Piddling around on a Friday
Funny how getting older completely changes ones perspective on "Friday night"....man, I remember running down to the After Dark, bellying up to the bar, pouring several before it got really lively and making sure I had enough cash to finish the night *and* go to the Peacock for breakfast afterward.
Now, it's all about the jammies. I get to come home on Friday night, put on my jammies and, if I want, not change into anything else all weekend. New jammies every day, of course, but still. Of course, considering what we wore in the '80s I suppose not much has changed.
Meanwhile, it is, in fact, Friday night and I have a list of things to do as long as your arm. But Mom's outta town til the end of the month, so I can do all sorts of things, such as install new lights in the laundry closet (that's not just for her...my eyes are getting old, too), get her cable thing set up in her room, hook up her stereo, maybe put away some more stuff and put out some of the "goodies." Like her pretty silver bowl, or some of Grandma's old knick-knacks. It's weird living with my Mom. I love it, don't get me wrong, and we have an amazing relationship. I think that's what's weird about living with MY Mom. There's no weird hangups...except maybe we worry too much about the other and spend way too much time just gabbing and not enough walking on the beach.
Ah, well, I'll never look back and think, "Gosh, I think I just talked to Mom too much. Should have just sat in silence." heh heh