It’s the title of this post, but I’ll the first to admit that I do NOT like to live for the weekend. I don’t want to sound hopelessly optimistic, simplistic, or precious, but I’d rather live for the moment; have each moment as full with the beautiful things and awful things and odd/pretty/funny/quiet etc. things as possible. I just want things to be as they ARE (except when I don’t, which is fairly often.)

Yet, there are what I’ve come to think of as seasons of my life when I’m rushing towards the weekend.  I mean, how can the work week compare to time with friends, family, free learning opportunities, fun-to-be-had?  Some seasons are about fairness and balance, and some are all about the weekends.

Being silly with friends at a Chat ‘n Chew ladyfriends potluck/dance party.

Learning to knit mittens that fit with my friend Lucy, owner of Mind’s Eye Yarns.

Cat doing what he does best (besides leap on paper bags.)

Wild light on top of the record player (yes, I did receive it for my birthday when I was eight, or something.)

Finally meeting my friend’s chickens -and a gift of fresh eggs!

Dinner and games with friends.