Monday, September 27, 2010

Weekendable ...

This weekend past was particularly weekendy.

Friday night was like many of my Friday nights, spent on the couch with a movie moving across the TV. But that was slightly later. Earlier, I trundled off to Blockbuster to see if it might have a previously viewed copy of "A Single Man," as I have wanted to add it to my DVD library but have not wanted to pay full price for it, which is odd, because I don't usually give a second thought to paying for anything creative. And that movie certainly fills that bill.

But I made the trek, and not only did I find what I was looking for, I found it on the "3 for $20" table along with "Up In The Air" and "Crazy Heart." An excellent use of a yuppie food coupon, as my friend Drew once referred to a $20, because when friends go out to dinner, everyone throws $20s on the table to settle the bill.

And with that, I headed to the grocery store, to procure a frozen pizza - don't scoff; Home Run Inn makes a damn fine frozen pizza, especially the Signature line - and, for reasons I won't expound upon now, Creamsicles. Only they aren't officially Creamsicles, as those are the creation of the Popsicle people, and these are from Dean's. I will only say that I'd forgotten how much a Creamsicle-esque frozen confection tastes like a baby aspirin.

So I returned home, to the couch, and popped in "A Single Man," partly to see it again and partly to make sure the used disc was OK. I fell asleep about halfway through the movie. But that is no commentary on the exquisite performances in that film. If you haven't seen it, you must. And you must hear it, as well. The score is perfection.

Saturday day was spent puttering about in the kitchen, preparing the linguine I'd been craving the morning before, when I was awoken at 4 a.m. by the suck-thwacking of my bedroom shades which were at the mercy of the winds outside.

I must say, I make outstanding linguine and white clam sauce. And I make it very rarely, so when I want it, I really want it. And a dish tastes exponentially better when you really have a taste for it. So I had a plateful (after shooting it to share an image on Facebook and Twitter, which I'm sharing here, too, because who doesn't want to behold a plate of pasta?) and then took half to my mom, who wasn't home, but who was happy to find it in the refrigerator later.

Back home, I did up my dishes and decided that I wanted a mugful of warm cider. Being ciderless, I decided that red wine would stand in nicely. So while I caught up with a friend on the phone, I opened a bottle I'd bought the day before. Red wine on a Saturday afternoon is a lovely thing.

And later, off the phone, I decided I'd like to read, so I set up in my comfy chair with my book, under my afghan, glass of wine within reach, candle burning, music wafting in from the next room.

I don't know how many people regard particular moments, but I was very aware, especially after I'd returned from putting on a sweatshirt to ward off the chill coming through my open windows, that my life is extraordinary in what some might see as rather ordinary ways. But the gratitude was palpable. As it should be. Every day.

And Saturday night, I put on "Chloe," because my pal Angelo and I had been chatting about the fabulousity of Julianne Moore, and I hadn't even realized that Liam Neeson played her husband. I will watch Liam in anything. I even have "Clash of the Titans" on hand.

And then my friend Barbara called, to report on her new job, and we spent a long time on the phone, as we always do. I've always marveled at our ability to while away so many minutes on the phone. Minutes, that is, that turn into hours.

Overnight, I had a dream about someone with whom I used to work at the Tribune, which was odd, because while I liked him very much then and still do (we're friends on Facebook), I didn't think I had any reason to dream about him. But my brain connects dots in interesting ways.

Sunday brought with it a desire to bake. These cool temperatures make me want to turn on my oven. And so I decided to make oatmeal cookies, the epitome of fall. And then I decided to make an apple crostata. But that would have required a trip to the store, which would have required me making myself presentable to go to the store. So then I decided to make brownies, because on Friday I'd picked up dark-chocolate cocoa. A Twitterpal had recently made my brownie recipe with it and reported back that they turned out fabulously but insanely rich, so I wanted to taste for myself.

Yup, she's right. They're outstanding. Practically black, and so a good option to make for a Halloween party. Never mind that I don't throw or attend Halloween parties. I need to make another batch with slightly stiffer frosting. And those, I will share. These, the maiden batch, will be consumed by me, over time, and my mom, who took some home yesterday when she stopped by with soup.

Sunday night, of course, is all about "Mad Men." And if Jon Hamm doesn't win the Emmy next year, there is no justice in the world. What an amazing performance last night.

And here we are. Monday morning. Coffee and Steven Wilson's "Insurgentes" on the stereo, which I've been raving about all weekend. I've owned it for a year and a half or so, and it's one of those albums that I listen to every so often and then think, "Why don't I listen to this more?" It's great. If you don't know about it, you should. And now you do.

Yesterday I had the thought that it'd be nice if scientists could figure out a way to expand the earth's orbit to make the year longer so we could have two Saturdays every week – or, as my friend Roger pointed out, one Saturday that's twice as long, which would be fine, too.

Alas, that's one wish that will likely go unfulfilled.

I suppose a better solution is to savor the uniqueness of every day.

And so, I'm appreciating Monday for what it is.

Here's hoping yours is swell, too.


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