’ve had more success than I ever dreamed possible with Operation: Regrowth, which is to say that we have some immature grasslings rather than huge, dusty, brown spots.  Still, the new growth is a bit patch-work, but more water will fix that, right?  Someone needs to explain to me, though, exactly how a garden hose connected to an easily-cranked hose reel ends up on the ground in a twisted heap resembling one’s small intestines.  It took me ten minutes of plucking, pulling and re-positioning to release the Gordian Knot so I might commence watering. 

My sprinkler is happily sprinkling now, and even though today hasn’t exactly been an all-expenses paid trip to St. Thomas complete with a fruity umbrella drink and the overwhelming odor of coconut-based basting oil, I haven’t a single complaint.  It’s the Free Day, by golly, and if you can’t find a way to enjoy your Free Day, no matter what actually happens, well, you simply don’t deserve to have one.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I believe it’s time for the liberal application of malt-based beverages.

Pud’n

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