Saturday Morning Team Cleans

Don't think this is tidy? I should have taken a "before" shot.

When I was younger, I would be woken up at the ungodly hour of 9:30 in the morning by having our eardrums attacked with the blaring music of Laura Smith.  My brother, sister and I haaaaaaated her music for years afterward (sorry Laura) because it was the tool my parents rouse us for our Saturday morning team clean-ups.  There is nothing more unpleasant than an acoustic and soulful version of "My Boooooonnie lies oooooooooooooooover the ocean...."  at 500 decibels. Nothing.

After we stumbled down the stairs to turn down the tunes, A checklist would be presented for each of us to get done before we enjoying the rest of our weekends.  If we were lucky, we would be able to claim our chores of a master list.  If you got to choose your own, we would fight over (sweeping and washing the stairs was a favorite for some reason). If you weren't quick enough, you'd be stuck with washing the compost bucket or dusting.

Years and years later - the memory of these mornings are still there, but the hatred of the tasks (and the music) has certainly subsided.  I'm in charge now, and cleaning is now almost a therapeutic part of my week.  It also helps that if I really don't want to do something - no one can make me.

Now it feels so good to put together a list or chores, and check them off one by one.  If I have done something that wasn’t on the list – I always put it on afterward so that I have the joy of checking or crossing it off.   After all is said and done – I always feel so satisfied with myself and my surroundings.   I’m pretty sure my breathing and heart rate slow, and I feel instantly lighter and happier. 

This picture captures one of those intensely gratifying moments – the calm after the storm. I had cleaned like  a whirling dervish would, took a break, relaxed and was struck by this pretty sight.  “I live here.”

Hey Mr. Bagel Man, Bake a Bagel for Me

There is small shop by our house that is only open on Friday and Saturday mornings. Every Saturday morning I wake up and following the warm doughy aroma down the street to Sunshine Bagel. Made only with flour, salt, sugar and water, they are fresh, hot and the best tasting breakfast you could hope to have on a Saturday morning on your way to the market.

The man who makes the bagels is a little crusty. You can never be sure what kind of mood he is going to be in, but you can always be sure that the bagels will be delicious.

It is an honor system for paying for the bagels.  You walk in, fill up your bag, and then leave money on the table by the door and take your change.  He is too busy making bagels to worry about you and money.

There was a brief period where he thought he was going to have to close up shop.  His lease was up - and "they" were going to raise the rent.  While the bagels are delicious, and he almost always sells out - I don't think he is making a lot of money in the bagel business.  Every Saturday I would walk to his bagel bakery, nervous that there would be "CLOSED" sign on the door.  Every week, I was relieved. 

It's been a few months now, and there is good news! Our neighborhood bagel bakery isn't going to be taken away from us anytime soon, and I think that Mr. Bagel man is getting a little less crusty as a result.