A Sunday Evening

Sunday Evening. The sour taste of Monday's stealthy approach can make one disheartened, irritable, or simply glum. Weekdays start too early. They ask too much. They begin with a foot heavy on the gas and end with a screeching halt as one finally collapses into bed. Small joys go unnoticed or at least unremembered. Weekends, though, weekends are slow. They wake you up with slices of sun through the mini-blinds and the smell of coffee - and the time to smell it - while The Quiet Sounds of Sleepy Hollow welcome you into the day.
Here are a few ways we relished this weekend:
Friday evening brought four wonderful friends to our home and we offered our usual appetizer fare of summer sausage, Armenian string cheese, and garlic and almond stuffed olives. These were met with mixed reviews. For the main event, we gathered in the porch around burgers hot from the grill and just-made peppermint iced tea. It was a brisk night, but with a few blankets for the more goose-bumpy among us, we managed well. We topped off the night with a plate of superb blueberry cheesecake squares and various hot teas.
On Saturday, I enjoyed a rousing concert by One College Ave, the jazz chorus in which my sister sings. A rendition of Alison Krauss's When You Say Nothing at All topped my list, but all the pieces were excellent. I also spent some quality commute time with two dear grandparents as we traveled to the concert together.
Today, Pete and I hit the mall for some serious shopping after church. As usual, he met with greater success than I, but I did come away with a delightful wide-brimmed beach hat which I am anxious to put to use. I stocked up on food for the week at ALDI, the best find being a container (1 lb) of strawberries for just $1.99. When I got home, Pete fired up the grill and made us some cheeseburgers. I threw a tray of frozen curly fries in the oven, sliced up some of the strawberries and a kiwi, and cozied up with PG Wodehouse on the porch rocking chair until the burgers were ready. During dinner Pete said he couldn't imagine anyone being more in love with anyone than he is with me. Could Sunday night be sour with those words sweetening the air? I don't think it could. As I settled on the couch with my crocheting bag, I determined to let my muscles relax, to let my mind release stress, and to fret not for Monday for Monday shall fret about itself.