The sun was sad to go last Friday. She took her sweet time getting outta here – showing off a bit on her way out. I was also sad for the sun to go. I wasn’t quite done with my week. We only get two days off of real life per week – shouldn’t we be able to decide when we want them? I have no idea who decided the logistics of the whole weekend thing. Who decided only two days? Who decided that we wait precisely five days before we get them? Who decided that Saturday should have the audacity to have one more syllable than every other day? And who gave this mysterious person the right to make all of these decisions on my behalf? (I know there are actual answers to the majority of these questions but I am not interested in them)
AKA I did nothing Friday night.
Saturday & Sunday, on the other hand, were beautiful. No couch-traveling was done this weekend as we, instead, lapped up the gifts of home. Blue skies, white sands and other cliches we usually take for granted were embraced and 300 episodes of Drugs Inc. were watched (I’m basically part of the D.E.A.).
One thing that I continually notice is how the way you approach the same experience drastically changes as you get older. It’s only obvious that you won’t have the same reaction to or appreciation for something when you’re 9 as you do when you’re 13, or then as you do when you’re 20.
For example, on Saturday morning we (somehow/magically/apparently/not sure if this really happened) took a walk through Bridgetown, Barbados’ capital. It involves busy streets, window displays, beautiful architecture, multiple Chefettes (you must understand its beauty if you’re going to truly envision this scene I’m painting for you), history and snow cones. However, when I was 8 a trip to town meant my mother was going to make me put on my sneakers and hold her hand for four hours. It involved very loud noises, dirty bathrooms and, sometimes, a pack of Pokemon cards if I went the whole day without hiding from her and thinking it was funny. It pretty much still involves all of these things except instead of Pokemon cards I get a fun new water bottle. However, something I used to dread to my core now gets me more excited than most things. I no longer tell my mother I’m going to jump in the Careenage and swim home if we don’t leave in 30 seconds but, instead, pose for pictures next to it.
Similarly, a day at The Barbados Yacht Club no longer means my grandmother forcing me to eat chicken nuggets but, instead, perfect bliss (and rum punch).
And Sunday mornings are less about the fact that there’s nothing good on TV (because “One Saturday Morning” only came on ABC on Saturdays for obvious reasons that were not obvious when I was 5) or that I haven’t done any homework all weekend and it’s due tomorrow (even though it should still be very much about this but I’ve decided I take school off on weekends) and is more about the fact that I know how to make crepes. And I know how to eat them. And crepes are yummy.
They’re also about relaxing; and isn’t it so wonderful that we enjoy relaxing?! When I was 10 I hated “relaxing”… and naps, and sweet potatoes and the news. All things that are now in my top ten wonders of life.
So for a few minutes this weekend I thought about how maybe it’s a great thing that I’ve gotten older because there are things I enjoy now that I wouldn’t then…
…But then I thought about jumping into a pile of Beanie Babies while listening to “If You Wanna Be My Lover” and sucking on a ring pop and telling my friends that if they don’t come over they won’t be invited to my birthday party and I realized that no. While 20 is beautiful because with it comes an appreciation and an understanding of things around you, it doesn’t compare to jumping into a pile of Beanie Babies.
Until next time,